#shut up shut up shut up hES ADORABLE!!!!!

[joonjuul]

play thing. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jk x sleepy!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: desperate!jk, softdom!jk, sleepy!reader, sub!reader, light ddlg themes (if u squint), implied consent, somnophilia, fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), light overstimulation (f receiving), pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it up), pwp lol

a/n: saw another author write something similar to this agessss ago and i’ve been obsessed ever since

╋━

it was one of those nights. one of those nights where your phone mysteriously shut off early, where your eyes felt heavier than normal, where the sweet hum of your blankets and pillows called your name gently, even if it was only 10pm.

since you started dating jungkook, you always felt so busy. it was almost like you were carrying the stress of both his job, and your own, which only meant one thing — you were the most exhausted woman on the planet, and tonight was no exception.

you use your last bit of energy to plug your phone in on the nightstand beside you, turning over and examining the empty side of your shared bed. another wonderful addition to your new life, was still having to sleep alone, despite the fact that you lived with your boyfriend. monday through friday, you always found your routine to be the same, get home from work, make dinner for you and your boyfriend, and head up to your shared room, scrolling until your eyes began to shut before rolling over, jungkook always wandering to his at home studio some time after dinner.

you loved how passionate he was about his work, but it didn’t help the fact that you missed him desperately — his touch, his sweet smile, the small freckle under his lip, the way his hands always instinctively found your waist even within the pitch black night of your room.

he was wonderful, and you adored him, but you couldn’t ignore the loom of desperation that blossomed between your legs as you imagined how he took care of you on the weekends, when his mind wasn’t so preoccupied. his fingers, so skillful and rough, almost as if they memorized your body like a map — every spot that made you writhe beneath him and every crevice of your skin that made your toes curl.

you felt a dampness arise in your panties as your mind wandered, but your tiredness quickly got the best of you, as you eased into a deep sleep — images of your muscular boyfriend hovering above you, his ink splattered arms on either side of your head as he drove into you mercilessly lulling you to sleep.

jungkook however, was only a couple hours into what would be a very sleepless night.

with their comeback approaching, he had been much busier than usual — always winding up in his at home studio after dinner, headphones sat lightly on his head as he’d meticulously arrange every beat and vocal he had prepared during his day at work. he didn’t enjoy it, he’d much rather be with you down the hall, feeling the warmth of your body against his as you both drifted off, but it had become much like a routine, and he was never one to break a good habit, not when they were so close to their scheduled comeback date.

tonight though, was a little different. with every click of a button, every slide of a mouse across the desk, his mind only led back to one thing — you. with his jam packed schedule he had barely left any time to spend with you, and not just that, but also time for your sex life. jungkook was not the type of man to have sex once a week. his body craved you feverishly almost every minute of the day. he went all day craving your touch, and when he finally arrived home and was able to bask in your never ending skin, he felt like all his day’s work was complete. but it would never be enough to satisfy him, and today was one of those days.

he feels his mind begin to wander as he imagines you in bed. he wonders whether or not you’ve fallen asleep yet, which pair of panties you’re wearing, imagining you sprawled out on your bed, shorts riding meticulously high up your ass. and he feels the pressure in his pants begin to worsen.

his eyes glance at the clock. 12:06 am.

he had done enough work today, right? there was always tomorrow, he thought to himself as he took his headphones off, ignoring the tension in his boxers as he stood up from his chair, desperately crossing his fingers that you’re still awake, still conscious so he can fall between your legs and take you like he so hopelessly needs.

his feet carry him to your shared room quickly, his hands wrapping around the doorknob as his eyes quickly fall on your sated body. one leg on either side of the covers as your ass pokes out slightly — barely leaving any room for imagination in one of your cutest pairs of undies.

he lets out a low groan at the sight, his body wandering aimlessly into the room as he gets closer to you. he notices your quiet snores, the way your hair messily spreads across the pillow case, and then he notices something else — a small wet patch outlined in your panties.

jungkook feels his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes zeroing in immediately as he walks closer to the bed, falling to his knees on the covers behind you, but never hard enough to stir you from your sleep.

he gulps, how could you look so perfect ? and why were you so wet ?

his mind swarms with thoughts, his body filled with heat as he wonders if you had touched yourself while he was in the next room, if you craved touch but couldn’t settle for anything less than him. he feels a weight hang on his shoulders, his cock throbbing unbearably in his pants as he feels an overwhelming need for you take over.

without a second thought, his hands fall to the waistband of his sweatpants, quickly pulling them down along with his boxers to reveal his throbbing hard on.

he pumps himself for a moment or two. where does he start? you were sprawled out perfectly on your bed, your cunt obviously ready for him, even if you didn’t know he was there. he halts his movements, still hearing the gentle hum of your snores in the background, and he positions himself between your legs in response, bringing a hand to your panties to pull them aside.

he drags the head of his cock over your folds, relishing in your wetness as he pauses, waiting to feel you stir, hear a whine of concern, but there’s nothing.

he takes your silence as his queue and slowly begins to bury himself into your warmth, your walls stretching to accommodate his size with ease as your body unknowingly lets him in. his breath seizes as he feels your cunt squeeze him deliciously, stifled moans begging to be released as he bottoms out inside you, his head hung low as he tries to catch his breath.

you were so wet, so perfect, and all for him. even in sleep you stayed still and obedient for him, and it was driving him insane.

jungkook begins a tireless pace on your cunt, his thrusts slow and gentle as he feels you tighten around him with every pump of his delicious cock.

he carefully drags the comforter over your back, protecting you from the cold of the night, and hopefully keeping you asleep long enough for him to empty his load inside you. but you were more than perfect, you were irreplaceable. your body subconsciously relaxing deeper as you feel the added warmth to your back, completely unaware of your boyfriend falling apart above you.

with every thrust of his hips he can feel his balls tighten, his body aching for release as his movements begin to quicken, so much so, that he forgets you’re asleep.

mindless praises falling from his lips as he worships you subconsciously, his mind only focused on one thing — you.

“so perfect, baby. my perfect girl.” he lowers himself closer to your body, a hand on either side of your head as his tattooed hand grips the comforter tighter, a coil in his stomach beginning to build as he feels himself drawing closer and closer to the edge.

your dream stutters momentarily, pictures of you and jungkook on a romantic date quickly being brushed away as your mind returns to reality. the first thing you notice isn’t his heavy breathing beside your ear, nor his length stretching your walls deliciously, but the feeling of a tightness within your abdomen.

“mmm.” you moan gently as your body stirs, your eyes fluttering open as they’re consumed with darkness, only a small piece of your boyfriend’s tattooed arm falling in your vision.

“shhh it’s okay, baby.” his sweet voice hums as you finally feel him between your legs, his cock moving feverishly inside you, brushing against your walls perfectly as you let out a loud moan, your wetness only increasing as you grip the sheets beside you.

“kook? f-fuck.”

“shhh, don’t try to talk baby. it’s just me. needed to feel you. go back to bed, sweetheart.” his voice is soft and soothing but the tension in your stomach screams otherwise, your body desperate for release.

he quickly notices your movements, your whines, the way your bum pokes out slightly, begging for more, and he carefully brings a hand down beneath you to your throbbing clit in response.

“there there. this what you wanted sweetheart?” you moan at his words, your legs beginning to shake as you nod your head quickly, the feeling of his fingers circling your clit were almost enough to send you over the edge. but his pace never slows, if anything, his hips quicken as he drives into you mercilessly, thankful that he doesn’t have to hold back now that you’re fully conscious.

“that’s it, good girl.” his words spur you on as he watches you begin to come undone, him easily knowing every spot in your body that gets you going the most. his fingers slowly circle around your clit, your legs shaking slightly as you moan out, loving every movement of his cock inside you. your knuckles are white from gripping at the sheets, your head spinning as you feel like you’re still half unconscious, but jungkook can only think about one thing — the pressure in his balls signaling his closeness.

“cum with me angel, wanna feel you.” his voice is shaky but his hips stay consistent, each thrust building the intensity in your stomach as you feel the coil begin to grow. you were so close, just teetering on the edge of your release, and you knew he was too as his fingers that were once rubbing your clit with calculated movements, were now messy and vigorous. his cock begins to twitch as he feels your walls tense around him as he thrusts deeper, hitting your g-spot so perfectly that it sends you into your climax suddenly.

“f-fuck.” he stutters as he feels you tighten, your moans spiraling through his head as he takes one final plunge inside of you, burying his cum deep within your stomach as he bottoms out.

your breath is heavy as you feel yourself return to reality, the warmth of your boyfriend’s chest against your back bringing you a sense of comfort. god had you missed his touch.

he looks down at his now softening cock as he pulls it out of you, watching a small stream of his juices trickle out of your pulsing hole, collecting it with his fingers before dipping it back inside of you, the sensation making you gasp.

“gotta clean you up, baby.” he rasps, his voice now deeper than normal, whether due to tiredness or the sex you weren’t sure, all you could focus on was his fingers dipping in and out of you gently, moving in circles as his pads brush against your walls. you’re unable to control the low moan that leaves your lips at the feeling.

“sore?” his movements cease as he leans forward to gauge your reaction. but you shake your head in response.

“feels good.” your voice shakes as you begin to move your hips in response to his gentle assault on your cunt, your body writhing against the sheets as it begs for more.

jungkook smirks as he watches how desperate you are, even in such a fucked out state. he must’ve made you wait much longer than he intended.

“sweet girl.” he brings his free hand up to your head as he begins to stroke it calmly, his fingers still moving within you so carefully that you’re not sure whether he’s even trying to turn you on.

his hand falls down to your back, slipping under your shirt as he rubs circles on your hot skin, his hands perfectly calloused from lifting weights that they almost feel rough against you, and it only amplifies everything you’re feeling.

“kook, please.” you whimper, your tone much softer than you’d intended. his touch was driving you crazy, everything about him, you must’ve been ovulating with the way you felt everything so intensely.

“hmm? what is it, baby? what does my sweet girl want?” he hums, his fingers curling inside of you as he watches you begin to squirm, the crooked smile never leaving his face. he knew exactly what he was doing.

you groan, completely burnt out from his teasing. “more kook.”

he quirks a brow, his fingers curling again as he brings his free hand down to your bum, massaging your cheeks gently.

“more? what more could you want? i’m just cleaning you up, baby.”

you groan again, now fully irritated as you kick your legs slightly in annoyance, turning your head over your shoulder to see the wicked grin plastered to his lips.

“pleaseeeee.” you whine, rutting your hips in an attempt to feel more of him. his grip on your ass tightens but his fingers continue to move gently inside of you.

“behave, sweetheart. just relax, i’m right here. you know i always take care of you, right?” his pace begins to quicken but never lose their gentle feel, still carefully dragging every inch of your walls, and curling up into your g-spot perfectly.

“f-fuck, kook.” you moan out, whether from the gentle overstimulation of his fingers inside you, or the way he carefully caressed your back, everything was too much yet not enough at the same time. you were obsessed with him, with the way he made you feel — how he was so rough yet touched you so sweetly, how he dragged the pads of his fingers against your walls, the hushed praises falling from his lips… he was simply too much to bare.

“there you go, that’s my girl.” he watches intently as you move your hips in synchronization with him, your body melting into his every touch as what was meant to be him riding you off your high, turned into something entirely different.

he leans down into your ear, bringing his hand that was on your back up to your neck as he carefully pulls your hair aside, peppering kisses along your damp skin, only building the intensity within you.

his lips stall as he licks a stripe up your neck, stopping by your ear to pull it into his teeth with ease, only nibbling it for a second before releasing it and watching as you fall apart beneath him.

“ughhh” you bury your face into your pillow, completely overwhelmed with pleasure as he continues his ministrations on your already tired cunt.

“words, baby.”

you groan at his response, unsure of how to put your emotions into words, but he’s unsatisfied with your reply — quickly bringing his once gentle hand on your hair back down to your waist and flipping you over with ease, plunging his fingers back into you once your eyes have met one another.

“speak up.” he demands, his voice now filled with lust.

you moan out at the sudden harshness of his movements, cowering under his intense gaze.

“just - ahh - just want you kook.”

he flashes a crooked smile at you, leaning back down into the bareness of your neck.

“you have me, baby. i’m all yours.” his voice a hushed, seductive whisper as he begins assault your neck, his fingers never ceasing.

the feeling is almost unbearable, the coil in your stomach quickly returning with every perfect curl of his fingers and lap of his tongue against your hot skin.

you were a mess — writhing, legs shaking, hands clawing at any part of his body you could use to stabilize yourself, but it was not nearly enough to bring you off the edge that was only drawing nearer.

“close.” you whimper, your knees threatening to clamp shut on his hand until he quickly pins them down, holding you in place and directing his gaze onto your sopping cunt. he wanted to see it all. not just the way you tightened around him, or the way you gushed all the way down his knuckles, but the way you pushed out his seed in the process. he wanted to see it all.

“cum, baby. such a perfect girl, all for me. let me see you cum.” and with a final curl of his fingers, you were sent soaring back over your high. even if it wasn’t as strong as the first, it was just as passionate, if not more. the way his eyes were fixed on your center drove you crazy, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect lips, he was pure sex.

your eyes fluttered shut, your body unable to process what had happened, but you could faintly feel him removing his fingers and placing gentle kisses on your legs, your skin covered in goosebumps for as far as the eye could see.

“good girl, you did such a good job, angel.” you hear his gentle praises as he begins to clean you up properly, admiring the mess you made of your shared bed.

you wish you could respond, you with you could thank him, but your mind had already drifted off into a slow, deliberate sleep — one deeper than you could’ve ever imagined you’d be receiving tonight.

if you thought you were exhausted before, it was nothing compared to the state of you now.

[gf2bellamy]

can u plz write spencer reid seeing reader in a suggestive outfit when the team is out for drinks or something and hes all flustered and a stuttering mess... Thank yew i luv ur writing

dress — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: they're at a bar, reader is uncomfortable in her dress a/n: ty ty for your request <3 hope you like this !!

You tugged at the hem of your dress, shifting uncomfortably as you glanced at your reflection in the bar’s dimly lit mirror.

This was so not your usual scene.

Going out for drinks with the team was one thing, but when JJ and Emily had practically dragged you into your apartment, raiding your closet in search of something "more fun,” you had protested. Repeatedly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Emily had grinned. “Live a little.”

JJ had softened her approach. “Spence will be there,” she had pointed out, giving you a knowing look.

And that’s how you ended up here, standing in the crowded bar, your usual cozy attire replaced with a dress you barely remembered owning—one that clung a little too well to your figure, exposing just enough skin to make you hyperaware of the attention you were receiving.

You were about to tug at your neckline again when you felt a presence behind you.

You turned, heart skipping a beat.

Spencer.

And oh, he looked—

Adorable.

Like he hadn’t even considered dressing differently for the night out, still wearing his usual button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, vest neatly in place. His curls were slightly disheveled, as if he had run his hands through them one too many times.

But the moment he saw you?

It was like his entire brain short-circuited.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked rapidly, eyes darting up and down before quickly snapping to the ceiling, as if looking anywhere but at you would help.

His ears turned a violent shade of red.

“You—um—” He cleared his throat, visibly struggling to form a coherent sentence. “You—you look—”

You tilted your head, suppressing a smile. “I look…?”

Spencer let out a small, strangled noise before pressing his lips together in a tight line, his hands flailing slightly before he shoved them deep into his pockets.

Emily, who had clearly been eavesdropping, grinned as she walked past. “Looking good.” She shot Spencer a pointed look. “Right, Spence?”

Spencer made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak.

You swore he looked two seconds away from combusting.

“Spencer?” you teased, biting back a laugh.

He blinked again, looking entirely betrayed by his own brain. “Yes. You—you always look nice, I mean—um—not that I’ve thought about it like that! I mean, I have, but not in a weird way—well, not too weird, just in a normal, friendly, completely professional, and not inappropriate way—”

You giggled, watching as he dug himself into a deeper hole with every word.

“I—uh—” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut before exhaling sharply. “You look beautiful.” he finally blurted out, voice softer now, more sincere.

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, warmth blooming in your chest.

Before you could respond, Morgan—who had definitely been listening—let out a low whistle as he approached, throwing an arm around Spencer’s shoulder.

“Damn, kid. Took you long enough to say it,” Morgan teased, giving Spencer a playful shake.

Spencer groaned, his face burning as he brushed a hand over his face.

You laughed, reaching out to tug his sleeve. “Come on, genius,” you said, eyes shining. “Let’s get a drink.”

Spencer let you pull him along, his face still pink, but his fingers lingering against yours just a little longer than necessary.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d have to thank Emily and JJ later.

[fallinallincurls]

ohmygod shut up!! this was the sweetest thing ever and i cannot get over it! how gentle luke was and how considerate he was being about not making her uncomfortable and taking his mom’s advice, ADORABLE! i loved it aw

IT'S NOW OR NEVER - L. HUGHES

[3.9k] luke was raised a gentleman and by the third date you are worried why he hasn't kissed you yet or three times luke was too scared to kiss you and one time you took matters into your own hands.

warnings: none ! this is so corny; unedited

.

1.

When Luke asked you out on a date, you were expecting something more traditional for a first date — a movie, maybe a dinner in a cute restaurant, even just a cafe date. But this?

“A baking class?” You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself this morning, eyebrows furrowed as you reread Luke's text. It had taken him a lot of courage to ask for your number a few nights ago, his awkward stance endearing, and he seemed like a guy who would choose a more practical option. Maybe you took his shy personality for granted.

Now, standing in the intimate studio filled with the hum of conversation from other couples gathered around their cooking stations, you weren’t sure what to think. It made you laugh a little because everyone around you already seemed to be a couple, and you and Luke were not… yet.

“Thought it might be fun. I hope you’re ready to be amazed by my baking expertise.” He smirked, his voice playful as he was standing by one of the sleek stainless-steel countertops beside you, finishing tying his apron.

You glanced at him with a smile. He was already rolling up his sleeves and looking at the recipe card in front of him with determination. There was something sweet about how out of his element he looked and you had a feeling his “baking expertise” was going to be revealed as a lie very soon.

The instructor introduced the recipe for a lemon tart which was slightly more challenging than you expected for a beginner’s class. Soon, you took the lead, carefully mixing the dough for the crust while Luke squeezed fresh lemons, their tart aroma filling the air. When it came time to roll out the dough, Luke tried to help, but the dough stuck to the rolling pin and tore when he tried to lift it into the pan. 

“Let me show you,” you said, after noticing his frustration, your tone gentle but amused. You guided his hands, showing him how to roll evenly and use a bit of flour to keep things smooth. Luke nodded along your words as you explained your moves, but he was more focused on the way your fingers brushed his than on the technique. 

While the crust baked, you left it up to Luke to make the filling. He whisked eggs and sugar with ease, his biceps peeking through his sweater, while you worked on zesting lemons and occasionally stealing glances at his cute concentrated face, though his arms were really distracting.

The filling came together quite nicely for your first attempt. It was a sunny yellow mixture that smelled like summer, and when it was time to pour it into the crust, you handed Luke the bowl so you could spread the filling evenly. The tart was finally ready and you placed it gently into the oven, before you started cleaning up your station, working side by side with an easy rhythm.

It wasn’t long before you dished the tart to start decorating it. As you reached for the thin slices of lemon to arrange them on top, Luke gently ushered your hand away.

“Leave the decorating up to me.” He said with a grin. You raised an eyebrow but stepped back, curious to see what he’d come up with. He placed the lemon slices with a deliberate precision that made you smile, adding sprigs of mint and finishing it off with a dusting of powdered sugar. He did have some baking expertise after all, you thought.

By the end of the class, the instructor encouraged everyone to take a bite of their creations, and you and Luke found yourselves amazed by your work. The crust was buttery and crisp, the filling perfectly balanced between tart and sweet. Your eyes widened at the first bite, and Luke couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“This is actually pretty good.” You admitted. Luke grinned, savoring his own bite and the way your amusement seemed to radiate off something so simple.

You bid your goodbyes to the instructor on your way out, taking the leftover tart with you, leaving half to Luke. 

“Thank you for tonight. I had a really good time.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “Where did you park?”

“Oh, I took a cab here.”

“I’ll drive you home then, if that’s okay with you.” 

You tried to wave him off, not wanting to bother him since it was getting late already and you knew he had practice the next morning. But he insisted, and you didn’t have it in your heart to say no one more time, not when he gave you those puppy eyes.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background. When he halted the car at the stoplight, Luke stole a glance at you as you gazed out the window, your profile illuminated by the streetlights. You looked peaceful, yet he wished he knew what was going on in your head, because turmoil had started to rise in his. Doubts started to cloud his thoughts, what ifs and maybes worried him, and he truly couldn’t mess this up because he already knew you were the woman of his dreams.

When you pulled up in front of your building, Luke turned off the engine and hesitated. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would let you know how much he’d enjoyed the evening, but the words felt clumsy even in his head. You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him, your expression expectant but soft.

“Thank you.” You said softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He wanted to reach for your hand, to bridge the small space between you, but his fingers stayed gripping the steering wheel. You lingered for a moment, your gaze dipping to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. He felt the air shift, a subtle invitation, but his nerves got the better of him.

“Goodnight,” he said instead, his voice steady but quieter than before. You blinked, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face, and then you smiled, small but sincere.

“Goodnight, Luke.” You said as you stepped out of the car. He waited until you’d reached your door and waved at you before driving away, his chest tight with both satisfaction and regret.

Inside your apartment, you set down the box of leftover tart and leaned against the door. The evening had been lovely, better than you’d expected, really. Luke had been sweet and playful, your laughter easy and unforced, which was a rare occurrence after many past failed dates with other men. But as you replayed the moment in the car, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You’d wanted him to kiss you, you felt the possibility hovering between you, but nothing happened and maybe you read this all wrong.

Still, you reminded yourself that first dates were just testing the waters, the first step towards something more and if your intuition about Luke was right, then there was nothing to worry about. After all, the best things were worth waiting for. 

2.

A message asking you for a second date came much sooner than you expected. You were looking forward to seeing Luke again, but hockey kept him busy and you were stuck with texting, which was fine, except for the fact that you missed him a lot. 

After the baking class, you had spent days replaying moments in your head — the way he smiled at you, the way he hesitated when he dropped you off. Something about him intrigued you, and you couldn’t wait to peel back another layer of him.

And that was how you found yourself walking to Central Park on a Tuesday afternoon, the air crisp and golden, autumn leaves falling delicately from the trees. Luke stood by the entrance, holding a picnic basket in one hand and a rolled-up blanket in the other. He waved as you approached, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. Oh, this can’t be real, you thought. You loved parks, picnics even more so and how Luke figured that out, you didn’t know. This was just your second date and he had already done more than any guy you ever dated. 

“Hi.” You said shyly.

“Hi! Let’s go before they steal our spot.” He grinned, grabbing at your hand, not really leaving time for conversation. 

You walked together through the path leading towards the open patch of grass, the sounds of the city muffled by the rustle of leaves and the laughter of children playing nearby. 

“This okay?” He asked, spreading out the blanket. He busied himself trying to lay everything nice and neat to calm his nerves, but you could see the flicker of nervousness in his movements.

“It’s perfect.” And you meant it. The secluded spot he brough you to was beneath a sprawling oak tree and it felt like a little world carved out just for the two of you, despite the other couples around you.

Luke unpacked the basket with care and you were stunned by how thoughtful he had been. The sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, the container of pasta salad, fresh fruit, and the small box of cookies, were all things he prepared himself. You could tell, they weren’t perfect, but the fact that he took the time out of his already tight schedule to do something nice for you made your heart flutter.

“You’re really raising the bar here,” you said, taking a seat, legs criss-crossed. “Future dates are going to have a hard time living up to this.”

“Well,” he said, sitting down across from you, “I figured I should go big early on. Keep you interested.”

You giggled, and the sound seemed to relax him. The two of you settled into an easy conversation, eating and talking about everything and nothing. Luke told you about hockey, or at least tried. You weren’t familiar with the sport and what he was explaining didn’t make much sense to you, but he looked too cute to interrupt his nerd moment. You learned he played with his brother on the same team, something he wasn’t expecting on his draft day. You on the other hand, couldn’t say much about your boring 9 to 5 job, but when you mention your love for books, the conversation went lively again after he admitted Harry Potter was the last book he ever read.

“You’re lying!”

“Am not! I just can’t find anything interesting to read.”

Luke leaned back on his elbows, his gaze drifting to the trees overhead. The sun was starting to lower, the afternoon melting into evening, and the golden light deepened into the rich hues of a sunset.

After a while, Luke suggested a walk to stretch your legs, and you strolled along the park’s quieter paths, your shoulders brushing occasionally. When the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you both stopped by a small hill to admire its beauty. The city’s skyline stood silhouetted against the glowing horizon, and the moment felt almost too perfect to break with words. He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, but he didn’t reach for your hand or lean closer, and his hesitation was endearing but also maddening. 

As the sky darkened, you realized it was time to head back. The walk to your apartment was quiet, but not uncomfortably so, though the silence felt loaded, as if you were both aware of the unspoken undercurrent between you. When you reached your building, Luke paused, his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I had a really great time today.” He said, his voice steady but soft.

“Me too.” You replied, wishing you could find the words to tell him how much. 

The moment stretched and he didn’t move. No leaning in, no reaching out, just the same gentle smile that had greeted you at the park, the same smile he gave you in the car last time. Your eyes never left his, hoping he would see the glimmer of hope on your face.

You hesitated, heart thudding, because if he wasn’t going to take the step, maybe you had to. So, gathering your courage, you leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, letting your lips linger just a second longer than was strictly casual.

“Good luck for tomorrow’s game, Luke.” You whispered, stepping back before you could second-guess yourself. He was surprised, a blush creeping on his ears and mouth hanging slightly open. It made your stomach fill with butterflies, maybe this would finally make him understand your intentions.

“T-Thanks, goodnight.” He finally said, his voice a little lower now. He watched you go, and when you turned to close the door behind you, he was still standing there as if he was rooted to the spot.

Inside, you leaned against the door, lips tight in a smile and your cheeks warm. The kiss hadn’t been bold or dramatic, but it was enough to get your point across, or at least you hoped it was. But for now, you were content to let the memory of the day feed the warmth in your chest.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time he’d finally close the distance.

3.

It wasn’t really a date, or at least that wasn’t the intention, but Luke texted you hours after his game finished with the classic “you up?” text and you ended up in the cold Prudential Center at midnight.

He couldn’t sleep after winning the game, the adrenaline pumping in his body despite his head being tired. He felt a bit ashamed to send such a cringey text, but his fingers moved before he could actually put some thoughts behind his words, and luckily you responded like it was no big deal.

The familiar scent of ice and cold air greeted you as you walked through the quiet halls, no crowds, no buzz of pre-game energy. It was dead silent. It was completely empty, the polished ice gleaming under the bright overhead lights.

“It’s just us?” Your voice echoed slightly.

“Just us.” Luke added, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. “Figured it’d be more fun this way. No pressure, no audience.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. The gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful, and it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t quite prepared for. You mentioned your desire to learn how to skate as soon as he told you he played hockey, but you were too nervous to hit the outdoor rink, not trusting yourself with loads of careless people around you equally as awkward.

“You know I don’t skate.”

“Yeah,” he said, flashing a boyish grin. “I’ll teach you, that’s why we’re here.”

He handed you a pair of skates he borrowed from one of the guys’ girlfriend, and helped you lace them up. His fingers brushed yours as he tightened the laces, sending a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

When you stepped onto the ice, you wobbled immediately, gripping the edge of the rink for dear life. Luke was already gliding effortlessly, his movements smooth and confident. He skated over to you, holding out his hands.

“Trust me.”

Hesitantly, you let go of the barrier and placed your hands in his. His grip was steady, grounding, and he guided you onto the ice with patience, your hands probably squeezing him uncomfortably tight.

“Just take it slow,” he said, moving backward as you shuffled forward. “One foot at a time. You’ve got this.”

And you tried your best though you weren’t doing much work, instead being slowly dragged by Luke’s hands. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself, your movements awkward and unsteady, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kept his eyes on you, his expression encouraging and soft.

He guided you in a slow circle around the rink, his hands never leaving yours. The cool air nipped at your cheeks, but the warmth of his touch and the sound of his voice kept you focused.

“See? You’re a natural.” He said, his grin teasing.

“You’re doing all the work, Luke.”

“Pff, what? No, I’m not.”

You laughed at his silly remark, your head dropping on his shoulder and resting there. You turned your head to respond, and his gaze caught yours, your breath catching in your throat. His face was just inches from yours, his eyes filled with warmth and intent. The world seemed to narrow, the rink fading away until it was just the two of you, the quiet scrape of your skates the only sound.

Your heart thudded as you slowed to a stop, your hand still in his. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and you felt a flicker of hope.

“Hello? Is anyone still here?”

But before you could say or do anything, a voice called out from the edge of the rink. And just like that, the spell shattered, and you stepped back instinctively, the perfect moment slipping away from your fingers. Luke turned his head toward the voice, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Though everyone went home.” He mumbled, his tone even but quieter than before.

Swallowing the lump of disappointment in his throat, he helped you off the ice, steadying you as you stepped onto solid ground. He helped you unlace your skates, his movements were slow as if to buy more time to spend with you.

On the way out, Luke apologized to the staff for the trouble, forgoing a decent excuse as to why he was here. It was obvious anyway.

The drive back to your place was quieter than you’d expected. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy. And when he pulled up in front of your apartment, your fingers hesitated before unbuckling your seatbelt. You didn’t want to leave the car without doing something, anything, to push the boundary that seemed to hold him back. But you felt the familiar mix of hope and frustration swirling in your chest, so you let it go.

Once you stepped foot in your apartment, you leaned against the door, your heart still racing. Luke was sweet, thoughtful, and attentive in so many ways, but the question of why he still held back, why he hasn’t kissed you yet lingered in your mind.

You glanced out the window, watching as his car idled for a moment before driving off. The night had been special, probably the best out of the two other dates you had, because it was spontaneous, because he thought of you when he couldn’t fall asleep, because he remembered something you told him in passing. And it was the kind of date that would have been perfect if only he’d closed the distance between you.

You wondered if this was worth it all, if you should instead give up and tell him things aren’t working.

+1

You needed answers. After that night at the rink, you gave yourself a pep talk and mustered all the courage you could find in yourself to finally make a move. So you invited him over, telling him to drive straight to your apartment after his week-long roadie.

He made himself comfortable, changing from his suit into some sweats he had in his duffel bag, and was now sitting beside you on the couch, trying to explain the hockey game in front of you. In all honesty, you couldn’t understand a single thing. You tried watching sometimes, but the rules never stuck.  

“Wait, why has the game stopped?”

“It’s icing.” Oh, of course. “Did you already forget what that is?”

“Yes.”

He threw his head back, a giggle escaping his lips, and you couldn’t help but join him. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the warm light of the room catching the green flecks in his irises, making your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t ignore. You kept your gaze on him, watching as he stretched one arm across the back of the couch. He turned to look at you, catching you staring before you could pretend otherwise.

“You okay?”

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your hoodie. Here goes nothing.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

The words tumbled out before you could overthink them, your voice softer than you’d intended. His eyes widened slightly, the smirk fading from his lips as he blinked at you. For a moment, the only sound was the low commentary from the game on TV, but you barely noticed. All your attention was locked on him, on the way his face shifted from surprise to something more unreadable.

“I mean,” you continued quickly, feeling a rush of nerves. “I just... I guess I’m wondering if you’re waiting for a specific moment or if I’m reading this wrong —”

“You’re not reading it wrong.” He interrupted, his voice shaking just slightly. He shifted in his seat, his arm dropping from the back of the couch to rest on his knee. 

“I like you too. I just —” He paused, his gaze flicking to the TV for a second before meeting yours again. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. My mom always told me not to kiss a girl on the first date, but then I felt like it was never the right moment. I wanted it to be special.”

His words made your chest tighten in the best way, a soft warmth blooming under your skin. You hadn’t expected that answer, but it was so him. Thoughtful. A little cautious. Mama’s boy.

You turned towards him, your knees lightly pressing into his thigh. You reached out to place a hand on his own, his skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the slight tension in his muscles. You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze searching his face when he kept looking at the ground. Then, slowly, a small smile curved your lips. Your hand moved to cover his, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Well then, can I kiss you?”

His head shot up, breath caught in his throat for a moment processing if he heard you right. From the day he met you, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. You were confident but not cocky, quiet but not necessarily shy, attentive and smart. And he was obsessed, to the point he would kiss the ground you walked on.

You smiled at him, your heart feeling like it might burst from how full it was. That was all the encouragement Luke needed. He leaned in slowly, your mouth immediately meeting his halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally pressed on yours. His lips were soft, softer than you imagined and you couldn’t get enough. 

Luke kissed you until he couldn’t anymore, and when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, you were both catching your breath.

“I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“It was worth it.”

He chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You squeezed his hand, still tangled with yours. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Please, stop asking and just do it.”

And so you cupped his jaw to kiss him again, not as long this time but just as breathtaking.

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man (2)

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. bachira meguru, alexis ness, karasu tabito, otoya eita, shidou ryusei

notes: part 2 to this, fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in alexis and karasu's, suggestive in shidou's (he's his own warning)

༄ bachira:

“megs, please stop moving - yeah, hi. my husband lost his id and we just need a replacement.”

✣ the second those words leave your mouth the cogs in his head are sent into hyperdrive. he’s barely ever thought of himself as boyfriend material, nevermind husband. for you to proclaim it so boldly in front of others makes him incredibly giddy with joy - to the point where his uncontrollable giggles begin to make the rest of the patrons and government workers a bit paranoid.

⁀➷ bachira’s latched onto you like koala as the two of you exit the office after getting the new id and a handful of concerned looks from the other people inside. his grin is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and all he can say over and over is “husband? i’m your husband, right? when are we getting married? what kind of dress do you want? what’s the color scheme? i have to ask isagi if he’ll be my best man, and -!” you try to shut him up with a kiss, but the second your lips part he goes right back to babbling about your ‘upcoming’ wedding. you made your bed, so guess now you have to lay in it.

༄ alexis: “can me and my husband just get a slice of sachertorte and a mini quiche?”

✣ so, so, in love with you. you’re already his wife, soulmate, reason for living, so hearing you reciprocate his fantasies has him on cloud nine. he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his grip on your hand only tightens at your words. it doesn’t matter if people think he’s moving too fast, if he’s too dedicated to you - because you feel the same way. how could he ever even fathom letting you slip from his grasp?

⁀➷ “what season do you want our wedding to be in?” he asks softly as the two of you sit by the cafe window. despite his favorite dessert being right in front of him, he can’t be bothered to eat it. not when you’re across from him, your divinity blessing his meager existence. the question surprises you a bit as he takes your hand, lightly kissing across your knuckles. your expression is so adorable, he can’t help the small laugh that leaves him when he continues, “we’re getting married soon, aren’t we? i’ve already planned the ring i want for you, and i really don’t want to wait that much longer to make you mine.”

༄ karasu:

“hmm, i think they’re too small… oh, excuse me? do you mind getting a bigger size for my husband?”

✣ amused by how blatant you are about it. sure, he knows he wants to marry you someday, but he didn’t expect you to take these jumps so early. he doesn't mind it at all, though. domesticity has always been in the back of his mind when it comes to relationships, preferring to invest in long term romances than lust-filled flings like a certain friend of his. there’s been roughly a billion fantasies involving married life with you, and there’s about to be ten billion more now that you’ve called him that.

⁀➷ “husband, hm?” he says with a smirk as the store employee goes to grab the other pair of shoes. you turn to him with a raised eyebrow and unamused look, asking if he has a problem with it. raising his arms in defense, he simply chuckles and tells you, “not at all, babe. just wondering how i bagged a cute wife when i haven’t even proposed yet.” you just roll your eyes and turn back to the shelves to compare the other cleats. unable to resist, he stands and rests his hands on your waist to whisper into your ear, “your husband didn’t bother getting you a ring? seems like a scumbag. i’ll buy you one right after this,” before placing a gentle kiss on your lips - and rest assured, he’s true to his word.

༄ otoya:

“if you’re gonna keep flirting with my husband, you can fuck off.”

✣ scared out of his mind. he never planned to have any sort of long term relationship with you yet it happened to naturally. for the first time in his life, he found himself being the yearner instead of having his lovers chasing him down. hearing you call him your husband confirms to himself he’s totally smitten. it’s pathetic and frankly terrifying, but he thinks he’d die if he let you go. so of course, you’re with him the one time he really isn’t flirting with someone else and they won’t leave him alone. just his luck.

⁀➷ as the two of you walk back from the coffee shop, he’s convinced he’s about to see all nine of his ninjutsu lives be cut down with the way you’re steaming. the silence is killing him though, and he simply lets out a shaky “babe?” to test the waters. when you turn towards him with rage burning in your eyes, he knows he’s fucked ; except you take his cheeks between your hands and pull him down, telling him he belongs to you and you only. he’s shaking with how passionate you are, realizing you did believe him and it’s everyone else you don’t trust. heart pounding out of his chest, he feels a bit of relief begin to come back. yeah, he doesn’t mind being your husband one bit.

༄ shidou:

“i’m so sorry about my husband's behavior. he didn’t mean to offend you like that.”

✣ first of all, yes he did. second of all, this is probably the worst mistake you’ve ever made. shidou already has you-induced psychosis, so anything you do to feed his ego and remind him that you also like him back just creates an even bigger monster. he tries to steal a kiss in the middle of you speaking, but you know him too well and drag him down by the ear into an apologetic bow. consider him whipped, cause you putting him in his place is so painfully attractive to him he’s about to get down on that one knee now.

⁀➷ “is that any way to be treating your husband?” he says with a shit eating grin while you tug him by the collar down the sidewalk. the restriction around his neck should be painful, but he loves seeing you annoyed so much that he certainly can’t feel it. when you mutter something about already getting a divorce, his smile drops and he digs his teeth into your neck, making you yelp in pain and elbow him in the stomach. he laughs maniacally before brushing his lips against your ear and telling you, “see? we’re made for each other, babe. hurt me a little more, will ya?”

[archangeldyke-all]

Sevika is the pe teacher and reader is the English teacher and reader is sweet to all the students and everyone loves her but sevika is more on the strict side, doesn’t actually matter what’s the plot i just need teacher!sevika x teacher!reader😭🙏

HELL YES

men and minors dni

"jinx, the bell rang five minutes ago, kiddo. what class are you supposed to be in?" you ask as you walk into your classroom, blowing on your fresh cup of coffee.

this is your planning period, and you never mind having a student or two visit you, but you know jinx better than to assume she's here on her study-hall and not skipping class.

"please don't make me go, teach."

"dr. singed's chemistry class?" you guess. he's notorious for his harsh grading rubric.

jinx shakes her head. "no, no, i've got an a in chem." she huffs. "it's gym class."

you laugh. "you don't like gym? i've seen you run down the halls, you're quick as hell. figured you'd love that stuff."

"fuck no. sevika's a monster! she's making us climb ropes and do pushups-- i can barely carry my backpack to school, what makes her think i can do a fuckin' pullup!?" jinx laments.

you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. you gesture to the little corner of bean bags, blankets, and books in your class, then pull open your desk drawer. "you can stay. but if principal merdarda or sevika comes in here i'm tellin' her you told me it's your study hall."

"you'd rat me out?!" jinx cries. you grab one of the many bags of chips you store in your bottom drawer and toss it to her where she's getting cozy in the beanbag. she grins. "flamers, fuck yeah!"

"in exchange for my hospitality... you need to tell me why i saw your sister fighting with a cop at the gay bar last weekend." you request.

jinx gasps, her eyes lighting up in delight at a chance to gossip about vi-- a girl you taught a few years ago.

"you party at the hound?!" jinx asks with a giggle. you shrug.

"is that so shocking?"

"you're badass underneath that cardigan, huh, teach?" jinx teases. she stands from the corner and drags her beanbag across the classroom, situating herself in front of your desk and digging into her flamers. "okay, so, a year ago vi got arrested at a protest, right?" jinx starts.

you nod along in amusement at jinx's story, dividing your attention between her and the essays you're grading.

zaun high is small enough that you get to really know the kids that roam the halls for four years, and jinx comes from a big family with a gaggle of kids you've only ever adored. it's good to hear that her brothers are doing well, that vi's figuring herself out.

you blink up at jinx when she takes a pause between stories, snacking on her food. "so i hear you've made things official with ekko."

jinx turns bright red and she squeaks as she hides behind her braids. "shut up!"

"had to lock him down before he gets elected class president, huh?" you tease. jinx squawks.

"okay, well, what about a rumor i heard that you're dating another teacher here!" jinx accuses, pointing at you.

you giggle and shrug. "mmm... maybe... but you'll never guess which." you say.

jinx scoffs and rolls her eyes. "oh please, it's so obvious. you and profe ran are always giggling together." she says.

you laugh. ran, the spanish teacher, is a childhood friend of yours, but they're certainly not the person you're dating. "sure, it's ran."

jinx frowns and squints at you. "the new college councilor?" she guesses.

"ms. grayson?" you ask. jinx nods. you laugh again. "that's hilarious. isn't she married?"

jinx huffs. "well, i dunno! are you even dating anyone?"

the door slams open and you both jump, turning to look at sevika.

fuck. she looks good. you're pretty sure she's been wearing her shortest possible shorts just to tease you. she's been using the increasingly warm weather as her excuse.

"jinx! the fuck are you doing?" she glares at the teenager.

jinx jumps out of her beanbag and scrambles to collect her belongings. you giggle.

"put the beanbag back before you go."

"fuck." jinx mumbles, scrambling some more.

sevika turns her glare from her missing student to you, striding up to your desk. you bite your lip as you watch her thighs ripple with each step. "you're harboring fugitive students now?"

"she told me it was her study hall." you lie.

jinx groans. "you rat!"

sevika huffs and glares down at you. you shrug and blink up at her innocently. with a quick glance at jinx where she's stuffing her face with the rest of her chips over the garbage can, you hold up a folder to block your mouth and whisper up at your girlfriend. "my place tonight?"

sevika's glare melts for just a moment, and she gives you a half nod and a wink before tunring on her heel and smacking the chips out of jinx's hand. "c'mon, before i give you detention." she huffs, dragging jinx out of your class by her backpack.

"see you in third period, jinx!" you call. jinx giggles and waves to you. sevika flips you off over her shoulder.

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

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@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[writeriguess]

Can you please write Bakugo x Short Reader, who always has trouble reaching tall shelves and stuff like that, he always finds it very cute and has to make himself not to show a smile when she requires his help. Maybe sometimes he just picks her up to help her reach stuff and always teases her about it. Thank you!

Just Ask, Shorty

It happened again.

You stood in front of the kitchen cabinet, glaring at the top shelf like it had personally offended you. Your fingers stretched as far as they could, the tips just barely grazing the edge of the cereal box you wanted. You refused to get the stool. That thing only reminded you of your constant struggle against gravity, and you weren’t about to let an inanimate object win today.

With a deep breath, you prepared to jump—only to freeze when a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“You look like a damn idiot.”

Your shoulders stiffened, and you turned your head just enough to see Bakugo leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, definitely trying not to smirk.

“Shut up, Katsuki,” you huffed, returning your focus to the shelf. “I got this.”

Bakugo made a low sound in his throat—something between an amused scoff and a chuckle. He knew damn well you didn’t ‘got this.’ And, honestly, he found it absolutely adorable watching you struggle, even if he’d rather die than admit it out loud.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, pushing off the wall. “Move.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you stubbornly hopped, fingertips brushing the box just enough to nudge it further away.

“…You’re doin’ this on purpose, aren’t ya?”

“No!”

He rolled his eyes before stepping up behind you. Before you could protest, his hands gripped your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you up like you weighed nothing.

“K-Katsuki!” you squeaked, flailing slightly as he held you effortlessly.

“What?” he snorted. “You wanted the damn cereal, didn’t ya? Hurry up before I drop your ass.”

You grumbled under your breath but grabbed the box, feeling your face heat up. The worst part? This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. If anything, it was becoming a regular occurrence. And he always took the opportunity to tease you about it.

Once he set you down, you spun to face him with a glare, only to find his usual scowl in place—but his eyes held something softer, something amused. You knew he was holding back a smirk.

“I hate you,” you muttered.

“Pfft, yeah right,” he scoffed, ruffling your hair before walking off. “Just admit you like bein’ picked up, short stack.”

You grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it at him. He dodged without even looking back, laughing as he disappeared into the living room.

…Yeah. You were never going to win against him.

[imaginethisscenario]

I can just hear the absolute screeching halt the rest of the company’s mind comes to when they see little Frodo :

“Bilbo, you never said hobbits could have babies…”

“What? Of course we can have babies!” Bilbo said with a huff. “What a ridiculous thing to say. Do you think we have eggs?”

“Well, now I’m not sure what to think,” Bofur muttered, some closest to him nodding in agreement as they watched the baby in Fíli’s hands.

“The little pebble has your eyes, Uncle Thorin!” Kíli gushed, looking as if he was fighting very hard not to rip the baby from his brother’s hands.

“This is crazy,” Fíli muttered, the sweetest softest smile on his face as he gently stroked the babies cheek. “Hello, little prince.”

“Well done, Thorin,” Dwalin congratulated, patting his now very confused friend.

“…thank you.”

“Of course he gets all the credit,” Bilbo snarked, eyeing Thorin playfully as he placed his hands on his hips. “Meanwhile, I’m the one who carried him.”

“That’s simply not fair, ghivashel. I told you if I could have, I would have,” Thorin said missing everyone’s horrified and confused looks as he sent a jealous look his nephews way. Frodo was smiling softly up at Fíli, his eyes drooping slightly as he was very content in the dwarfs arms. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t worry too much, laddie,” Gloín reassured. “My Gimli preferred his ma for years - ma’s have a way with their wanes after all.” He paused, glancing between Bilbo and Frodo curiously. “Not sure how that statement fits in for this, but now, we’re thick as thieves, my Gimli and I. Your time will shine, just you wait.”

“How do you…” everyone turned to Ori’s beet red face, the dwarf looking horribly embarrassed that he had even started talking. “How does he… eat?” The company was immediately intrigued, a few instinctively glancing at Bilbo’s chest. The hobbit didn’t notice though, leaning against Thorin with a shrug.

“Just a bottle with whatever milk is available, though the little dear favors cow milk,” he explained, missing the way Thorin turned to Balin and quietly ordered him to send for more cows from the nearest farm. “And now that’s he’s a few months older, he likes to munch on soft foods.” Frodo gave a large yawn, earning soft smiles and little fawning noises from the company around him. And that was the sign that Bilbo needed as he stood. “Okay, he’s going to nap, and I know there are things you all were doing before this.” The company seemed to jump into action at that.

“I’ll begin making him some new clothes,” Dori cheered. “Durin blue with silver strands - he’s going to be adorable!”

“I’ll go restock the medical cabinets,” Oín grunted. “Children get sick so often.”

“I’m gonna start on some toys, for the lad!” Bofur called, Nori, Bifur, and Gloín throwing in their services.

“I can go make some foods most dwarf babies like,” Bombur offered.

“But he’s half hobbit!” Nori called after him, receiving a shrug from the chef.

“I’m sure his dwarven half will kick in.” That was when the two newly made parents shared a startling look with one another, turning back to the company that was all practically gone.

“His what half?” Thorin called, but no one responded. Why would they? Ori was walking out hand in hand with Dwalin when he sent Bilbo a smile.

“I’ll start up on some baby books,” he grinned, Dwalin sending Thorin a wave.

“I’ll make some soft weapons. He’s young, still, but we’ll start his training early.” And with that, the door fell shut, leaving only the Durin’s in the room. Frodo had now fallen asleep, too happy to do so in Fíli’s arms and the dwarf was all too happy to keep him there, going as far as kicking his brother away when Kíli tried to take him. The two settled into the large armchair, Kíli accepting defeat (for now) and taking up the other.

“It’s so cool you had a baby, Uncle Bilbo.”

“I what?!”

Bilbo's been living in Erebor for a few years as the king's consort when he gets word from the shire that a little baby hobbit has been entrusted into his care and can you come pick up your baby cousin please so Bilbo and Thorin make the journey to Bag-end to collect little Frodo, but for various reasons (probably safety/general dwarf secrecy idk) they don't tell anyone other than Balin the reason for their journey

All this to say can you imagine the chaos that ensues when Bilbo and Thorin mysteriously disappear for months and then return with a hobbit baby with blue eyes and dark wavy hair

[syrenqinche]

I don't know, You tell me ~ Sylus

synopsis: Sylus is usually a very patient man but when you overstep your boundaries and make him reel with jealousy, you are in for the angst of your life, soothed over by some mind-blowing lovemaking.

content and warnings: smut, mdni! jealousy, miscommunication, possessive Sylus, angsty themes, silent treatment, teasing, provoking, p in v, org*sm denial, makeup s*x, dacryphilia, size kink, swearing

"My baby dragon." you type into your phone as a smile curves onto your lips. "Breakfast is ready, wanna come eat?"

*sent*

On alternate Sundays, the two of you take turns to make each other your favorite breakfast dishes. It was your turn today, and you had prepared a hearty meal for your boyfriend, the famed leader of Onichynus for the good people of the N109 Zone, but an adorable plushie for you, your beloved Sylus.

You wait for him to reply to your text or his heavy footsteps to descend the spiral staircase of his lavish condo, but none of it happens. You lean against the counter, watching the steam emanate from your freshly cooked dishes.

"Y/N?" you hear the sound of your name, but it isn't a deep, velvety voice saying it. It's Kieran.

"Oh, hey" you give Kieran a nervous smile. "Where's the bossman?"

"Oh, he-" Kieran's face is obstructed by his crow mask but you could tell he is panicking. "He left for work a while ago. Um, he won't be back until after lunch."

You furrow your brows at the boy. "What? He didn't tell me before going though. And what work on Sunday?" to which Kieran simply shrugs.

You turn your attention back to your phone and send him another text.

"Is everything alright, baby. Where are you??"

You see a *read* pop-up beside your message, but no reply following it.

You try to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. Normally, Sylus would respond right away—whether it was with a quick "I love you" or a silly comment about the breakfast you made for him. The fact that he hasn’t bothered to even text you back feels… wrong. It’s not like him. From the corner of your eye, you notice Kieran has started to fidget.

"You know something, don't you?" you narrow your eyes at the perplexed boy but he simply raises his hands. "I don't! Anyway, gotta run an errand. See ya, Y/N!" he blurts out, fleeing from the scene and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your appetite is gone now from anxiety pulling up in your abdomen, and you leave the spread you've made untouched and decide to unwind in the shower. You can't stop thinking about it and keep checking your phone every 5 minutes like a maniac to see if there are any updates from him. Heck, you even check the local news to see if anything is really up.

Time goes by like a snail on a journey and by the time the clock strikes 3 PM, you're exhausted from worrying.

You're laying on the bed, hopeless and shaky when the door to your room creaks open. You jump up and sit on your bed as Sylus enters the room, removing his leather jacket and placing his motorcycle helmet on one of the dressers.

"Where have you been?" you demand, slightly irritated. "And why haven't you been replying?"

Sylus uncuffs his sleeves and runs a hand through his light hair, heading towards the bath.

"I'm asking you something!" you raise your voice slightly, in case he somehow managed to miss what you said.

"Just busy." he replies shortly, voice devoid of much emotion.

Before he can shut himself in the bathroom, though, you get off the bed and run up to him frantically.

"Sylus, what's wrong, baby? Did I do something? You need to use your words." you say, holding on to his large arm with both of your shaky ones. He looks at you apprehensively and opens his mouth to say something.

Your phone cuts through the heavy air with three loud dings. You turn to look at it, and it starts ringing.

"I don't know, you tell me, Y/N." Sylus gives you a pained smirk as he removes his arm from your grasp and locks the bathroom door on your face.

He used my name. Not kitten, not sweetie, not honey! you think to yourself. It rarely happens that Sylus would resort to using your name. He adores you so much that he would come up with the cutest nicknames to call you.

You are stunned for a second and bite the inside of your cheek fervently on your way back to check your phone.

It's your hopeless, idiotic childhood friend spamming you again.

"Heyyy you uggo."

"Y'all reached home alright yesterday? you were pretty drunk, thank god your boyfriend came along to pick you up."

"Also what's with him, he's even bigger than me?? Also he looked like he wanted to strangle me?? WTF!!"

You sigh after reading the texts and start tapping away on your phone.

"Don't talk shit about him or I'll block you, Caleb. He's the most adorable person when you get to know him better."

you smile to yourself when you remember how your opinion of Sylus had transitioned when you got to know him better. You can't really blame Caleb here.

"Also, I reached home fine. Thanks for calling me, our class reunion went great. I wasn't hungover this morning, though, so was I even really that drunk?"

Caleb sent you a few thinking emojis.

"You were drunk enough to confess to me."

You almost dropped your phone when you read that. You didn't want to waste time texting, so you hit call. The phone rings twice before Caleb picks up.

"Hello?"

"Care to explain?" you hiss at him. "The fuckk are you talking about?"

"Oh calm down." Caleb dismissed you. "You were showing us a picture of your boyfriend, and the girls started swooning over him with endless praise to give."

"And?" you prod

"And well one of them asked what you'd do if the guy ever left you or broke up."

"He'd never-"

"Yes, let me finish." Caleb hissed back. "You told them you'd never do that and then perhaps as a joke, you mentioned that if he did, you'd hook up with and marry me, who had asked you out when we were little kids."

"You're right." you admit. "I certainly must have been drunk because what the hell, Caleb?"

"I know right!" Caleb feigned disgut but his voice sounded a little offended. "And that's when Mr. brooding handsome walked in. I think he just heard the last part. He looked taken aback, I'm not sure anyone else noticed because they were too busy gushing over how hot he was."

"Wait, Sylus heard what I rambled about?" you ask just to make sure. "He heard that I'd leave him and hook up with you?"

"Perhaps, that's my guess." Caleb acknowledges.

You feel as if someone had poured cold water on your head. It made sense now!

"Well thanks, mate. I needed this information. Talk to you later."

"But will you really marry me-"

you cut the call before he could finish.

Right on cue, Sylus exits the bath, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and another one being used to dry his dripping hair. He doesn't make eye contact with you as he heads to the closet to look for a set of clothes to change into.

You approach him and run a finger down his wet back, making him curve it slightly at the stimulus.

"My baby..." you coo at him, hugging him from behind.

"You'll get yourself wet." he states, not turning around.

"Since when have you been afraid of getting me wet." you smirk, digging your face into his wide back.

"Let go," he mutters, his voice flat, as he attempts to pull away from your arms. But this time, you refuse to let go.

"Sylus, I'm sorry," you whisper, burying your nose into the warmth of his back. "I know what happened... it was a misunderstanding. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

At your words, he finally turns to face you. His crimson eyes burn with a mix of disappointment and hurt, and the sight nearly shatters you. It’s all you can do not to break down in front of him.

"You wouldn't be saying such things if you hadn't been thinking about them. Alcohol brings out people's true nature, sweetheart."

"I wasn’t thinking about it!" you protest desperately, the words tumbling out in a rush. "The girls were teasing me, and I just wanted to show them that you’d never leave me. The thought of it is so absurd that I could joke about marrying Caleb—because it wouldn’t happen!"

His gaze hardens, and his next words land like a heavy blow. "You know how I feel about being abandoned, don’t you, Y/N?"

Your heart skips a beat. "That wasn’t my intention! Please, just—"

"Forget it." he cuts you off. "I don’t want to hear it. Humans are vile creatures. They’ll shower you with love, only to rip it away in an instant, leaving you broken and bleeding." His words are heavy with old scars as he turns away, his figure retreating from you.

"Sylus, wait—" You try reaching out, but he doesn’t look back. He won’t listen.

"I need time alone. Sorry," he says without pause, his voice distant as he walks out, leaving you standing in the quiet emptiness of your ornate bedroom.

You cling on to the hope that maybe Sylus will come back. You did apologize after all. He'll surely come back by night. He will forgive you. Surely, right?

You lay on the cold sheets, eyes wide open, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling of your beautiful bedroom, completely devoid of sleep. His huge bed seems to have tripled in size when he's not there, entangled with you, pressing fluttering kisses to your stomach.

When you wake up the next morning, groggy from absolute lack of sleep, and head downstairs, you find the house deserted.

You feel a chill run up your spine but remind yourself that it is Monday and you need to head to the Hunter's Association Office for the day's work.

On the way there, you text him.

"Have a good day, Sy. How are you feeling now? See you in the evening?"

*read*

The day goes by, and you return to a cold, dark house.

Caleb calls to check on you, but you're too restless to answer. Your nerves are frayed, and the phone just sits in your hand, silent. Another sleepless night drags on.

"Sylus, I'm scared," you text him again, your fingers trembling as you type. The thought of him not replying makes your chest tighten. You stare at the screen, willing him to respond. Ten minutes feel like hours before your phone finally chimes.

"The house is secured. No harm will come to you."

Another long night passes. Then another endless day, filled with battles against wanderers and endless paperwork, all while you’re haunted by the emptiness in the space where he should be.

This time when you pass through the door to the house, you slump to the ground, shaking and your chest heaving. You hear a crow's caw in the distance as you will yourself to get up and drag yourself to the bedroom. You're already looking chalkier than before thanks to barely eating or sleeping these past three days.

You hug your knees close as you check your phone again. This time you don't text him and hit the call button.

He picks up in three rings.

"I miss you." you tell him only to be met by silence.

"Please, I miss you. I can't do this, Sylus." you hear his footsteps, going somewhere but no reply.

"Do you really hate me that much now?" you ask with a quivering voice.

"Can I enter?" he speaks finally and you hear a soft knock on your door. You gasp as the phone drops out of your hand and the door swings open, revealing an uncharacteristically disheveled Sylus, who rushes over to you, removing his coat.

Your stomach turns as he wraps his arms around you.

"I can never hate you and you know that." His soft tone is back as his lips move over the shell of your ear. You grab onto his shirt so hard, fisting balls of fabric as if he will disappear again if you let go.

"Mephisto has been monitoring you for days and reporting back to me. I never once left you unattended."

"I-I'm s-sorry. I'm really sorry. I never meant to make you feel abandoned. You know-" tears pool up in your eyes.

"Shhh, sweetie." he presses a long finger to your fluttering lips.

"I'm sorry, I went too far." he says, pressing his forehead to yours. "If you're able to forgive me, let me make it up to you."

Something sparks inside your brain and you stop crying instantly.

"You-" you pull at his hair. "You stupid, gullible, annoying little-"

"Ah, ah, ah! my hair." Sylus lets out a mock scream, holding your wrists.

"I hate you, Sylus." you climb on top of his crotch and pin him flat to the bed.

"Do you really think that low of me?" you ask, roughly grabbing his chin with three of your fingers. He looks at you with his red eyes widening with excitement and astonishment. "Do you think I'd ever able to fall in love with another man after meeting you?" you demand, twisting his chin.

"Do you think I can ever sleep with someone else after getting a taste of you, you demonic little dragon!"

"I know, I know, kitten." he starts but you cut him off by pinching his lips shut and sinking down on him, your lips a mere inch from his. Sylus parts them in anticipation but the kiss he so fervently desires never comes. He bucks himself up to smooch you but you retract your body, making him slump down in defeat and irritation.

"Please?" He asks, his deep voice getting deeper with lust.

You don't reply.

"Please, Y/N? I need you so bad. It's been four days now." he begs, narrowing his eyes. You had just made love the night before that incident and unbeknownst to you, both of you were yearning for each others touch in merely a couple of days.

"I don't know. I heard you but I'm not going to answer!" you tease him, crossing your hands across your chest. "Really?" He raises a brow as he grabs you by the wrist and brings you down over him yet again, the wet trail of tears on your cheek transferring to his face now.

He kisses you like a starved animal, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He cages your head with his hands and doesn't let you resurface for air until your lust gets the best of you and you begin to roll your hips over his crotch in languid circles.

"F-fuck." he gasps, breaking the kiss and looking down to where your body meets his. You kiss him deeper to take his attention away from your lower bodies and simulatenously, you unzip his pants, feeling his bulge grow and threaten to burst from under his briefs. You massage it gratefully and tenderly as it squirms in your hands.

"Excited now, are we?" you purr at him, separating your lips from his while a link of saliva keeps the two of you connected. You kiss his nose.

"It's getting so big, why does it feel like it's bigger than my hand." You take one look underneath you and his angry pink tip is poking out his briefs at this point, pointing at you with desperation in its color.

"Oh, Sylus~"

"Enough now." Sylus snaps, suddenly rising from his position and gripping your hips to flip your positions. He greedily pulls down your panties and holds each of your legs in his robust hands to pin them close to your ears, letting your knees fall on his shoulders for some support with your dress riding up and bunching underneath your sore breasts.

He licks his lips as he eyes your leaking pussy.

"What is this?" He purrs back at you. "And you said I'm excited?" he plunges a finger into you as it makes a loud squelching noise, making your hands race to you hold his one hand in both of yours.

"W-wait."

"If you don't want this, I'll stop." He states darkly.

You blush and pout at him.

"I wanted the cock..."

Something clicks in Sylus' head as his eyes start gleaming with a rush of excitement.

"Getting greedy, aren't we?" He says, freeing his grown manhood from the confines of his boxers. He strokes it a few times to prep it for its grand entrance.

"Nghh.. hurry!" you squeal, trying to grab at his cock from your vulnerable position but he catches your hands mid-journey.

"Calm down." He grins at you, rubbing your slimy clit with his bulbous tip.

"I've waited enough." you tear up. "I've waited for days! For you to even look at me again."

"You really want it that bad kitten?" he asks, his expression twisting into one of pride as he towers over you.

"I want it, I want it so much. I want all of it!" you moan out as he pushes the tip inside your wet hole and brings it out, earning a whine from you.

"Hmm...?" he cocks his head to the side, continue to glide his tip over your clit as you fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You wouldn't be able to, when Sylus is holding your thighs next to your head and your hands in his tight one-handed grasp.

He uses the thumb of his other hand to rub circles on your clit while he swipes his tip up and down your nether lips, humming to himself. It feels so good, you feel a bubble grow inside your stomach.

"Oh god, I-" you gasp. But right before the bubble could burst, Sylus retracts himself completely and you widen your eyes at him.

"What did you just-"

"I don't know, kitten. Couldn't give you your high for free when you plan to marry someone else, now, can I?" he smirks at you as you tear up even more.

"N-no! Put it back!"

Sylus leans over and presses his tongue to your clit before your high can completely fade away.

"Yes! Yeah, like that!" you scream as flicks your sensitive nub and continues to hum, sending explosive pulsations throughout your nerves.

"Oh, oh! Sy-"

And then he retracts again.

This time, you fight against his grasp to grab his neck. But he's too big. Too strong.

He merely chuckles at your weak attempts to free yourself.

"Seriously, fuck you!" you screech at him. "Fuck you, Sylus."

"Ahaha, look at my angry little kitten. I love to tame you like this." He smiles at you with love but you just want him to fuck the brains out of you right now. You wriggle enough of your hand out of his grasp to start rubbing yourself but he is quick to notice.

"There, there." he pushes your hand back into his iron hold.

"Fine kitten, let me make sure you forget someone by the name of 'Caleb' even exists."

With that he finally puts his cock into your weeping hole, halfway. I-it won't fit just yet, earning an explosive gasp from you. Sylus cocks an eyebrow at you.

"T-too big." you manage to say.

"Oh, do I-"

"No!" you protest. "More. I want all of it. Put it all in. It's mine. Only mine."

"Look at you, sweetie. Sure you can take all of it? have my doubts." he teases but you are determined.

"I'm leaking all over the bed, now's the chance, Sy." you reassure him and with a smooth motion, he puts in his entire length into making you see the stars. It takes you a few seconds to come back to Earth when he finally starts moving. He's fully folded you into a mating press now, his sweat dripping onto your chest as he grunts and groans, his tip hitting your cervix at this point.

"More! I want more!" you say as if it was even possible to take in more but it just motivates Sylus to increase his pace and intensity. His wet hair now sticking to yours as he doubles down.

You feel your orgasm building up again with each powerful thrust of his.

"Remind me, who do you belong to?" he rasps, nearing his own high.

"That stupid fuckface. I'll bury him alive if I see hiim again."

"Sy-Sylus!" you scream, your insides tingling and your walls pulsating around his girth. "You! I only belong to you! I'm all yours!"

"That's right kitten." he growls. "You're only mine." with this he picks you up and place you onto his lap, pounding up into you hopelessly. With a near feral moan, you come undone on him and he follows after soon, shooting copious amounts of his seed right into you. The both of you rasp and gasp as you come down from your respective highs, pressing your foreheads together.

He doesn't pull out even when his cock goes soft and you smile sheepishly as you kiss his eyelids.

"My dragon. Only mine..."

You place a final kiss on his lips, chaste yet loving. Sylus looks at you like you're his entire world.

"If you pull this shit again baby." you warn him, keeping steady eye contact. "No sex for you for the next six months."

He gives you his signature smirk. "I'll just marry Caleb then." he says making you roll your eyes at him and punch his shoulder as the two of you giggle and pull the blanket over your heads.

[slvbun]

THORNTON PRINCESS ♡ Rafe Cameron

content: little exhibitionism, little age gap, mentions of virginity, oral (f. receiving), praising, little degrading, little manipulation, cheating??

a/n: a request I couldn't fit on the box answer lol

The pool party thrummed with laughter, splashing, and the clink of champagne glasses filled the air. It was Topper’s little sister eighteenth birthday, and the Kooks strutted around in their designer swimsuits, oozing privilege. Rafe leaned against the patio railing, a beer loose in his hand, his piercing gaze slicing through the crowd. He wasn’t here for the small talk or the cake. He was here for her.

The little Thornton was a fucking vision, petite and fragile, with long blonde hair glinting like gold in the evening light and big blue eyes that shimmered with a soft innocence. She’d always been there, a quiet little shadow trailing Topper when they were kids. Back then, she’d been all pigtails and sandy toes, tugging at Rafe’s sleeve with her tiny hands to show him a seashell or a flower.

“Rafe, look!” she’d chirp, her small frame barely reaching his chest. He’d ruffle her hair, smirking at how she’d light up like he was her whole world. She wasn’t like Topper or her prissy family, no Kook arrogance in her. Her nanny had raised her gentle, humble, a little too pure for this gilded cage. Rafe had always noticed her, even when he shouldn’t have. She’d been pretty, too pretty, in that untouchable, kid-sister way. Off-limits.

But now? Now she was eighteen, legal, and, fuck, she’d turned into something irresistible. Her sundress clung to her slight curves, the pale pink fabric swaying over her tiny waist and hips, but it was the bikini underneath that caught his eye, bright teal peeking out, the bottoms tied loose at her sides. She was giggling by the pool, her bare feet dangling in the water, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Some guy, a Kook prick with a fake tan, was sitting too close, murmuring something that made her blush. Rafe’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, his knuckles white.

“She’s got a boyfriend now,” Topper said, sauntering up with that smug grin Rafe wanted to smash. “Met him at some charity brunch. Total tool, but she's into him. Guess she’s not a kid anymore, huh?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched.

“Yeah. Guess not.” His voice was low, barely masking the heat simmering inside. That little girl who used to chase him around, her blue eyes starry with adoration? Dating some asshole? No fucking way.

He watched her too long, the way her lips curved when she laughed, the way her dress shifted, hinting at those soaked bikini bottoms underneath. Then she stood, excused herself from her date, and slipped inside the house. Rafe didn’t wait. He ditched his beer and followed.

The kitchen was cooler, quieter, the party’s buzz muffled by the glass doors. She stood at the counter, pouring lemonade, her blonde hair glowing under the lights. She didn’t hear him until the door clicked shut. She jumped, nearly spilling her drink, and turned, her blue eyes wide.

“Rafe!” Her voice was bright, edged with surprise. “You scared me.”

He smirked, stepping closer.

“Sorry, princess. Didn’t mean to.” His eyes raked over her, slow, deliberate. Petite as fuck, barely up to his shoulders, but that dress and bikini combo was lethal. “You look good tonight. All grown up.”

Her cheeks went pink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at her drink. “Thanks. It’s… weird, you know? Being eighteen. Feels like I’m supposed to be different now.”

“You are,” he said, his voice dropping as he closed in. He could smell her, sweet, like vanilla and sugar, but with a musky undertone that hit him like a drug. That primal scent made his cock twitch, his blood run hot. “You smell good too. Real fucking good.”

She blinked up at him, confused, then laughed nervously. “What? Rafe, you’re so weird.”

“Am I?” He was close enough to feel her heat now. His knuckles grazed her arm, and she shivered, her tiny frame trembling. “Used to follow me around like a little doll, remember? Always begging me to play hide-and-seek, tripping over those skinny legs. And now you’re out there giggling with that loser. What’s his name?”

“Jake,” she said, her voice softer, uncertain. “He’s nice.”

“Nice,” Rafe mocked, his hand sliding to her chin, tilting her face up. Her blue eyes locked with his, huge, innocent, they still undid him. “You don’t need nice, doll. You’re too good for that. Too pretty.”

Her breath hitched, lips parting. “Rafe, what are you say—”

He cut her off, stepping in until her back hit the counter, pinning her small body with his. “Don’t play dumb, princess. I’ve seen how you look at me. Even back then—those big blue eyes staring like I was your hero. Bet you dreamed about me, huh? Bet you still do.”

She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the counter, her chest heaving. “You’re Topper’s friend. You’re… older.”

“Not that much older,” he growled, his hand dropping to her hip, squeezing her tiny waist. “And you’re legal now. No more excuses.” He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away.”

She didn’t say a word. Her breathing quickened, her petite body quaking, and that was all he needed.

He kissed her, hard, possessive, his tongue claiming her mouth. She whimpered, her small hands clutching his shirt, and he groaned, grinding his hips into hers. His cock was rock-hard in his shorts, pressing against her. He pulled back, staring down at her, flushed, panting, those blue eyes dazed with want.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he muttered, his hand sliding under her dress, brushing her trembling thigh. “Bet you’re a virgin, aren’t you? Never let that prick touch you like this.”

“I… I haven’t,” she whispered, her voice shaky, and it sent a surge straight to his dick.

“Good girl,” he purred, his fingers teasing higher, finding the damp edge of her bikini bottoms. “Saving this tight little pussy for someone who knows how to ruin it.”

He dropped to his knees, shoving her dress up to her waist, and she gasped, her small hands grabbing his shoulders. “Rafe, wait—everyone’s outside—”

“Let ‘em hear,” he said, yanking her bikini bottoms down her slim legs. They were soaked, absolutely drenched, the teal fabric dark with her arousal, clear slick clinging to the insides. Shit, she was ovulating, and it’d made her a fucking mess, her pussy glistening, leaking down her thighs in shiny, wet streaks. He groaned, spreading her legs wider, and slapped her clit lightly, making her yelp. “Look at you, dripping like a slut already. Been wanting this for years, haven’t you? Dirty little princess.”

She moaned and he dove in. His tongue licked a slow, filthy stripe up her slit, tasting her, sweet, musky, and so fucking wet from her ovulation that it coated his lips instantly. She shuddered, her petite frame shaking, and he pinned her thighs open, sucking her clit into his mouth.

"Oh my God, Rafe,” she whined, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He ate her out like a man possessed, sloppy and desperate, his tongue flicking her swollen clit, then plunging into her tight, leaking hole. Her slick was everywhere, clear and wet, dripping down his chin, pooling on the counter beneath her. She was so goddamn fertile, her body begging for it, and he slapped her pussy again, harder, making her cry out as more juices leaked out.

“Stay still,” he growled, “or I’ll spank this cunt ‘til you’re screaming.”

“Rafe, please,” she whimpered, and he smirked, rubbing her clit with his thumb while his tongue fucked her deeper, lapping up every drop.

“Say it,” he demanded, pulling back to look up at her, his face slick with her, his eyes dark. “Say I’m better than him. Say you want me more.”

“You’re better,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he sucked her clit hard. “Fuck, Rafe, you’re so much better—please don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He devoured her, rubbing her clit in tight circles until she was thrashing, her moans loud and reckless. He could hear the party, Topper’s voice, Jake’s laugh, and it only spurred him on, knowing he was taking her right here. She came with a shattered sob, her tiny thighs clamping around his head, her wet, pulsing pussy gushing against his tongue as he licked her through it, her clear slick soaking him.

When he stood, wiping his mouth with a grin, she was wrecked, dress bunched up, cheeks red, blue eyes glazed. He kissed her, letting her taste her own mess, and whispered, “Happy birthday, princess. You’re mine now.”

She nodded, breathless, and he knew she was. All his now.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Thank you for everything you do! This page is amazing! I’m looking for #Sterek where One of them is super smart and the other is the best athlete, they don’t run in the same clicks, but outside of school they are close! Anything like that? TYIA!!

I love this trope!

begin again by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 2,501 I Teen)

Ten years ago Derek turned down Stiles for prom.

Now it's high school reunion time.

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin

(1/1 I 4,153 I Teen)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 4,537 I Not Rated)

Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

But Then What... by orphan_account

(3/3 I 24,343 I Explicit)

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

The Awkward Love Life Of A Sheltered College Werewolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

(10/10 I 30,134 I Explicit)

Derek had been used to being home schooled. Being used to be surrounded by pack, and nothing but pack. When he decides he's going to attend college, like a normal person, his family has a fit. Derek goes anyway. It's scary and new and exciting. Then he meets Stiles. Then...Things get even more exciting.

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo

(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen)

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

If you asked me if I love him, I’d lie by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries)

(18/18 I 37,305 I Explicit)

Derek has already typed the entire report out and even got all of the stuff prepared for the poster that Stiles and him will have to present. Derek found that he actually didn’t mind doing all the work when it was Stiles he was doing it for, but he wasn’t going to let Stiles get away completely. He was going to get Stiles to come over and help with the poster, so help him god.

When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

(6/6 I 135,402 I Mature)

It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?!

Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school.

The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.

That Stiles? But it couldn’t be!

Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays

(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)

Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.

Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.

[lunamond]

I know this is by no means a new take (especially here on tumblr) but I'm of the very strong opinion that as written, the Acotar series actually provides a lot of evidence that most (if not all) of Rhysand's actions are in some shape or form always about Tamlin. Even his relationship with Feyre is about Tamlin.

A lot of people hold up Acomaf ch54 as this super romantic turning point for Rhys' character, which is incredibly funny to me because to me it only ever cemented the unfathomable levels of homoerotic obsession Rhysand has for Tamlin.

He admits that during Acotar he convinced Amarantha to let him go out of Utm to check on Tamlin and the Spring court, where he then left a decapitated head branded with the Night court symbol, like some weird bat shaped cat.

He also visits for Calamnai. (What are you doing here on the spring sex festival night, Rhysss?!? He isn't going to pick you!)

Obviously his meeting with Tamlin in Acotar is a classic for any Tamsand fan, his voice is a "lover's caress," he demands Tamlin call him Rhys instead of Rhysand for old times' sake (???!!), he threatenes Feyre‘s life to make Tamlin get on his knees and specifically fixates on her sexual thoughts about Tamlin.

When he kisses her utm to cover up Tamlin‘s scent, she also weirdly remarks on the fact that Rhysand can still taste Tamlin, which... is quite the odd thing to point out, if I'm meant to believe he is only interested in Feyre.

He also has literally admitted, to Feyre herself no less, that his weird roofy lapdance humiliation of her utm was specifically to upset Tamlin.

It just screams of "if I can't have you than I'm going to make your life miserable and steal your girl" behavior.

All his posturing in front of Feyre, presenting himself as the most powerful HL, the prettiest, the best and most just ruler, etc just comes across as him desperately trying to prove how much better he is than Tamlin, which obvs was intended to make him appear more attractive as the new love interest, but quite frankly it just seems kinda pathetic (I mean this affectionately, especially in the context of Tamsand. But eve beyond the ship, I just really adore pathetic fictional men).

Even in Acofas, he cannot stay away from the Spring court, he claims he needs to go there for diplomatic reasons, but he literally has courtiers? He has send both Cassian and Lucien on diplomatic missions before? Why would he personally need to go?

But, when he meets with Tamlin, he tells him that being with Feyre (his mate and supposedly love of his life?!) isn't enough, and he tries to goad Tamlin into a fight. (He wants to wrestle him so bad it makes him look stupid fr). When Tamlin doesn‘t respond like Rhysand hopes, he gets disappointed and dejected. Later, he returns and cooks Tamlin food, an action that has been explicitly romantically coded in this series...

Also, as a side note throughout that entire interaction, Rhys' internal monologue can't shut up about how green Tamlin‘s eyes are.

I'm hyper critical of the Acotar series and Sjm on the best of days, I don't like how Rhysand's character is written at all. But reading him as the most egregious case of a closeted gay guy channelling all his surpressed feelings into being the most toxic ex might be the only way his character writing can be redeemed for me personally (unfortunately Sjm is too much of a coward to ever purposefully write this).

I know its never gonna happen in canon, but to me the perfect resolution to the series would be Rhysand and Tamlin resolving their gay rivalry and finally getting together to live out their thruth as the disaster couple they were clearly meant to be. While Feyre and her sisters get to go off and be free from the clutches of all these toxic men.

[emmyrosee]

angel face 🩵 oliverrrrrrrrr

SENT whaaaaaaaatttt

Oliver can’t help but smirk at his phone. You have a criminal hold on him, something he couldn’t even begin to process getting rid of, nor would he even really want to. He steps away from his teammates for a moment, not wanting there to be eyes on him while you pester him.

angel face 🩵 can i ask u a question?

He smirks.

SENT id be mad if you didn’t princess

angel face 🩵 GREAT SEGWAY

You send him a picture of a group of Disney princesses, some Oliver recognizes, others a little bit under his radar.

angel face 🩵 who do you think is the prettiest princess? 🥺

Now, he grins fully, not willing to fall into your trap. He’s known you for too long to take your bait and start the world’s most adorable pouting fit. He rolls his shoulders, letting his fingers work their, as he happily calls it, magic, before sending the text that will have you falling at his feet when he gets home.

SENT you, angel

He sighs happily.

angel face 🩵 what

wait

what bitch already did this with you

He frowns.

His fingers have never moved faster than to call you, his adrenaline pumping as he clicks the call button and holds the phone to his ear, the ringing mocking him as he waits for your end of the phone to be picked up.

You do. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Baby,” he says softly, but he can’t help the grin that tugs his cheeks. “Don’t even joke like that, you know this lovin’ is for you and you alone.”

“Yeah? And you just happened to know exactly where my adorable question was going?” You grumble.

“I’ve been with you long enough to know your antics, babe,” he chuckles. “Don’t be mad at the player, you need to up the game.”

“And you’re going to sleep on the couch.”

He lets out a laugh and drops his head in defeat, “will that make you forgive me?”

“It’s a start,” you huff. The line goes silent for a bit only your soft breathing coming from the line before you sigh softly, “you promise no side bitches did this already with you?”

“I can barely handle your crazy ass, you think I can handle other women?”

“Could be men too.”

He snickers, “no, baby. No other side pieces did this with me. Besides,” he chews his lip. “I know you got this off TikTok. I’ve seen the thumbnails for it.”

You go quiet. He’s got you.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he sings. “I gotta go, but we’ll continue this discussion when I get home, little miss.”

“Your stuff is going to be on the sidewalk,” you hiss.

“I look forward to it.” He smiles, “I love you.” You grumble something under your breath, and he clicks his tongue, “what was that?”

“Ugh, I love you too,” you snarl. “Bye.”

“Bye baby.” You end the call first, the dial tone signaling the end of the discussion, but he merely brings the phone to his chest to ease his happy, smitten heart.

“Troublemaker.”

[smystermy]

𝐡𝐲𝐠𝐠𝐞

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant (but it isn't important to this fic); set some time after his defection; you both co-parent nanako-mimiko; established relationship; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; making up after a fight; inspired by this prompt.

warnings: just a tiny bit of angst.

word count: 949.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

The house feels too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind—the kind that usually comes when Nanako and Mimiko are fast asleep, and the night settles over them like a thick, warm blanket. No—this is the kind of quiet that feels off, like an empty space where something should be.

Where you should be.

Geto exhales slowly, sinking deeper into the couch, an arm draped over his forehead. His fingers tap idly against his stomach as he stares at the ceiling, waiting.

For what, exactly? He isn’t sure.

Earlier, you had been upset—he remembers the sharp huff of your breath, the way your lips had pressed into a thin line, the little furrow between your brows that always deepened when you were annoyed. He had tried to smooth things over, fingers brushing through your hair, a quiet, “C’mon, don’t look at me like that,” murmured into the space between you.

But you had turned away from his touch, huffing, “Just—go, Senpai.”

So he had listened.

He had left, giving you the space you seemed to want.

And yet, now, something gnaws at him—

A quiet restlessness.

He shifts, turning his head toward the hallway, his eyes lingering on the door that separates you from him before they slip away, drawn to the ceiling above.

He wonders if you’re curled up in bed, arms wrapped around his pillow like it’s some kind of weak substitute for him. If you’re tugging the blanket up to your chin, trying to will yourself to sleep but failing. If you’re still annoyed, or if the silence is bothering you too.

Then—he hears it.

A shift of sheets. The quiet creak of the mattress as weight is lifted. A slow, hesitant shuffle of feet against the wooden floor.

Geto doesn’t move right away. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, listening, waiting as your presence grows closer. He can hear the way your steps falter near the entrance of the hallway, like you're hesitating, like you don't want to seem like you’re seeking him out—but you are.

He almost smiles.

Instead, he turns his head just slightly, catching sight of you standing in the doorway, wrapped in his oversized shirt—the one he’d tossed onto the bed earlier. The fabric swallows you up, the sleeves hanging over your hands as you fidget with the hem. Your hair is mussed from sleep, your eyes still heavy-lidded, and there’s something soft, almost shy about the way you’re looking at him.

Like you don’t actually want the distance you asked for.

Geto watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and tender. His voice, when he finally speaks, is quieter than before. Softer.

"Couldn’t sleep?"

You hesitate, shifting your weight between your feet, like you don’t want to admit it. Like you’re debating whether to be stubborn or honest.

Then, finally—

"I don’t like being alone."

It’s not what he expected, but it makes something in his chest ache.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his head against the couch. “I thought you wanted space.”

You look away, fidgeting again. “I don’t need space,” you mumble. “I need you.”

There it is.

A slow, deeply fond smile tugs at his lips, warmth pooling in his chest, seeping into his very bones. You take a small, sleepy step closer, then another, your fingers reaching for his wrist. Trying to tug him up.

But you’re so drowsy, and your grip is weak, barely making him budge.

He lets you try. Lets you pull at him with those soft, tired little tugs. Lets you cling, wordlessly asking him to come with you.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable.

"You’re not very strong, huh?" he muses, his tone dripping with amusement.

You huff, brows pinching, lips pressing into a sleepy pout. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, but he doesn’t make you wait any longer. With an easy stretch, he rises, wrapping an arm around your waist. And the moment he does, you melt into him completely, pressing your face into his chest with a soft, content sigh.

Geto exhales, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you without a second thought. His hands are warm against you, steady—like you were always meant to fit into his hold like this.

"C’mon," he murmurs, already walking you back toward the bedroom. "Let’s go to sleep."

Inside, Nanako and Mimiko are curled up at the far end of the mattress, their quiet breathing filling the space. The room is warm, the blankets soft, the air thick with the comfort of home.

He tucks you in first, pulling the blanket snug around you like he’s wrapping up something precious. Then, finally, he slides in beside you, and the moment he does—

You reach for him immediately.

Fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Body pressing close, seeking his warmth like you need it to breathe.

Geto chuckles softly, tucking you even closer, letting you burrow against him like you’re trying to fuse into his skin.

"You're clingy when you're tired," he teases, brushing his lips against your temple.

"Mmm," you hum, already half-asleep, your breath warm against his neck. "You like it."

And he does.

He won’t say it, but he does.

As your breathing evens out, as your warmth settles into him and the weight of the day dissolves into the quiet hush of the night, Geto buries his nose into your hair, breathing you in.

If making up always feels like this, he might just have to make you mad more often.

…Not too mad, though.

Just enough to have you curling into him like this, clinging like he’s the only thing in the world you want to hold on to.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[yandere-sins]

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

[nanamineedstherapy]

The Cruelty of Time

Nanami Kento x F!Reader, Gojo Satoru x F!Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader

Summary: Nanami/Gojo/Sukuna always know when something is wrong. He gives you space. He waits. But patience only lasts so long when the woman he adores refuses to speak. If words won’t do, he has other ways of making you talk. (All men get their separate parts & have different readers, but the plot is connected, so it's recommended to read all.) Trigger Warnings: Fluff & SMUT (MDNI), Porn with feelings (because he cares), Four-Armed True Form Sukuna, Someone taps out mid-sexy time, Mirror show-off moment, Enthusiastic consent, Sukuna’s a menace, not a villain, Someone is possessive but in a feminist way, Sexy age crisis, Slow descent into madness (yours, not his), Nanami is the firmest soft dom, Gojo is fleeing for his life, Canon-typical patience, canon-untypical restraint, You won’t talk? They have other methods, Nanami & Gojo are problems, Gojo & Sukuna are societal threats. Kinks: Praise, Choking, Voice, Spanking, Manhandling (effective, controlled, ruining-you edition), A/N: Listen. There are two types of people in this world: 1. People who read JJK men's fics because they appreciate the depth of the character. 2. People who read JJK men's fics because they want to be handled. This fic is for the latter. As always, the reader can be hallucinated as any race or body type, no explicit descriptions have been used, but all men have different readers, and no, you are not allowed to double time them. I, too, am just a girl, standing in front of a fictional salaryman, begging him to fix me with violent backshots. Enjoy responsibly. Or don’t. I support all life choices here.

Nanami Kento x F!Reader

The sound of the front door clicking shut was soft, barely disrupting the quiet hum of the kitchen. But Nanami noticed immediately.

He didn’t look up right away, finishing the precise cut of the knife against the cutting board before setting it aside. The scent of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air, warm and inviting.

Yet, something felt off.

You hadn’t come running to him like you usually did.

He wiped his hands on a towel, finally turning toward the entrance.

Standing in the doorway, your shoulders slightly hunched, the usual brightness in your gaze absent. You didn’t even remove your shoes right away, just lingered there, fingers toying with the strap of your bag.

Nanami set the towel down.

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice steady, but his sharp gaze didn’t miss the way you avoided his eyes. “Is something wrong?”  

You hesitated for just a second—so quick an average person wouldn’t have caught it—before forcing a small, practiced smile. “No, it’s nothing. Just… a long day.”

A deflection.  

Nanami exhaled silently, slow and measured, before stepping toward you. His presence was grounding, solid, and when he reached out to cup your face, his touch was warm, his thumbs grazing your cheeks with quiet insistence.  

“Tell me.”  

Your lips parted, and for a moment, he thought you might actually say it.

But then you shook your head, slipping from his grasp with a tired laugh. “It’s nothing, really.”  

Nanami didn’t believe that for a second. He knew you too well.

But he let you go—for now.  

However, Nanami Kento was nothing if not patient.

He watched you carefully.

During dinner, he served your plate first. When you barely picked at the food, he refilled your miso soup, watching for any reaction.

You still wouldn’t talk.  

On the couch, he pulled you against him, resting a hand on your thigh, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. Your body melted into his, but you were quiet, too quiet.  

Fine. If you weren’t going to tell him, he’d make you.  

Nanami played his last card when you were pinned beneath him, his body braced above yours, his eyes searching yours with quiet, unwavering intensity. The weight of him was grounding, solid, leaving no room to escape. His fingers traced up your arm, slow, deliberate.  

You cracked.  

“A 14-year-old called me ‘aunt’ today.” Your voice wavered, as if the confession itself made the words more real. You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Kento, am I… old?”  

Nanami stared at you, processing your words. 

Then, to your utter horror, he chuckled—a deep, quiet sound, barely more than a breath but unmistakable. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

Your mouth fell open.  

You slapped his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he murmured, and that rare, faint smile of his appeared, brief but devastating.  

You groaned, cheeks heating. “You’re terrible.”

“Hardly,” he said, voice still laced with amusement, but his expression was already shifting, darkening. His fingers traced a slow line down your side, over the curve of your waist, before gripping your hip in a way that made heat pool low in your belly. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.  

“If you really need a reminder of how desirable you are, I can oblige.”  

The change in the air was instant.  

Before you could fully process what was happening, Nanami flipped you onto your stomach. The movement was smooth, practiced, possessive. 

A gasp escaped your lips, your pulse spiking as he pressed his weight against your back, his breath ghosting over your ear.  

“Take off your clothes.”  

His voice was calm—but absolute.  

A shiver ran down your spine, anticipation coiling hot in your stomach. Your fingers trembled slightly as you fumbled with the button and zipper of your pants. He didn’t help—not at first. He just watched, letting the tension build, his fingers grazing over your wrists as if testing your obedience.  

When you finally rid yourself of them, he took over. His hands—broad, warm, possessive—skimmed down your thighs, taking his time. Then, with no warning, he smacked your ass—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you jolt.  

Your breath hitched.  

“Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now stay just like that.”  

Nanami never rushed.  

And tonight would be no exception.  

His touch was deliberate, exploring every inch of you, his fingertips mapping out the places he already knew by heart. He traced the curve of your spine, following it with his lips, leaving a path of heat that made your stomach tighten.  

Then his hands found your breasts, locking them firmly in his broad forearms. The warmth of his palms, the slow drag of his fingers over sensitive skin—it was intoxicating.  

You arched instinctively, but his grip only tightened.  

“Stay still,” he murmured. His voice was low, gravelly, commanding. A quiet promise of what was to come.  

A sharp contrast to the way he leaned down, pressing his chest against your back, his body so warm, so solid behind you. The heat of his skin bled through the thin fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, his breath slow and controlled, sending another shiver down your spine.  

“You’re so beautiful like this.” His voice was husky, confident. “All spread out for me.” 

There was a smirk in his tone, but beneath it—something darker. Something that made your stomach coil tight with anticipation.  

His hands slid lower, tracing the dips and curves of your body, learning you all over again.

He was taking his time, savoring the moment, building the tension until you were left trembling beneath him, aching, waiting, wanting.

And Nanami Kento never left you wanting for long.

His fingers trail between your thighs, slow, deliberate, teasing the sensitive skin there. The warmth of his touch lingers, each stroke purposeful as he explores the softness of your inner thighs, coaxing shivers from your skin.

Then—contact. A jolt of pleasure snaps through you as Nanami's fingers find your slick folds. He starts gentle, the press of his fingertips measured, exploratory, before circling your clit with practiced precision. His strokes grow more confident, more insistent, like he's testing how much you can take before you unravel.

“K… Ken…” Your breath shudders as you moan his name, eyes fluttering shut when he pushes a finger inside you, slow. The stretch is just enough to make your thighs clench, your body arching into his touch.

His lips brush your ear, his voice a low murmur laced with quiet control. "You're so wet… so ready for me."

You don’t know if it’s ovulation or if he’s using his technique, but your body responds like you’ve been set alight. The heat is unbearable, a raw, urgent need that coils tight in your core. By the time he adds a third finger, you're trembling, barely able to keep yourself upright.

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, his tone rough with restraint. "Let go. Let me make you feel good."

His fingers move faster, precise and unrelenting, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. His other hand finds your chest, rolling and flicking your nipple between his fingers, sending sparks of sensation straight to where you need him most. His mouth follows, lips dragging over your neck, sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his. His soft blond hair falls over his forehead, half-shielding the dark intensity of his gaze.

The world beyond him dissolves. There's only his touch, his voice, the deep, aching need he ignites in you. And then—you're falling. Your body tightens, pleasure cresting and breaking in waves so powerful they leave you shaking.

Nanami doesn’t stop. He rides out your high, drawing every last pulse from your body until you slump forward, spent. But you barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers start moving again, slow but purposeful, building you up all over again.

This time, it's brutal—your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body wrung dry from the intensity of it. Your moan is near-silent, choked by the sheer force of pleasure as you convulse around his fingers.

His arms wrap around you before you can collapse completely, holding you firm against his chest, his voice a quiet, reverent murmur. "You're so beautiful when you come." His hands slide up your trembling form before he tilts your chin, forcing your gaze toward the large mirror in front of you. "Look."

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you see yourself—your skin flushed, lips swollen, body still trembling from his touch. And behind you, Nanami watches with dark, unreadable eyes, his presence imposing even in his quiet control.

“I could watch you all day.” He smirks against your skin.

The sharp click of his belt unbuckling cuts through the heavy silence. Your breath hitches. He moves unhurriedly, the rustle of fabric deliberate, almost taunting. Every sound, every movement is calculated restraint, meant to drive you mad with anticipation.

And then—you feel him. Hard and insistent against your hips, the heat of him searing even before he presses against your entrance.

His hands grip your hips, firm, grounding. The weight of his body blankets you, keeping you caged, controlled. The blunt pressure of his tip has your breath catching in your throat. He doesn’t push in—he waits.

"Tell me you want this," he murmurs, voice dark, edged with command.

Your fingers dig into the couch armrest, knuckles white. "I want it," you breathe, trembling. "I want you, Kento."

That’s all he needs.

His hips roll forward, pushing into you with devastating slowness. The stretch is exquisite—just shy of overwhelming—but you take it, back arching as you adjust to the fullness of him.

Nanami groans, deep and guttural, his hands tightening on your hips as he sinks in fully. "So tight," he mutters, voice strained. "Like I don’t stretch you open every night."

His first thrust is measured, testing, but the next is harder, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips. His hands slide up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as he leans over you, chest pressing flush against your back. When his lips find the sensitive spot where your neck meets your spine, he bites down, leaving a mark that has you gasping his name.

"Kento," you cry, voice breaking as he angles deeper, hitting that spot that makes you see white. "Please—"

“Please what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear. He knew exactly what he was doing, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, each one driving you closer to the edge. “Tell me.”

“Faster,” you begged, your nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “Harder.”

He obliged without hesitation. One hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing between your shoulder blades, shoving your face into the couch cushions as his pace turned brutal. The force of his thrusts sent shocks of pleasure rippling through you, each movement deliberate, punishing, like he was staking his claim all over again.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, obscene and rhythmic, punctuated by the ragged gasps you barely managed to choke out and the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His hands slid back to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fucked you like he needed you to break for him.

Then the angle shifted—deep, perfect—and the pleasure was blinding. You cried out, body convulsing as he found that devastating spot inside you, his pace relentless.

“You feel that?” His voice was thick with control, rough with need. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit with ruthless precision, making your legs quake. His free hand slid up, wrapping around your throat, tilting your head back just enough for his lips to graze the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice dark, velvety, commanding. “Let go for me.”

You couldn’t hold back if you tried. The pleasure coiled and snapped, tearing through you with a force that left you boneless. Your body clenched tight around him, pulling him deeper, and the curse of a man above you groaned, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he recovered, his grip tightening, dragging you through every last pulse of your orgasm.

But he wasn’t done.

He set a relentless pace, his thrusts deep, deliberate, designed to unravel you. You were lost to sensation, barely able to form words. Every nerve in your body burned with overstimulation, but Nanami was merciless, pushing you higher and higher, refusing to let you fall too soon.

“Kento—” Your voice broke, a plea tangled in your breathless moans. “I—I can’t—”

“You can.” His growl rumbled through you, dark and certain. “And you will.”

His grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you back to meet each thrust. You sobbed his name, your body trembling as he dragged you to the edge over and over, refusing to let you fall until he decided you were ready. The pleasure was unbearable, exquisite, a slow, torturous build that left you on the brink of madness.

Then, finally—he let you break.

You shattered, your body seizing around him as another orgasm crashed through you, this one harder, more intense, leaving you trembling, gasping, undone.

Nanami wasn’t far behind.

His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, more desperate as he chased his own release. His breath turned ragged, his grip bruising as he buried himself to the hilt, a guttural groan spilling from his lips as he spilled inside you, the heat of it sending another shudder through your already-wrecked body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Then, slowly, Nanami leaned over you, pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips warm, reverent.

He pulled out, a sharp exhale leaving him as he collapsed beside you, gathering you against his chest before you could even think to move. His arms locked around you, his presence solid, grounding. Against your back, you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat, slow, measured, as if he had all the time in the world to hold you.

“You’re not old,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “And you’re certainly not an ‘aunt.’” He tilted your chin, making sure you were looking at him. “You’re beautiful. And you’re mine.” His fingers brushed over your cheek, his touch achingly gentle compared to the way he’d just wrecked you. “Don’t ever forget that.”

A sleepy, satisfied smile tugged at your lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re biased.”

“Maybe.” His lips twitched into that rare, fleeting smile—the one only you ever got to see. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, utterly spent, you couldn’t help but think—maybe, just maybe, being called ‘aunt’ wasn’t so bad after all. Not when Nanami Kento was there to remind you exactly how wanted, how completely his you really were.

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

The front door clicked shut. Soft, nearly imperceptible under the hum of the TV and the distant rustling of Gojo Satoru digging through the pantry like a gremlin.

But he noticed immediately.

Not because he had superhuman reflexes (though, yeah, he did), but because you didn’t call out to him.

Usually, you’d beeline straight for him, drape yourself across the couch with a dramatic groan, and demand cuddles or snacks—sometimes both, depending on the severity of the day’s atrocities. But today?

You just stood there, fingers toying with the strap of your bag, expression unreadable.

Gojo poked his head out from the kitchen, a bag of chips in one hand and a smug grin already forming. “Baaaaabe,” he drawled. “Did you know that if you stare into the void long enough, it starts staring back?”

Nothing.

No laugh, no eye roll. Not even a scoff.

His grin faltered. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately. Too immediately.

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “That’s suspicious. That’s weird.”

You huffed, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. “I’m fine, Satoru.”

“You’re lying.” He was on you in an instant, looming at full height, his ridiculous socks skidding across the floor as he stopped right in your path. “I always know when something’s wrong.”

He bent forward, tilting his head to meet your eyes. His infinity wasn’t even on, but it still felt like there was no space between you. Just him—his scent, his warmth, the weight of his attention, all-consuming.

“Tell me.”

You pushed past him. “No.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d shot him. “What do you mean ‘no’?! I’m your husband! Your best friend! Your confidant, your one true love, your designated carrier of heavy objects—”

“I said it’s nothing,” you repeated, brushing past him to drop your bag onto the couch.

Gojo flopped down beside you, head immediately landing on your lap, limbs sprawling like a crime scene outline. “Fine,” he said, draping an arm across his face. “I’ll just die then.”

You ignored him.

For the next hour, he tried everything.

Subtle tactics (brushing your hair back, murmuring “soft little baby, tell me” in that unbearably sweet voice).

Not-so-subtle tactics (poking your cheek repeatedly until you looked at him).

Absolute war crimes (pulling out his phone and putting on the loudest, most obnoxious COD edits, even though he hated when you watched those).

But you were a fortress, a damn vault, giving him nothing but the occasional glare.

That was fine. Gojo loved a challenge.

He ramped it up—followed you to the kitchen, caging you against the counter with his arms. Then to the bedroom, sprawled across the bed, legs kicking like a toddler. Then the bathroom, where he straight-up sat on the floor outside the door.

“Y’know,” he said through the wood. “Consumerism has ruined women’s self-confidence. It’s criminal. Devastating. Society has—”

“Satoru, I swear to God—”

“Six-foot-three, by the way.”

You whipped open the door and smacked him with a towel.

“Hey!” he laughed, shielding himself. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes!”

And still, he persisted.

It wasn’t until he had you pinned against the bed, his weight pressing down, his hands bracing on either side of your head, that you finally cracked.

“A kid called me auntie today.”

Gojo blinked.

You stared up at him, mouth pressing into a thin line. “A 14-year-old kid, Satoru.” You swallowed hard, voice a little smaller now. “Am I… old?”

Gojo’s face went blank.

Then—

Then—

He wheezed.

Laughter exploded out of him, so sudden and uncontrollable he practically fell off you, rolling onto his back, clutching his stomach.

“Oh my God—”

You sat up, glaring. “Satoru—”

“Babe—” He gasped for air, wiping at his eyes. “Oh, babe, no—”

He didn’t get to finish.

You were already off the bed, marching to the kitchen.

His laughter died real fast when you returned with a wooden spoon, gripping it with murderous intent.

“Wait—WAIT—”

But you were on him, swinging with the precision of a seasoned warrior (Yaga).

Gojo scrambled, dodging like his life depended on it, flailing as you chased him around the apartment.

“You think this is funny?!” Smack.

“OW—BABE—” Smack.

“Satoru, I swear to GOD—” Smack.

“SORRY BABE, PLEASE—”

Somewhere between the third and fourth swing, Gojo finally caught the spoon, twisting it from your grip and flipping you onto the bed.

The air shifted instantly, thick with tension.

His weight pinned you, trapping you beneath him, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. “You wanna know what I think?”

You swallowed, body burning from the chase—and now, from something else entirely.

“I think,” he murmured, fingers trailing down your sides, slipping beneath your shirt with a tantalizing slowness, “that you’re fucking gorgeous.”

A shiver ran through you as heat coiled low in your stomach, intensifying under his touch.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart with infuriating ease, hiking your skirt up just enough to send your heart racing. “You drive me insane.” He kissed you—deep, dizzying, swallowing your breath as he rubbed against you. “And I’m gonna make you forget you ever cared about some dumbass kid’s opinion.”

As he leaned in closer, his mouth brushed against your clit through your soaked panties, igniting a spark that shot straight to your core.

With a flick of his wrist, he tore the fabric apart, the sound making your breath hitch in your throat.

Electricity shot through your body as his tongue began to circle, teasing and exploring, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. His mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue lashing against your clit as he devoured you. You felt yourself melting, your body trembling as he worshipped you, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you as if he couldn’t bear to let you escape.

“Tell me how it feels,” he breathed against you, voice low and commanding, coaxing you to let go.

You felt yourself building towards a climax, your body shuddering in response to his relentless assault. Gojo's tongue was a master, coaxing you closer to the edge. “Please…” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

His mouth continued to devour you, each stroke of his tongue sending you tumbling over the edge. You cried out, the sound echoing through the room, but Gojo didn’t relent.

His mouth never leaving you as he pushed you toward another climax, his tongue swirling and teasing. You felt yourself spiraling, completely lost in the sensations, your body quaking beneath his expert touch.

When you came for the fifth time, your body began to tremble, muscles weakening. Gojo's grip only tightened, fingers digging deeper as he held you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of pleasure.

Then he climbed on top of you, his body pressing against yours, and you could feel the weight of him—the solid strength that grounded you amidst the chaos. He pulled his dick out, sliding into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

He fucked you senseless, like he had something to prove, like he needed to burn every insecurity out of you until there was nothing left but him—his touch, his voice, his name tangled in your gasping moans.

With every thrust, he filled you completely, and you felt yourself drifting, consciousness fading as Gojo’s touch sent you tumbling into oblivion. His pace was steady and deep, pushing you closer and closer to that edge where nothing else existed.

Your vision began to blur, your body going limp beneath him as pleasure washed over you. You felt yourself being pulled under, losing yourself in the intensity of what he was doing to you.

As you lost consciousness, Gojo’s mouth finally left your mouth, lips brushing against your jaw, trailing up to your ear as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you’re coming apart.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers holding you firmly in place, his chest pressing against your breasts.

You were unaware of anything, your body limp and unresponsive as Gojo cradled you, lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

And with that, everything went black.

Gojo felt a rush of exhilaration as you surrendered beneath him, but that thrill quickly turned into a knot of worry in his gut when he realized you had gone limp. His thrusts slowed, confusion washing over him as he looked down at your unconscious form.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the realization hit him like a cold wave: you were out. Your body was limp beneath him, your chest still rising and falling, but your face—your face was blank, eyes closed. He pulled out, pulling you into his arms.

For a split second, panic gripped him, his heart leaping into his throat. “Shit… did I—?” He froze, running his hands over your body, as if searching for any sign that you were still there. His breath hitched in his chest, his mind spiraling into a dark panic.

What the fuck had he done? He just—he couldn’t have—he had to stop, had to check, but you were still warm, still breathing, and—

He sat up on his knees, shaking you gently. His fingers shook as he gently cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Hey… hey, wake up. Come on, babe…”

He watched, heart racing, as the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. He’d never meant for it to go this far. All that confidence he exuded melted away, leaving only a frantic concern.

What if he had crossed a line? What if you didn’t wake up?

Just when Gojo was ready to call for help or just fall apart in full-blown panic, you stirred.

A groggy, muffled groan slipped past your lips. Your eyelids fluttered, slowly opening, and you blinked, looking up at Gojo, still above you, his wide eyes full of concern.

You furrowed your brow, rubbing at your face as you came to.

“What happened?” You mumbled, your voice thick.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he watched you blink up at him. “You passed out. I thought I broke you!”

The confusion on your face slowly faded into a lazy, disoriented smile, and you let out a small chuckle. “Toru…” You blinked again, still half-dazed, your voice soft and slightly slurred. “Your dick’s not that destructive.” You teased, “more like a wrecking ball of pleasure, maybe.”

Gojo froze, his hand still hovering over your face. For a second, his heart stopped from relief, but then the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, leaning back as he chuckled nervously, trying to hide the anxiety that had been coiling in his chest.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he admitted, voice low, yet with a touch of laughter still lingering. “I thought I’d killed you there for a second. You passed out like... like I just—”

“Relax, Toru,” you interrupted, now fully awake, though still giggling. “You didn’t kill me.” You smirked, your gaze sharpening with a mix of teasing and exhaustion. “But maybe next time, try not to knock me out with your sex skills, alright?”

Gojo’s face flushed a little, but the nervous tension eased from his shoulders. He let out a breath of relief, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try not to be so... intense next time.”

But there was a spark in his eyes, a mischievous glint that suggested maybe, just maybe, he liked the chaos just a little bit too much. “But I gotta say, seeing you pass out from that? Damn, babe. I really am that good.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips never faltered.

“No. We are not doing this.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah.”

After a beat, he continued, “I was seriously worried I’d have to explain to everyone that I killed my girlfriend with my—uh, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, scratching his chin. “I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. Next time, maybe don’t go all ‘strongest’ on me?”

“More like a generous lover who cares about your well-being. You did just faint from pleasure, after all.”

“Generous, huh?” You teased, raising an eyebrow.

Gojo’s lips brushed over your forhead and asked, “still worried?”

You couldn’t even remember what you were mad about.

He chuckled, smug. “That’s what I thought.”

You scoffed.

“You loooove me,” he crooned, nuzzling your neck. “And admit it—you’re way hotter than me.”

“You wish.”

“I know,” he said, grinning against your skin. “But hey—” His voice softened, just for a second. “If some brat calls you ‘auntie’ again, I’ll just tell them you’re my sugar mama. Problem solved.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously young-looking,” he corrected, laying back down with you on his chest. "Now, c’mon—let’s make decisions we’ll regret in the morning. Let’s order and eat pizza in bed.”

When you woke up the next morning, sore and thoroughly ruined, there was a sticky note on the nightstand.

“Still hot, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you kept the note.

Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader

You pushed open the front door, the soft click echoing through the dimly lit apartment. The moment you stepped inside, a heavy tension seemed to settle over you, wrapping around your shoulders like a cloak. Your mood had been off all day, and you were desperate for some comfort.

Sukuna, sprawled on the couch with his two arms crossed behind his head, lazily chucking dry squid chips into his tummy mouth. His crimson eyes flicked toward you the moment you walked in, that intense gaze igniting a flicker of warmth in your chest—despite the gnawing sense of dread that often accompanied it.

“Welcome back, brat,” he said, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips as he set the chips aside. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tummy mouth licked it’s lips and grinned up at you like you were the next snack.

You sighed, sinking into the plush cushions beside him. “More like I’ve had a long day. I just... I don’t know.”

Sukuna tilted his head, his interest piqued. He leaned closer, those four arms shifting to wrap around you, drawing you into his embrace. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, and despite your earlier mood, you leaned into him.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone low and smooth, coaxing you to share what weighed on your mind. “What’s bothering you?”

After a moment of hesitation, you glanced up, meeting his gaze. “A kid called me ‘aunt’ today. I mean, am I old, Ryo?”

Silence.

Then—

Sukuna, from his throne of squid chips and self-importance, slowly turned to look at you.

He blinked once.

Then twice.

Then—

He lost his shit.

A low, rumbling laugh tore from his chest as he sat up, four arms crossed, grinning like a menace. “If you’re an aunt, then what does that make me? A fossil?”

From his stomach, Tummy Mouth cackled, too.

You glared at him, gripping a couch cushion. “This is not funny, Ryo.”

“It is absolutely hilarious,” he shot back, still grinning like the world’s worst boyfriend.

You could feel your soul leaving your body.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You thinking about getting one of those old lady shawls? Maybe some knitting needles?”

You grabbed another cushion.

“Start saying stuff like ‘back in my youth’?”

Second cushion, loaded.

“Want me to help you cross the street next time?”

Projectile launched.

The bastard caught it with one hand.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be mad,” he drawled, leaning closer. “It’s kinda cute, y’know. You. My little ancient relic.”

You scowled. “I will shove you off this couch.”

But before you could, he grabbed your wrist, his smirk vanishing completely.

His gaze darkened.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, dangerously smooth. “You’re not actually upset about this, are you?”

You hesitated.

You hadn’t meant to let it show, but he always saw through you.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “You really think I’d let some brat’s words get to you? You're not some washed-up relic waiting to be put in a museum.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It just hit me, okay? I’m not a sorcerer like you, Ryo. I’m not going to live as long as you.”

For a brief moment, his teasing faded, replaced by an unreadable seriousness.

Then—

He stood up.

You blinked. “What are you—?”

“Tell me what he looks like.”

You stared. “Excuse me?”

Sukuna was on a mission.

A dumbass, completely unnecessary, unhinged mission.

But a mission nonetheless.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re not a sorcerer. But that doesn’t mean you get to let some kid make you feel like you’re less than you are. We’re going to find this brat, and I’ll make sure they know how ridiculous they are for calling you that.”

You shook your head, trying to quell the surge of embarrassment. “I don’t need you fighting a kid for me.”

“So you want to fight him?”

You had barely managed to get the words “No fighting a kid” out of your mouth before he had already decided that a 14-year-old was his next sworn enemy.

His sharp eyes gleamed with the kind of excitement that should’ve been reserved for actual battles, not... minor conflicts with prepubescent boys.

“Oh, we’re fighting him,” Sukuna declared, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for a boss battle.

“No, we are not.”

“You’re right,” he said, nodding solemnly before grinning. “I am fighting him.”

You groaned, attempting to drag him back toward the house, but Sukuna didn’t budge. Obviously. He was 7 feet tall, built like he bench-pressed elephants for cardio, and had extra arms just in case one got tired mid-rampage.

You had exactly zero chances of stopping this.

So, five minutes later, you found yourself standing in a local park, feeling deep shame as Sukuna zeroed in on a child who had been minding his own business.

The kid was hanging out with his friends, chewing on the end of a bubble tea straw like he was plotting someone’s demise, when Sukuna stormed over like a final boss, making his entrance.

“Hey, kid!” Sukuna’s voice boomed, causing several pigeons to take flight in sheer terror.

The child glanced up, blinking at the literal demon king before him. “What.”

Oh. The kid had attitude.

Sukuna grinned, baring fangs. Good. He liked a challenge.

“Why’d you call her ‘aunt’? As far as I know, your ugly head is not related to my bloodline.” Sukuna folded his arms across his chest, all four of them, making a point to flex. His sheer size cast a shadow over the kid, an obvious ‘I eat kids for fun’ aura radiating off of him.

The kid took a sip of his drink, unbothered, and stared Sukuna dead in the eye. “Bro, why you built like Goro Majima on steroids?”

Sukuna’s grin twitched.

You choked on air.

One of the kid’s friends snorted, muttering, “Nah, fr. Why he got that Elden Ring DLC boss stance?”

Another one nodded, whispering, “Lookin’ like a JoJo stand.”

Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched again. The menace had met his match.

“You got a smart mouth for a child,” he said, voice low, deadly.

The kid took another sip, slowly. Unphased. “And you got four hands but still can’t pull more bitches than me.”

Your soul left your body.

Sukuna just stared, blinking once. Then twice.

He had met his match.

And his match was a boba-drinking, TikTok-brained, 14-year-old with no sense of self-preservation.

The kid blinked up at Sukuna, utterly unbothered by the seven-foot, four-armed, literal curse king looming over him.

Sukuna, meanwhile, was malfunctioning.

His eye twitched. His jaw clenched. His tummy mouth growled.

You knew that look.

He was one insult away from punting this child into the next dimension.

And, naturally, the kid was more than happy to provide.

“You good, grandpa?” The kid took another slow sip of his boba, raising an eyebrow. “Need a cane? A hearing aid? Maybe some dentures?”

You choked on air.

Sukuna’s entire soul left his body.

This little bastard.

Sukuna cracked his knuckles, stepping forward like he was about to commit a war crime.

Finally, the kid sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Lemme guess. She thinks I called her ‘aunt’?” He turned the screen toward you, showing you an Instagram story he had posted earlier—a blurry picture of his actual aunt standing in the background, captioned: “Auntie bought me boba today 🤝”.

Sukuna squinted.

You squinted.

Your soul came back just to leave again.

Sukuna’s fists clenched.

“I WAS TALKING ABOUT MY AUNT,” the kid said, exasperated, dragging a hand down his face like this was somehow your fault. “Damn, y’all are so old, your ears don’t even work anymore.”

Sukuna was already raising his hand to use his technique to ‘dismantle the kid.

“Ryo, no—”

“Lil bastard, you got one more smartass comment before I send you to the next life—”

And that was the exact moment you had to physically throw your arms around him, dragging him away from the child before he violated several laws of human decency.

“Ryo, you are not fighting a child!”

“He has no fear of death!” Sukuna snarled, arms flexing like he was debating whether yeeting you off would be worth it.

Meanwhile, the kid, still untouched, just smirked and waved. “Stay mad, grandpa.”

You had never seen Sukuna closer to homicide.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted.

Sukuna was still seething as he threw himself on the couch, arms crossed, muttering about “bratty little shits who needed discipline.”

You pulled out your phone, firing off a quick text to the group chat with your girlfriends—Gojo’s wife and Nanami’s girlfriend.

You: False alarm. The kid didn’t call me old.

Gojo’s wife: Wait, what?

Nanami’s girl: So he called ME old?

You: No, he called HIS OWN aunt.

Silence.

Then—

Gojo’s wife: Oh my god. Were we all fighting for our lives for no reason?

Nanami’s girl: No. No, I cannot face the world. I will be passing away.

Unfortunately, their husband/boyfriends saw the texts.

From over their shoulders.

You weren’t there to witness it, but you knew exactly how it went down.

Nanami’s girlfriend, upon realization, had immediately buried herself in the nearest closet.

Nanami, standing in the doorway, was hunched over, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Gojo, meanwhile, had been cackling so violently that he had collapsed to the floor, actually wheezing.

And naturally, Gojo’s wife did the only rational thing.

She picked up the nearest wooden spoon and started chasing him.

Gojo, still laughing, booked it. “BABE, PLEASE—”

You could practically hear it through the screen.

Sukuna, still fuming, looked over at your phone.

“...So, what I’m hearing is, we ruined that kid’s entire afternoon for nothing.”

You met his gaze, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch next to him.

“Yep.”

A long silence.

Then—

Sukuna grinned, sharp and feral. “It was fun, we’ll be doing it often.”

“Ryo No.”

“Ryo Yes.”

A/N: If someone called you auntie/uncle/older sibling out of nowhere, how fast are you filing for emotional damages? 1. IMMEDIATELY. Suing for emotional distress. 2. I’m pretending I didn’t hear. Never happened. Gaslight gatekeep girlboss. 3. Accepting my fate and investing in anti-aging skincare immediately. 4. Laughing it off but dying inside. Drop your trauma in the comments. Nanami is here to hold us all. 😌

All Works Masterlist

[callme-holly]

Hi!! Could you do a Dallas x reader who has a small dog? Headcanoans or an imagine, which ever you prefer. Just something cute about how he'd be with the reader's dog. Thank you! I love your work 💕

𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

a/n: y'all i actually love this i need more dally with a dog content

The living room was silent, save for the din of the movie playing on the TV, some romantic comedy you’d picked out and put on without Dallas’ input. He wasn’t really paying attention to the flickering black and white images on the screen, not even caring when you sighed dreamily at some of the more soppy bits. No; he was much more focused on the little mutt sitting at his feet, gazing up at him with big, dark eyes, practically begging for attention.

He’d tried so hard to ignore the whimpering, to maintain his eye rolls every time you cooed at the little dog, subtly kicking it away every time it scrabbled at his leg. 

He knew you loved the thing to bits, maybe more than you loved him, but he couldn’t help but feel an unfiltered resentment towards the dog. It was small, yappy, and his opinion so far from being a real dog that it was practically insane to cast them as the same species. Of course, he’d never said as much to you, opting to (for once) keep his mouth shut, only letting the thoughts run rampant in his mind. Dogs were supposed to be big, strong, and able to protect you if you needed it…

The dog gave another pitiful whine, pawing at his denim-clad leg once more before jumping up onto the couch and settling on his lap, front paws resting on him. He wrinkled up his nose, pushing at it slightly, refusing to give in to the soft eyes and the way it was looking up at him helplessly, begging for his love.

“Get off…” he grunted, not wanting to disturb you from the movie. The dog yapped and you lifted your head from Dallas’ shoulder, your expression softening immediately as you scratched behind the creature's ears.

“Oh, poor baby…” You mumbled amorously, smoothing the pup’s scruffy fur. “Is he not giving you any love? Hmm?” 

Dallas scoffed, trying to shoo the dog   once more, only earning a quick lick to the hand in reward. “Stop.” He snapped and you nudged him lightly, fixing him with a stern look.

“Be nice.” The seriousness in your tone made him freeze, and the protective gleam in your eyes was enough to make him drop his hand back around your shoulders. The dog gave a little, contented huff, settling on his lap, much to his dismay.

“Doll…” He began, gaze flickering from you to the dog, and you shook your head.

“No, Dal. He isn’t doing anything wrong! He just wants attention.” 

Dallas looked down at the pup once more, raising a brow when he caught it already looking at him; the moment it saw him watching, it’s tail began to wag lazily, brushing against the fabric of the couch with a soft swoosh. 

He exhaled heavily, tensing for a few seconds before running a hand over the dog’s head; he was a little rough, not wanting to give entirely into the thing, but once it nudged his hand, he couldn’t help but scratch it’s ears just as you had done moments before.

“There you go…” You praised lightly, almost as you would a child for petting an animal nicely. The tone made him frown, and you laughed lightly.

“He likes you…” You whisper, pressing a fleeting, feather-light kiss to his cheek before turning back to the movie. Dallas only hums in response, glancing down at the dog who now looks perfectly content, it’s tail still moving and its eyes shut tight.

“Why’d you like him so much?” He asked after a few moments of silence; you huffed and he felt slightly satisfied for dragging you away from the movie when you were quite clearly invested in the leading guy. 

“He’s my dog, Dally. I have to like him.” The way you said it was filled with fondness, and he could see the pure adoration in your eyes as you glanced down at the puppy.

“But he’s little…”

“So?”

Dallas groaned, tipping his head back. Why weren’t you getting it? What was so difficult for you to grasp and understand? “Dogs are s’posed to be big. Y’know… Tough.”

The look you gave him almost made him feel stupid, and he looked away for a moment, hating the judgement in your gaze. Tension hung in the air for a few moments before it was cut through by your laughter. “Oh god. You’re one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“The ones who think the only dogs are the ones that are built like horses.” You reached down to pet your dog, marvelling in the happy little pant you got in response. “Dogs can be little, you know?” 

Dallas shrugged. “Yeah. But it ain’t a real dog. I had a dog in New York. She was the toughest thing around.”

"Oh please... This little guy can be tough." You argued and Dallas nodded slowly.

"Sure. I'll believe it when I see it."

The dog, as if sensing he was part of the conversation, rolled over onto his back, looking between them with bright eyes, his tail still wagging. Yeah... He had a lot of proving to do.