#so far it seems that both are being appreciated so i love both

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

You know what, I'm fucking done arguing with a brick wall.

Hon you can just concede, agree to disagree, and be done with it, you don't have to pretend like I'm a "brick wall" who hasn't been making well-wrought points to refute yours. I took the time to respond very exhaustively to you, point-by-point — give me a fucking break, lmao

Send my apologies to your English literature teachers for having to put up with you.

I mean several of them are dead (it's been quite a long while since I was in school), so I'm gonna stop you right there. All I'll say is: people who are really truly into literature on a professional level, such as my mentors, or myself, have a strong appreciation for deep engagement with a text. What you think of as a "brick wall" (debate, exegesis, and fondness for overlooked details), my English lit teachers held in high regard. We had a hell of a lot of fun dissecting material together. It's fine that you don't enjoy this kind of thing, but don't pretend that it's somehow a slight against you, or that my points aren't worth seeing.

And take a good hard look about whether you would feel any different if the story stayed exactly the same except you swapped Fiyero and Glinda's genders.

Right back atcha, hon. Your takes have been pretty consistently sexist.

Let me leave you with one thought though, honey. If this is just "reading from the text" then presumably you think Winnie and Stephen agree with your delusions?

Winnie and Stephen pretty transparently wrote Fiyero to be the Early 2000s Slightly Rebellious Male Heartthrob For the Girls to Fight Over and not much else. He's been improved greatly in the film adaptation by NOT being that, and as I've said many times, I would love if they've ended up canonizing the double agent idea in the second film; albeit, as I've explained, I think that he'd lose something if he were made too straightforwardly "good". It doesn't matter whether Winnie, Stephen, or any of the directors or actors that have interpreted Fiyero over the years, specifically "agree" with me. Theatre of all mediums lends itself especially to a panoply of readings. There is no set-in-stone "canon". I just find certain takes to be ignorant of the details of the text, and I've argued against those takes. I happened, in the process, to do analysis which spawned further discourse. But it isn't like my analysis is Word of God: it's just fun to discuss ultima facie instead of prima facie. Your reading may well be closer to prima facie in certain ways — but that's not somehow an argument in and of itself for being "correct". You and I both made our arguments and apparently mine are now left to stand as ultima facie, as you have run out of counters.

Seems awfully cruel of them to go out of their way to save Elphaba from dying at the end of the story to leave her with an oh so awful fascist soldier?

The fact you seem to believe I think of Fiyero as "oh so awful" just tells me you haven't been engaging seriously with anything I've said.

He's a fascist soldier. That is something that should be reckoned with and examined in any real analysis of his character. He isn't "awful" — I never claimed he was, far from it — and he is certainly not the first or last character to have the narrative gloss over more troubling details and implications about what was written for them. But don't come at me for pointing those details and implications out, just because you personally dislike them, lol. I'm not the one who came up with Fiyero volunteering to become a fascist soldier: take that up with Holzman, lol

Also, if Elphaba was happy to fuck Fiyero in the woods and later leave with him, she clearly thought what he did was justified given the circumstance.

Hon, it's not that deep, lmao. They boned because they're passionate people with unresolved sexual tension suddenly given an opportunity — the only opportunity — to resolve it. Elphaba was not weighing his past several years for their moral soundness whilst riding him, lmfao

And I think the biggest Animal rights activist probably knows better than either of us the about the situation :)

Perhaps she does, perhaps she doesn't. We can only speculate. All we know is that she was frightened of him, and was worried he'd bought into the propaganda against her — which is a fair concern, given how he spent those years. She's relieved to find that he hasn't succumb to the hate against her, and that he isn't trying to harm her, and... that's really all that's stated, and that's all that need be stated. It's probably the first time in years that a human hasn't been her enemy — I don't think she wants to go there and review his choices, for her own sake, and I don't blame her for that one bit. But just because she doesn't go there doesn't mean that we shouldn't. We aren't bound to the POV of any singular character: we get to study them from beyond the fourth wall as much as we want, and there's a TON of interesting stuff there.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[zzenxell]

for the record (MDNI)

cowboy!mingi x saloon owner!fem reader

pairing: cowboy!mingi x bar owner! reader

genre: smut 18+

rating: mature

word count: 6.2k

summary: a lone bar owner on a dead day in a small town is taken for the ride of her life once a regularly visiting bounty hunter enters through the swinging doors

warnings: explicit language (like... real explicit) || smut (very intense, i fear. please don't read in public or if under the age of 18) || sub/dom themes || fingering (f recieivng) || oral stimulation (f/m receiving) || big dick!mingi (as we all know) || unprotected (wrap it up irl) || creampie (oatmeal) || nicknames (sweetheart, darling, love, angel, doll, pretty, pretty girl, sweet pea, cumslut, slut) || multiple orgasms ||

zzen's notes: save a horse, ride a cowboy everyday of my life is said cowboy is mingi🤭 also, first one shot type thing written on here so pretty please show love and give requests so i can write more

ALSO sorry this shit took so long lol went to hell and back just to get my writers block dealt with. i also have this on AO3 which is where ill be posting all my works as well. link in bio :P

(partially proofread. im lazy)

On a cold and gloomy day, you work around the saloon you own in a quaint little town. A dead one. Barely any travelers were out and hardly any of the regulars stopped by. Tumbleweeds passed by the saloon doors with a foot-high opening at the bottom, swinging in the wind with a creak. You sigh, focusing on the small stack of used and dirty cups needing a good clean. It was rare to have such an uninteresting day around these parts. Normally, there would be at least one person in here. Or a group of cowboys causing a ruckus in the far corner booth. It was eerily quiet, both inside and outside the small wooden building. 

In the middle of toweling dry a glass, the doors fly open. You figure it was just the wind again until you hear boots scuffling the planks of the floor. You turn, looking towards the sound, and see one of your regulars. Song Mingi. A well-known bounty hunter who has a habit of coming in once a week to get a whiskey sour. Several, at that. Normally covered in blood and dirt, he looks clean this time. Setting the glass down, you lean against the counter behind you and cross your arms with a smirk. 

“Fancy seeing you ‘round. Quite the weather to be out and about,” You say with a drawl, looking over the man briefly before meeting his gaze again. He smirks at you and places his cowboy hat on the counter before perching himself on the stool in front of you. He’s always been infatuated with you. Your attitude, your aura, your energy. Everything about you is so… alluring. It captivates him every time. Him meaning his throbbing dick between his thighs that happens to harden the moment he walks into your bar. 

“I needed a drink and wanted to see my favorite bar owner. That a crime, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, that disgustingly sexy smirk still sitting on his face as his eyes run over you as well. You knew damn well and good that he wants you. Always has since his first appearance in your bar. He made it known. The first encounter being him with his group of wildlings. All of them drunk off their asses in the corner booth and trying to get you to buy them a round. You folded, obviously, and brought over two pitchers of beer just to shut them up. That was the first time you noticed him. His cowboy hat sitting slanted on his head and only being able to see the lower part of his face. Though that night, he lifted his head to meet your gaze. That same stupid smirk sitting on his face as he nodded in appreciation. That was also the first time you went home and rubbed one out to the thought of him. Which, now that you think about it, seems to be the normal ritual for when you get home. 

“Well, I appreciate the compliment, cowboy,” You scoff out a soft laugh and pick up a clean glass, making his usual concoction before sliding the glass across the counter to him. His fingers barely brush against yours and both of you have to hold back to grab each other's hands. You won’t lie and say you have a fantasy of getting thrown over this very bartop and having him fuck you roughly from behind. To have his large, rough, and calloused hands wrapped around your waist. Oh, to hear his moans in the deep raspiness of his voice. Fuck, you were getting turned on just thinking about it. But you also can’t let him know that. It’ll boost his ego too much and make him think he has a chance. (He does). 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing you like a hawk while doing so. His mind is running with all the thoughts of what he wants to do to you. To pin you against the wall of liquor that looms behind you. To fuck that tight little cunt of yours that he knows is tight and pink. Like it was made for him and only him. To bend you over this counter and fuck you till you're crying out in pleasure. His cock bruising your insides in the best way possible. Shooting everything in him to coat the velvety walls of your pussy. God, what he would do to taste you. 

Shaking his head from his thoughts, he turns his gaze around the empty saloon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Seems like you’re pretty busy here, eh?” His head turns back to you and his glass presses to his lips once more, taking another sip of his drink before letting the glass settle on the counter. Leaning back against the seat, he eyes you once again. His cock twitching in his jeans as his gaze falls to your plump and, oh-so-beautiful breasts. Even behind that button-up and vest, he knows they’re plump. Round and full. Perfect for his huge hands to grasp and fondle. To tease those perky nipples into a stimulation you haven’t felt before. He swallows thickly and meets your gaze. 

Smirking knowingly, you push off the counter and walk to the opposite end to discard the towel into a dirty waste bin. Unlike many other women in town, you refuse to wear blouses, skirts, and underskirts. Fuck that. You dress yourself in jeans, chaps, and a white button-up that's tucked under your belt. Your leather vest frayed around the chest, the fringe swaying with each of your subtle movements. 

“Quite the day indeed, I’ll tell you that. You’re the first and only customer all day,” Standing back up straight, you face him and saunter back to stand in front of him. No other person to pay attention to. Might as well.. play a little. Leaning against the bartop in front of him, you grab his glass and take a sip all while keeping his gaze. He visibly swallows and eyes your lips wrapped around the glass. The glass clinks to the counter and you grab his hat next, placing it atop your head with a smirk. 

His gaze never leaves you and something in him switches once he sees his hat on your head. You must not know the untold fact about wearing a man's cowboy hat. Mingi’s grin grows and he leans his forearms on the counter. “You know, You look mighty sexy with my hat on that pretty head of yours,” His voice drops a few tones as he licks his lips. The head he’s imagined pushing down over his cock with your pretty pink lips wrapped around him. Your eyes welling with tears because he’s too big for you. Fucking your throat raw until he cums and watches his seed spill from the corners of your lips. Fuck, to be in your mouth right now. His pants tighten again and he bites his lip to hold back a groan. “You don’t know what that means, do you, hun?” 

Your eyes narrow, questioning him silently before setting his hat back down beside his glass. Leaning your forearms between his in the counter, you lean forward a little. “What does it mean, cowboy?” Your tone teasing, sultry even, as you speak. Tongue darting out to wet your lips almost in anticipation. His smirk only grows and he leans forward as well. 

“When a pretty girl like yourself wears a man’s hat, it means you’re his… and his only,” He’s whispering now. Somehow sounding even sexier like this. Your mind flurries with phrases you want him to whisper in your ear while he’s deep inside you and you swallow dryly as you eye his lips. 

“That so?” You question back, cocking your head to the side slightly before meeting his gaze again. It darkens immediately and his hands clench into fists against the wood of the bar top. The nod is subtle, but you see it. That makes your smirk grow as well. Just as he starts to lean forward again, you pull away and place your hands firmly on the counter. “Maybe I should wear it more often then… whaddyu think?” His heart stutters and his eyes widen a little. Fuck you’re bold. And he loves it. Loves the thought of you being his to come home to and fuck the brains out of. To relieve the stress of having to kill people for money to scrape by. And to have you by his side would be a dream of his. One he would gladly make into a reality if you gave him even the smallest chance. A scoff of a laugh leaves him and he picks his glass back up and down the rest of his drink. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. You know I’m not opposed to the idea.”

You laugh softly and take his empty glass from the counter to clean, rinsing it under water before towel drying it and setting it with the others behind you. In the silence, you’re thinking about the many ways you could tempt him right now. Simply unbutton the top of your shirt, taking your vest off. Even just adjusting yourself. Anything you do would get him going. 

So you do it. Shedding your vest slowly from your shoulders and tossing it to the side before undoing the top two buttons of your shirt. Cleavage is now out in the open for him to see. His eyes dropping instantly with a deep and sharp sigh. He licks his lips, almost hungrily, as he takes in your newfound boldness. “What are you playing at, Y/N?” His voice is deeper than before and raspier than you’ve ever heard it. It sends shivers down your spine and straight to your pussy that's already clenching around nothing. You can feel how wet you are despite not even being touched. That is the power his voice holds over you. And it should be illegal. 

“I’m not playing at anything, cowboy. Just got a little hot. That a crime?” I throw his earlier said words at him and bend over in front of him to “fetch a rag” from the floor. His breath hitches and he lets out a soft groan. Mingi’s hand now covers his mouth while the other disappears underneath the counter. Shit, is he touching himself? Just at the sight of my titties? “Bullshit,” his voice strained and his eyes fall shut in an attempt to rid his mind of these thoughts. You’re teasing him. He won’t get anything from you. He knows he won’t. But, fuck, if he can’t help thinking about sliding his cock between those fucking tits of yours and coating them with his cum. The very thought sends another wave of arousal through him and his hand palms his dick through his pants, which elicits another groan from him. “What. Are you. Playing at?” He asks again, stern this time. You can’t help but smirk at him, even if he can’t see you right now with his eyes clenched shut. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hun,” again, teasing him. He should just shut you up now and shove his cock down your throat until you can’t see anything but the tears in your eyes. Running a hand through his hair, he leans further back into the stool and stares up at the ceiling, letting out heavy huffs of air as his other hand continues to slowly move along his hard cock. 

“You… are a cock tease,” he says after a few moments of silence and finally turns his gaze back to you. He can’t take this shit anymore and stands from the stool. Marching over to the entrance that leads behind the bar, he throws it open and stalks over to you, placing both hands on the counter that you lean against. Now that you’re caged in, you realize… you want him to fuck you senseless. You want to suck him down and swallow everything he gives you. Your hands fall to his chest, pressing firmly against it as if to push him away. Your attempts fail because he’s a giant compared to you. His frame blocks everything out of view and all you can do is stare up at his hardened gaze. “You like being a tease? Huh? You want me to show you what happens when you tease too much, sweetheart?” 

His words send a thrill through your body. Fuck yeah, you want him to show you. You want him to demolish you right now against this counter and fuck you so hard that the liquor bottles fall and shatter around you as you cream over his cock you know is big, just like the rest of him. A sly smile forms on your face and your hands decide they want to move over the expanse of his chest. Even when it's covered in his button-up and vest, you feel the muscles tense under your touch. Another groan leaves him and his face drops closer to yours. 

“Don’t fuck with me right now, doll…” he mutters out and drops his face even lower, ghosting against the skin of your neck. His hot breath fanning out with each heavy huff. Hands now moving from the counter behind you to grip at your waist. Fuck… they were so big. He was big. He could so easily manhandle you right now and you wouldn’t have a care in the world. 

“You don’t want me to fuck you, Mingi?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them and your head tilts a little as you feel his lips press to the side of your neck. Brushing right below your ear and down to where your shoulder and neck connect. Another groan, this one deeper and more elongated. His grip tightens on your waist and, suddenly, his teeth are in your neck. A sharp moan leaves you and your eyes flutter shut. That’s gonna leave a mark. But who cares? Neither of you right now. 

“You want me to fuck you, y/n? You want my cock inside you? Is that what it is?” He mumbles against your neck, still attacking it with his lips and tongue, leaving several marks of his behind. Each one elicits a soft whimper to pass through your lips. Your hands clench against the fabric of his shirt and you turn your head, forcing him to leave your neck. Though his eyes never leave the sight of the dark marks he left behind.

“Maybe I do…” you whisper to him and move one of your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a well-needed kiss. Messy and sloppy and dirty and wet. One that both of you had dreamt of many times in the solitude of your homes. He groans into the kiss, moving one hand from your waist to tangle in your hair and tilt your head back so he can shove his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips and let him take over. His tongue slides and dominates yours as it feels around your mouth. Fuck, this was hot. You honestly could cum from this. His soft and plump lips pressed to yours, despite the taste of whiskey that coated his mouth. Your hand slides into his hair to grip tightly as you pull him closer to you. His other hand moves from your waist and slides down, toying with your belt before ripping it out of the belt loops. It clings to the ground and his next action is unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans. 

He pulls away from your lips, just for a breather. His eyes cast down to stare at your now swollen lips. Smirking, he moves the hand from your hair to brush a thumb over your bottom lip. A soft whimper escapes you as you watch him. His face is full of desire and pent-up arousal. He presses against you harder and you feel his straining cock press into your stomach. Now you’re glancing down to see the very large bulge in his jeans. He chuckles lowly and lifts your face back up with a tight grip under your chin. His other hand successfully gets your pants undone, shoving them down quickly. Your legs instinctively spread for him with a gasp. Feeling his touch against your clothed clit almost made you lose it and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, hips jolting at his touch. 

“That how wet I make you, doll? You’re fucking drenched… what a slut you are,” He whispers against your ear. You knew how wet you were, but the vulgarity of his words makes you even more so. Pussy clenching around nothing, pulsing from the inside with a hunger for him and him only. His fingers tease the cloth of your panties slowly, drawing out any sound he can from you in the process as his lips reconnect with your neck. “You are a slut, aren’t you? A cock-loving cum slut… ready to fuck any man who walks into your saloon, huh?” 

You shiver at his words and let out a needy moan. Again, the vulgarity coming from this man makes you want to jump him. In response, you nod eagerly. Wanting nothing more than to fuck him in this very moment like the cumslut he says you are. “Fuck, Mingi… please just-... just fuck me already.” The words are a plea. A beg for him to do more than just touch you through your soaked panties. He smirks against your neck and pulls away to look down at you. 

“Right here in the front of the saloon where anyone could walk in and see you on full display? I don’t think so, doll.” With that, he pulls his hand from your pants and grabs your waist to hoist you up, pressing you against him as he quickly makes his way to your office door. Your legs wrap around him and your arms snake around his broad shoulders to hold yourself in place. He knows where your office is solely because he’s seen you walk back there many times. Just so he can see that pretty little ass of yours in these tight jeans you always wear. His hands knead the flesh of your ass through your jeans, walking with a purpose so he can get you bent over the desk like the whore you are. 

You, on the other hand, are now clinging to his shoulders for the life of you. Head buried into his neck with lips pressed to his neck in a fervor to try and get some of your desires out. Nothing works. You need his cock. For him to be inside you and fucking you senseless until you don’t even remember your damn name. The whimpers leaving you are breathless and desperate. He kicks the door open, setting you down on the desk before shutting the door behind him and shedding his vest from his shoulders. His belt buckle unlatches as he pulls his belt from his pants and shoves his pants down without even undoing them. His boxers sliding down as well, revealing his hard and thick cock to your eyes. It’s huge. Girthy and veiny, red tip leaking with precum and can easily tear you in two. He stares down at you, legs spread against the desk with your arms behind your back to support your weight. He lets out a groan and strokes himself a few times before walking over to where you sit.

“Knees, angel. Get on ‘em,” With his hand still on his cock, he motions with his other for you to do as he says. And, like the compliant little slut you are, you listen, Dropping to your knees in front of him with his big fucking cock in front of your face. You lick your lips, moving your hands to his thighs slowly, but he pushes them away with a tsk. “Uh uh. Let me fuck that pretty little mouth of yours before you do anything. I want you crying around my cock before I fuck you. Hands behind your back.” Your eyes widen at his words, but you nod and settle your hands behind your back, looking up at him. Your chest heaves with the deep breaths you take. In this position, your panties are pulled taut enough that they just so happen to ride right against your clit and you could easily get off like this. Sucking him dry and cumming from giving him pleasure. Fuck, just the thought of swallowing him down makes you almost cum. His eyes narrow down at you and he steps closer, pressing his tip against your cheek before slapping himself against you with a groan. 

“Fuck, doll… you look good down there,” He all but whispers out and moves his free hand to grip your hair away from your face. His other hand guides his tip across your lips and you open willingly for him. That action makes him stifle back a guttural moan, but he doesn’t plunge himself in yet. He wants to hear you beg for his cock. “You want it? Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how much you want me to fuck your mouth… 'cause I know you want me to.” 

You whimper, clenching your eyes shut briefly to get your mind unfogged so you can speak to him. “Mingi… please fuck my mouth. Use me. By all means, use my mouth for your pleasure. Please, baby. I need your cum down my throat. I need to taste you,” the words fall out so easily despite your brain being mush. He seems satisfied with your answer though, smiling down at you like a predator about to devour its prey. 

“Open nice and wide for me, doll,” And you listen, almost dislocating your jaw with the speed in which you drop it down for him. He lets out a hum of appreciation and circles his tip around your lips once more before pressing his tip in. Cursing under his breath, he slowly inches forward as his grip on your hair tightens. It took everything in him to go slow and not surge himself to the back of your throat. “There we go… such a good girl.” He mutters out with his eyes shut in pleasure. Your tongue begins to swirl over every part it can reach despite him stretching your mouth to new heights. He pulls back out after getting half of his length in, then slowly presses himself back into the hilt. That elicits a loud moan from him and a gag from you, but you take him willingly. Your eyes blinking up at him with tears starting to form at the corners.

After a few seconds of him with his cock down your throat, he opens his eyes and looks down at you with a hint of a smile on his face. “Good fucking girl. Taking me so well in the little mouth of yours,” he mumbles in desire and begins to rock his hips into you. Both of his hands tangle in your hair tightly to hold your head in place. Strings of saliva start to drip down your chin. Surely, some of his precum was a part of it, not that you minded at all. His cock hits the back of your throat in slow and steady thrusts that make him groan lowly. The sight of him disappearing and reappearing from your mouth almost makes him lose his shit, but he holds back. He's not cumming until he's fucking that cunt of yours and filling you to the brim. 

His pace quickens suddenly and you're fighting back the urges to gag once more. Wet gurgles leaving you. They sound disgusting but he fucking loves them. He can't take it anymore, his pace quickening once again and his grip on your hair tightens. “Fuck, doll… doing such a good job,” his eyes fall shut again and his head tilts back to moan towards the ceiling. At that point, you start grinding yourself down into the seam of your panties, moaning around him softly as the tears start to fall down your cheeks. You can already feel your arousal dripping onto the wood floor below you. You're too focused on his massive dick in your mouth pounding your throat relentlessly. 

Mingi thrusts into your mouth one last time and holds himself there, silent and still as he brings his head back down. Feigning mock sympathy, he moves one of his hands from your hair to wipe the shed tears from your face. “Aww… you're crying? Am I too big for you, sweetheart? You poor thing.” He pulls himself out and lets go of your hair. Taking in breaths as you stare up at him, you lick your lips to get the precum he has spread earlier around the rim of your mouth. “Get up.” He demands while stroking himself in front of your face, almost tantalizing. You listen, standing from the floor and facing him to wait for his next instruction. God, you feel helpless, but dammit all to hell if it doesn't feel good.

He doesn't waste much time shoving your panties down to the floor to pool around your ankles. Strings of your arousal detach from your underwear and stick to your inner thighs. He licks his lips at the side, ready to taste every last inch of you until you're screaming for him to stop. “Sit on the desk, doll. Legs spread for me,” he gently nudges you backward with his hands on your hips, sitting you down on the edge of the desk before you could even think about moving. Your legs spread at his demand and you watch him sink to his knees between your thighs. He sighs deeply, a sound coming from the back of his throat. Almost like a growl. It makes your insides turn with desire and your knees fall over even more for him with a soft whimper. “Please, baby…” you whisper as if your pleas will do anything to quicken the process. 

“Patience, sweetheart. You know how long I've wanted this. I'm taking my time with you,” he says with a tsk and smooths his hands over your legs. Starting at your calves, then the tops of your thighs, and finally massaging the insides of them, inching closer and closer to your dripping cunt. “So wet… and such a pretty sight,” the fingers of one hand gather some of your arousal and he licks them clean, humming in delight before pressing his thumb to your swollen clit. Your head tilts back abruptly and a sharp moan leaves you. Fuck, his hands are so big. You know you've said that before, but they truly are nothing compared to your hands. His eyes never leave the sight of your folds, pink and beautiful. Soaking from your juices and teasing him by clenching around nothing. 

His thumb circles over your nub, watching as more of you seeps out of that tight little hole he's gonna destroy. Your moans gradually get louder with each passing second. More needy, whiny. More for him to just fuck you already. You bring your head back down and look at him. Shit he looks pussy drunk and he hasn't even done much of anything yet. But as soon as you think that, he dives in, licking a long stripe up from your entrance to the clit he's been teasing with his thumb. Again, he hums in delight and his eyes fall shut. Your head gets tossed back once more and your arms threaten to give out from holding your weight behind you.

“So sweet, love… Fuck you taste good, mm,” he mumbles against you and the hum he does sends a shiver throughout your entire body. Whimpering with every flick of his tongue. His hands wrap the underneath of your thighs and hoist them over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him in the process. He's hungry, and he's about to have himself a nice feast. Mingi doesn't hold back. His tongue delves into your entrance and licks wherever he can. His hands are gripping your thighs so hard it'll leave bruises till next week. Every so often, his nose brushes against your clit and you let out a cry of pleasure, fighting to bring your hands down to tangle in his hair. 

“You wanna cum in my mouth, doll? Wanna drown me with your cum? Huh?” he mumbles again and brings his hand back down to play with your clit as his attack on your hole continues relentlessly. You nod, but you know he can't see you. It takes everything in you to clear your mind long enough to moan out a response. “Yes… fuck- yes, baby… please let me cum in your mouth,” the words send his cock twitching against his stomach and he presses his face further, smirking against you devilishly.

Then he pulls away, stands abruptly, and rips your shirt open. Your whine of protest from the lack of an orgasm soon turns to a gasp of surprise once your chest is exposed to him. Buttons fly everywhere and tumble to the floor as his lips make contact with your chest. His hands pull your shirt down your shoulders and then reach behind you to unclasp your bra, which he does in one swift move that has your pussy fluttering. Yanking the straps down, he palms your right breast and bites along the top of your other one. “Gorgeous, love… fucking beautiful,” They're all he's ever imagined. Round, full, perky. Everything he's dreamed of. He wants to slide his cock between the valley of them, but that'll be for another day. He's too impatient for that right now. He steps closer, his cock sliding against your thigh before settling on your stomach as his lips move up to the side of your neck. Sucking and pulling at the skin desperately as if he wants to eat you alive. Which you're sure he can if he truly wants to. You wouldn't be opposed, that's for damn sure.

His hips move slowly, grinding his hardness against your thigh and spreading your legs with his own. Groans leaving him with each passing second, mixing with your whimpers of pleasure as your eyes fall shut. His large, calloused hands travel everywhere they possibly can. You claw at him, his shoulders and back and neck. Desperate for him to give up on teasing and taking his time instead of ravishing you within an inch of your life. “Mingi.. P-please,”

It's like the restraint in him finally breaks and he's capturing your lips with his again. A hand snaking down to toy with you for a moment, gathering your juices before hes stroking his cock with it. Then his tip is prodding at your entrance. “You sure you can handle this, sweet pea?” He breaks the kiss to mutter those words, dark and gruff as his lips trail over your cheek. The hand not holding himself at your entrance travels up the side of your body to gently wrap around your throat. Not too much pressure, but enough to make your walls flutter. 

“Y-yes.. Please, Mingi. I- i can handle it,” you respond, shaky and quiet but confident in your ability to take him nonetheless. He doesn’t waste much time after that and slowly sinks himself into the hilt with a deep groan. It almost sounds like a growl. Of course, it’s paired with a satisfied moan from yourself once you’re finally able to feel him like this. His lips attach to your neck again in a sorry attempt to muffle the soft grunts and gasps he’s letting out from how tight you are. You’re too busy clinging to his shoulders trying to get used to his size. “Tight as hell, sweetheart.. You alright?” He breathes the words out between his teeth, willing himself to stay still so he doesnt hurt you too much. You’re able to nod, subtly, but it's there. He takes that as permission to move, pulling back until just his tip remains inside, then pushes back in with a groan. It harmonizes with the breathy moan you let out. 

That’s how he starts. Slow, steady. Full, deep strokes that make you feel every vein carved into his dick. All while his huffs of air and grunts resonate right next to your ear. Every once in a while punctuated by a kiss or nip on your shoulder. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper at the same time. “M-Mingi… so good…” You whimper the words, digging your nails into his shoulders before moving to his back. A hand delving into his hair yet again to both tangle in the strands and grip at his scalp. He responds with a sharp thrust, pulling his head back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Yeah? Feels good, doll?” His pace quickens just enough to make the desk start hitting the wall. A cocky grin taking his face as he watches how fucked out you become. “So pretty… Gonna fuck you dumb, okay? Just sit here and be a good girl for me.” 

He pulls out, hoisting your legs over his forearms so they sit in the crook of your knee. His cock plunging itself back in as he straightens himself up to get a better range of movement. At this point, you're barely on the desk. Ass hanging off and basically hovering as he plunders into you. He’s out of reach now so you struggle to grab onto something, anything. The papers on my desk, a stapler. Eventually, I opt for the wall behind me and arch my back from the wood. “R-right there..please right- ahh my god,” He’s hitting your g-spot so perfectly you start seeing stars. He grunts, tightening his grip on your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge of the desk. “Gonna come for me? Huh? Gonna cream all over this dick, pretty girl?” 

If the words weren’t enough already, the name was a cherry on top. You nod, frantically, as a hand comes down to press against his pelvis. Not to push him away, but to touch him somewhere at least. The tears that rolled down your cheeks while his dick was in your mouth now rolls down as his dick rearranges your pretty little cunt. You were so close, so very close. “M-min..close,” The words come out so quietly, he almost misses them. But when they register, he doubles down his efforts. One of his hands coming between your thighs to play with your highly oversensitive clit to help send you over the edge. The desk hitting the wall in a steady and quick rhythm as he works you up. “C’mon, pretty… Soak my cock. Wanna see it glistening before I fill this pussy up, uh? Wanna watch? C’mere,” His other hand moves to grip the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to watch where his cock disappears and reappears from inside you. His words, his fingers, his pace. Him. Fuck, you’re surprised you lasted this long. Another pitiful sob leaves you as you watch your arousal splash against his thighs. “You see that? See how good you take me, baby? Can’t believe you made me wait this long for such a perfect fucking pussy, mm.”

And that was it. It was like everything inside you just ruptures and you come with a guttural moan of his name. Your back arching into him and nails digging into where they stay on his stomach and the wall. Surprisingly enough, you manage to rip through the wallpaper in the office. A worry for another day though. You’re too busy seeing the gates of heaven while your orgasm washes over you, eyes clenched shut while your body stays rigid in bliss. His fingers on your clit not relenting until he sees the trembles in your thighs die down. His hips slowly coaxing you out of your high before he starts to work himself. When you’re finally able to open your eyes, you meet his gaze and see the smirk sitting on his face. “Just as I thought… pretty,” He mutters before he gives a few sloppy thrusts, and empties himself inside with a satisfied groan, almost mistaken for a whimper if you listened close enough. He stills, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as his arms bring your legs down. His arms instead wrap around your waist to pull you closer. Your breaths resonating in the small room as you both come down from the high of everything. 

Mingi’s first to pull away, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and up your neck until he's right next to your ear. “For the record, I ain’t letting another man lay a hand on you, darlin’,” His hands tighten around your waist. Calloused fingertips dancing along the soft exposed skin of your hips and back. You smile against where your head rests on his collarbone. “For the record, I ain’t letting another woman lay a hand on you, cowboy."

okay.. so whatd you think?

[fictionadventurer]

Book: This young woman was lively, vivacious, outgoing, and cheerfully unconcerned about propriety.

Me: Okay, she seems fun.

Book: She had an older sister who was quiet, thoughtful and proper, but not as beautiful/captivating.

Me: Oh no, I just found my new favorite character.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

big sister - hyun ju

summary; a big sister will always protect, but when will she be able to relax?

genre/extra tags; one shot, found family, fluff, hurt/comfort?, canon typical violence, i dont like the second season writing, but i can not deny myself this diva, that's mother !!, teen! reader, hyun ju is the only reason i decided to watch this season, slight canon divergence bc i have the mind of a goldfish, canon typical sad heavy conversations, big sister is written to be seen as the korean honorific "unnie", older sister moments written in the point of view of a younger sibling, unintentional love letter for my appreciation to my sister, reader is implied to be some form of lgbt but not out (im projecting)

[platonic] [gender-neutral reader]

[warning; mentions of transphobic ideas]

a/n; before people ask, no, im not doing requests for this show. i just don't feel fully comfortable writing for squid game. i just really wanted to write this because, believe it or not, i write for my enjoyment. even i do switch off here every few months or every other month.

dinner had rolled around after an intense "game" of life or death. how you managed to survive this long is beyond you. but you might have a strong idea of why you're living so long, and it was the strong woman who was sitting beside you with some of the other women who were surviving so far.

the old lady had pointed out that hyun ju was not like other people. and it really was odd to her. but hyun ju was used to that. more than used to it. she lived through it since she decided to come out.

you listen to the conversation, not really putting your two cents in as it seemed like there was no right time to butt in. but as the conversation continued, the mood was just a little lighter. and that was more than enough morale. the old lady seemed to slowly understand hyun ju and her struggle.

you've zoned out so much, you almost fail to notice hyun ju sneaking an egg onto your shabby given lunch box meal. you look up at her as she gives you a warm look before pretending that she didn't just do that.

you mix the rice with not much thought, spilling some bits of rice and egg over its metal container before you slowly eat. unbeknownst to you, hyun ju glances back at you as if to make sure you're actually eating and not staring off with a tired look that no teen or child should have. you've seen everything, you're part of this sick game, she may not know your story, but she knows you don't deserve any of the bad you've been through.

you're the youngest in the entire room, a room filled with people with insurmountable debt and issues. hyun ju can only imagine your worry, your anxiety, the burden.

when the first game got serious, you were trying your damned hardest to keep your fear contained under the watchful eye of that robot scanning every movement. she was right in front of you, keeping you safe along with the rest of the people who lined up with her. you look like you wanted to cry the moment you got to the finish line. if she wasn't full of adrenaline at the time, she probably would've heard how hard your heart was beating.

somehow, she had taken two people under her care. you and young-mi. how could she not care about a young woman like young-mi and a teen like yourself? two anxious people forced to live a life full of debt and pain when you both deserved nothing but comfort and love.

people start lining up in their beds for nighttime. gi-hun was very insistent on being careful at night. it was dangerous. some people were not behind just killing others at night to sweeten the pot of money that loomed over everyone's head like a golden sun.

as most of the adults started to climb in their beds, you stand awkwardly. you weren't a stranger to sleeping a room full of people, but you were definitely a little paranoid after what gi-hun was talking about.

you find yourself naturally gravitating to hyun ju. her presence was just so calming, and she was so caring for others. it was hard not to get attached. young-mi had taken to calling her big sister. and you found yourself doing the same when you call out to her softly.

"big sister?" you gently tap at her arm as she turns to look at you. she silently urges you to continue speaking with a gentle look. you can see the tired in her eyes, but she looks at you, unwilling to say no. "this is embarrassing..." you mutter.

"it's okay. i'm here." she reassures you.

"can i stay with you tonight? i'm-" you choke a little bit on your words, not only out of embarrassment but fear. "i'm really scared. i don't wanna be alone." you confess.

she softens, "i would love to let you, but it's too risky. if people come for us, it would be very hard to fight back. i'm so sorry, kid." she opens her arm out for a hug, and you take the comfort you can get in this shitty place. "i will do my best to keep you safe, alright? when we get out of here, i'm going to find you again, and we can help each other, yeah? i'll protect you."

you nodded with her words, not finding the heart to say anything. she takes this as a sign to start guiding you into your bunk bed on top. at least the top bunks would be somewhat safer for you. you hesitantly climb into bed. "if a fight breaks out, hide. run. just be safe. i will find you, and you'll be safe." she continues to reassure you the best she can.

"okay. goodnight big sister." you whispered. "please be safe."

"i will." she said with a calm confidence that only she could pull off that didn't make you feel worried for her.

you hope that you get out of here, so you don't have to see the worried exhaustion in her eyes anymore.

she was a big sister by heart and soul. you just hoped her big heart wouldn't lead her to her doom. she protects and gives, but when will she relax?

[euthymiya]

Sukuna hates your job. He also hates early mornings. If you put them both together, he hates the fact that your job requires you to wake up early in the morning—and by default, him, too.

“Sukuna,” you sigh. It’s the same back and forth every day. A nonstop battle of push and pull as you try to leave your (sadly comfortable) bed while he stubbornly keeps his arm draped around your body. “C’mon, we do this every day.”

“Yeah, so then stop,” he grumbles. 

“I meant you,” you purse your lips. “We wouldn’t do this every day if you would just let go.”

“We wouldn’t do this every day if you’d quit wakin’ me up.”

You let out an exasperated exhale as his arms curl around your waist tighter, pulling you closer so he can bury his face into your chest. You don’t like to admit that you somewhat encourage his difficult behavior by letting your fingers weave into his messy hair, raking your nails along his scalp while he shivers lightly. 

“I can’t cuddle you forever, you know,” you hum, smiling softly despite the absurdity of it all. “We have bills to pay.”

“I don’t need cuddles,” he grunts. It’s a ridiculously blatant lie—you’re getting dangerously close to running late because he won’t let you leave the bed, and the only reason for that is because he stubbornly refuses to let your body disentangle from his.

You expect nothing less from him, of course. You’re not naive enough to think Sukuna would admit that he appreciates having your body pressed close against his, but the evidence of his rather grumpy frown is enough that you’re contently able to assume. Gently, you pinch his cheek, grinning as you murmur, “You’re pretty clingy in the mornings.”

“Be quiet.”

“Not even going to deny it, huh?” You tease, giggling softly as he cracks open an eye and glares through sleepy, bleary pupils. “You’re down bad.”

You like to think you and Sukuna have come a long way. It’s hard to break through walls and navigate how far you can push through his exterior when it’s as tough of an exterior as it is. The first time you dare to reach between your bodies and hold his hand, yours is clammy from overthinking his reaction. What if he pulls away? Or swats your hand away? Or gets annoyed? Or weirded out? What if he realizes he doesn’t like you like that? Your brain runs a mile a minute, coming up with every worst possible outcome for ages before you have the nerve to close the gap.

(It was all for nothing in the end. He’d casually tightened his grip, of course, so your inner pep talk in your head was a pointless fit of anxiety, but you don’t think you can be blamed. He’s not exactly the most emotionally available individual.)

Now, you think fondly, he never lets go. There’s always a hand on your body. The ones that rest on your hips as he stands from behind. The one that grabs your wrist to tug you along so you keep up. The one casually laid across your thigh as you sit. The one that hikes up your shirt when he’s particularly shameless. 

He clicks his teeth with a scowl as he glances up at you and grunts, “I’m not down bad. I barely even tolerate you.”

“You seem pretty obsessed to me. I guess being this beautiful is hard to ignore, huh?”

You can practically feel the smile he’s fighting back, grinning down at him as he tries to keep his scowl painted firmly on. “It’s too early for this, brat. Get back in bed.”

“Baby, I’d love to. But I have work,” you argue, pouting.

He pretends he doesn’t hear you. You scoff incredulously as he simply pulls the blankets tighter over his shoulders and settles against your body, trying to fall back asleep as if you’re not behind schedule and risking an angry questioning from your manager. And as aggravated as you should be, you’re not.

You can’t be. (Because, really, who else has the luxury of witnessing Sukuna be clingy? Certainly no one else but you. What sort of fool would you be not to take advantage of it from time to time?)

“I know you can hear me,” you roll your eyes.

“Then you’re perfectly aware I’m ignoring you,” he huffs.

“Don’t be stubborn—I’ll be back before you know it,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He melts a bit, but his grip only gets tighter if anything. “You’re not leaving at all. Now let me sleep.”

You slump back against your pillows in defeat, letting him smugly doze off again as he presses half of his body weight over you, just to be sure you don’t try to escape. You watch the rise and fall of every steady breath. The way the usual crinkles on his face from his almost permanent frown are smoothed out. The way his lips are parted and soft puffs of air exhale every few moments. You can’t help but think how far you and Sukuna have come. How easily it is to love him and feel loved—how impossible it seemed at one point to know if he even cared.

And if you end up sending a quick text to lie about being too sick to come in just to cuddle some more, you think there are worse things to lie about.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[mononijikayu]

honeymoon — gojo satoru.

He grins. “We’ll see!” he replies, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “Now, how about we start this honeymoon properly? I was thinking of a little walk along the Seine, maybe a café stop or two……” You nod, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you. “That sounds perfect.” “But seriously, wifey. Let them be annoyed back at home.” he shrugged when you expressed concern over the complaints he might face. “They’ve been annoyed with me my whole life. I’d rather have them grumbling than miss out on this with you. I mean, it's been years! Couldn’t they just let us live?”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, smut, making out, body praise, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, oral (male and female receiving), pet names (baby, wifey....), love, humor, light-hearted, married life, being in love, sexual intercourse, intoxication, partying, slice of life, domestic life, family, honeymoon, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of body praise, depiction of naked bodies, depiction of alcohol consumption, depiction of being drunk, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of being drunk, mention of alcoholic consumption, mention of sexual intercourse, husband! satoru, wife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.5k words

NOTE: when i was plotting, i really thought about how i never made an explicit thing for us and them, so this is an extension of this along with my other things. i also included the end, because it was just something i think about. how would satoru gojo explain to his child how he was made? anyway, i hope you enjoy it!!! i love you <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip!

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THIS WAS A LOT, EVEN FOR HIM. Two years of marriage, and you were finally going on a honeymoon. It was a journey that had been delayed for so long, almost forgotten amid the chaos of life and the expectations that weighed heavily on Gojo Satoru as the clan leader.

From the beginning, Satoru had refused to follow the traditional expectations—refused to parade you like some prize on display for the men in the clan. On your wedding night, instead of the grand celebrations and rituals everyone had expected, there had been a quiet understanding between the two of you.

Back then, you and Satoru were far from being romantically inclined. The marriage had been more of an alliance, an arrangement to fulfill the duties both of you bore. He hadn’t wanted to make you uncomfortable, and you had appreciated his consideration, even if it left a lingering sense of uncertainty between you.

But time had worked its magic, slowly and subtly. You had grown closer, finding comfort and familiarity in each other's presence. The first kiss had been tentative, almost accidental, but it had opened the door to something more profound. Each kiss after that became less about caution and more about the quiet desire that had started to blossom between you.

Now, you stood together at the threshold of something new. You had been the one to bring it up, gently, cautiously. You told him you were ready for the next step, ready to explore the possibilities that had once seemed so distant. Satoru had listened, his usual playful demeanor tempered by something more serious, more uncertain.

For all his bravado and confidence, you could see the nervousness in his eyes, the slight hesitation that had become rare in the man who seemed unshakable. This was new for him too, a path neither of you had walked before, and the weight of it was not lost on him.

As you packed for the trip, you could feel the unspoken tension between you both, a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Satoru hovered nearby, throwing casual remarks your way, but there was an edge to his voice that you couldn’t ignore.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he finally asked, his gaze intense as he watched you carefully fold the last of your clothes into the suitcase.

You met his eyes, seeing the vulnerability he rarely showed. “I’m sure, you know?” you said, your voice steady. “But we don’t have to rush anything. We’ll take it at our own pace.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, and he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You always know how to keep me grounded,” he said, his tone lightening.

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that hadn’t been there before. “We’ll be okay, Satoru,” you reassured him. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

He reached out, pulling you into his arms, holding you close. “Yeah, we have.” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with you.”

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the uncertainty began to melt away, replaced by the quiet confidence that whatever came next, you would face it together. This trip, this honeymoon, was just another step in a journey that was uniquely yours, one that you were ready to take with him by your side.

The morning of the trip arrives with a quiet hum of excitement and a nervous energy that fills the air. Satoru, always so composed, is now anything but. He paces the living room, hands running through his snowy white hair, the usual spark in his eyes dimmed by a deep-seated anxiety. For once, the great Satoru Gojo—the man who could face curses and calamity without a flicker of fear seems utterly and completely lost.

“What if I mess this up?” he mutters to himself, barely noticing the presence of Megumi, Tsumiki, and your mother as they watch him from the doorway. “What if she realizes this was a mistake? What if I just do the worst and I—”

Your mother steps forward first, her soft, reassuring voice cutting through his frantic rambling. “Satoru,” she says gently, a calm smile on her lips. “You need to breathe. You’re going to be fine.”

He glances at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and confusion. “But… What if I’m not? What if I do something wrong? What if—”

Megumi, who had been quietly observing from the side, sighs and steps closer. “You’re overthinking again, it’s really annoying.” he says, his tone blunt but not unkind. “She chose you, Gojo–san. And she’s still here. That’s not going to change just because you’re nervous about this trip.”

Satoru pauses, considering the words, his brow furrowed. “But what if—”

“Gojo–san.” Tsumiki interrupts, her voice softer than Megumi’s but just as firm. “You love her, right?”

He blinks, as if the question is absurd. “Of course I do!” he answers immediately, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I love her more than anything.”

“Then trust her.” Tsumiki says simply, with her beaming smile. “Trust that she loves you too. Trust that she understands.”

Your mother nods, her hand reaching out to touch his arm gently. “She knows you, Satoru. She knows your flaws, your strengths… and she loves you anyway. Just be yourself. That’s all she wants.”

Satoru takes a deep breath, his shoulders still tense but beginning to relax under their calming words. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up, you know?” he admits, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to lose her. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Megumi, always the quiet anchor in the storm that was Satoru’s life, steps even closer. “You won’t.” he says with quiet certainty. “You’re both figuring this out together. It’s okay to be nervous, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying this. She wants to see you happy, Gojo–san. And I think… you need to see that too.”

Satoru nods slowly, his breath evening out as he absorbs their words. He straightens up, his usual confidence creeping back into his posture, but now tempered with something softer, more genuine.

“Okay….okay.” he murmurs, a small smile forming. “Okay. I can do this.”

Your mother squeezes his arm one last time, her smile warm and encouraging. “You already are, Satoru. Now go! The two of you need to make some great memories. And don’t forget to have fun.”

He laughs, a little shakily, but it’s a real laugh, the kind that lights up his face. “Yeah, fun… I think I remember how to do that, mother!” he teases, and they all chuckle.

As they head back to their respective rooms in the house, Gojo Satoru stands alone for a moment, taking a deep breath. He feels lighter, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

The anxiety is still there, but it’s manageable now, a small flutter in his chest rather than a crushing force. He loves you too much to let fear get in the way. He loves you enough to take this step, to trust in the bond you’ve built together, one small moment at a time.

When he finally comes to find you, finally ready and dressed for the airport. He couldn’t help but just stare. You were so beautiful. And you chose him, to love him like this and bless him with beauty like this. Somehow, there’s a new steadiness in his gaze, a renewed sense of purpose. He reaches for your hand, his grip firm but gentle, and you can feel the resolve in his touch. You smiled at him, squeezing back.

“I’m ready to go.” he says softly, his blue eyes searching for yours. “Ready to do this, with you.”

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “Then let’s go, Satoru. Let’s make this ours.”

And with that, you both step forward—toward whatever the future holds, side by side, ready to face it together.

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IT WAS A LONG FLIGHT, AND HE COULDN’T SLEEP. The plane touched down in the city of Paris, the city bathed in the soft light of an early evening. Gojo Satoru’s firm fingers remain intertwined with yours as you both step out into the bustling airport, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture that has become second nature to him.

He’s still a little on edge, that was certain. You can tell from the way his eyes dart around, the smallest twitch of his lips betraying his usual calm. But he’s here, and that matters more than anything.

He had taken time off, a long time, much to the frustration of the higher-ups and the clan elders who had protested and argued about duty and obligations. Yet Satoru had been unyielding, for once using his influence not for some mission or jujutsu-related endeavor, but for something that mattered far more to him—you.

Satoru seems more relaxed now, leaning back in the seat, one arm casually draped over your shoulders. “I still can’t believe I managed to take this much time off.” he muses aloud, a small smile on his lips. “I think they’re having a meltdown back at the school. But, honestly? Worth it.”

You chuckle. “Are you going to get in trouble for this?” you ask, a little worried despite yourself.

He snorts. “Let them try,” he says with a wink. “They can’t exactly do much to the strongest sorcerer in the world, can they?”

His arrogance, though familiar, is softened by the way he looks at you, his gaze filled with an affection that makes your cheeks warm. “Besides, wifey….” he continues. “If it means I get to see you smile like that, I’d take a whole year off.”

You shake your head, amused. “That might be a bit much, even for you, Satoru.”

He grins. “We’ll see!” he replies, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “Now, how about we start this honeymoon properly? I was thinking of a little walk along the Seine, maybe a café stop or two……”

You nod, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you. “That sounds perfect.”

“But seriously, wifey. Let them be annoyed back at home.” he shrugged when you expressed concern over the complaints he might face. “They’ve been annoyed with me my whole life. I’d rather have them grumbling than miss out on this with you. I mean, it's been years! Couldn’t they just let us live?” 

Nothing more was talked about after that. He was right, if he was being honest. You two have been married for a while now and Gojo Satoru never really took any holidays unless you guys needed him for important school dates or to spend time with you on the weekends. And you supposed you understood, because you were like that too before you took a long break from being a Jujutsu sorcerer. 

Now you supposed, your husband Satoru seems lighter, his usual goofy, excited smile finally returning. You liked him like this, you think. Even then when you first met him, he had a really nice smile. And you wanted to keep him this way. Smiling and happy. Because he looked the most beautiful like that.

 “So, wifey…..” he says, glancing over at you with a playful gleam in his bright blue eyes. “Where to first, madame Gojo? The Seine or the cafe?”

The way he says it, with a comically exaggerated French accent, makes you laugh joyously. “You’ve really been practicing, mon amour?” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He laughs, the sound bright and carefree. “I’ve been preparing as always!” he corrects, “Wouldn’t it make it the perfect trip if it was hassle free by speaking French? Of course, only the best for my beloved, after all.” 

His words carried a mixture of sincerity and that playful confidence you had grown so fond of, causing your heart to skip a beat. The joy that shimmered in his eyes was contagious, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. With a smile tugging at your lips, you leaned into the moment. 

“Then let’s enjoy a walk to the Seine river and then go to the café,” you said softly.

“Oh? That sounds like a plan!” Satoru responded with his signature energy, his grin wide and carefree. 

As the two of you ventured out into the crisp evening air, the world seemed to blur into the background. His hand held yours firmly, fingers intertwined as if they’d always belonged there. Every step along the Seine felt like something out of a dream.

The golden lights of Paris danced on the water’s surface, flickering like they were playing just for you. You caught Satoru sneaking glances at the city around him—his eyes bright and full of wonder as he took in the reflection of lights on the river, the charming hum of the city enveloping you both.

What captivated him the most, though, wasn’t the sights of Paris, but you. You felt his gaze linger every time you smiled at the simple things: a street musician playing a gentle tune, the comforting scent of pastries that filled the air. He marveled at the joy you found in these little moments, and somehow, you felt even more connected to him. With each passing second, it was like you were experiencing the city together, seeing it through each other's eyes.

There were no words needed. Satoru’s presence—steady, warm—was more than enough. As you walked, it felt as though time had paused, and all that existed was the quiet beauty of the night, the sound of your footsteps, and the feeling of his hand in yours.

As the night wears on, your husband insists on buying you a flower from a street vendor, presenting it to you with a flourish and an exaggerated bow that makes you laugh. You catch him watching you more than he watches the sights, his eyes full of a softness that you’ve rarely seen before, as if he’s trying to memorize every moment, every expression on your face.

Later, you find a small café tucked away on a quiet street. Your lovely Satoru orders in perfect French, much to the amusement of the waiter. You think that the Frenchman was delighted at the thought of someone speaking the language, but the accent you supposed was still not enough. Still, you think his pretty face made him more endearing. 

The two of you sit outside to enjoy the lovely glow of the streetlights, sharing a dessert and sipping on your drinks, your chairs pulled close together. You got an espresso and your husband got a really sweet iced caramel macchiato, with a pain au chocolat and a chocolate cake on the side.

“I’ve never seen you this relaxed, you know?” you comment softly, noticing the way his shoulders have finally lost their tension.

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “I’ve never had a reason to be either, well…not until recently. Especially with you.” he admits. “Being with you… it makes everything else seem less important.”

You reach out, placing your hand over his. “Thank you for this, Satoru.” you say quietly. “For taking this time. For making me feel like I’m worth all of it.”

He turns his hand over, squeezing yours. “You’re worth more than that, wifey.” he replies, his voice low and earnest. “You’re worth everything to me.”

For a moment, the world seems to slow, and it’s just the two of you, sitting together in a little café in Paris, a city full of life and love. The future seems bright, and the worries of the past fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being here, together.

As the night grows deeper, Satoru leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re happy?” he asks softly, as if seeking reassurance.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” you whisper back.

His smile widens, his eyes sparkling with relief and joy. “Good.” he murmurs. “Because I plan to keep you that way, no matter what.”

And in that moment, under the Parisian sky, you know he means every word.

The days in Paris begin to blur together, a soft blend of golden light, laughter, and the endless discovery of each other in a new place. You wake each morning to the sound of Satoru's humming, his voice light and carefree as he attempts a tune he’s probably heard in some old movie. He looks so at peace here, his usual edges softened, a smile almost always playing on his lips.

Your first full day is filled with exploration. You both decide to take things slow, meandering through the narrow streets, Satoru’s hand warm in yours. He insists on trying every pastry you come across, from croissants to pain au chocolat, and he buys them in excess, delighting in your shared bites and the way your face lights up with every taste. 

At some point, you find yourselves at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, the iconic structure towering above you. Satoru looks up, his sunglasses perched on his nose, shielding his eyes from the midday sun. “So, do we do the tourist thing?” he asks, grinning.

You laugh, nodding. “Why not? We’re here, aren’t we?”

He pulls you along, his excitement infectious as you both make your way to the elevator. The ride up is filled with a mix of awe and a little bit of playful bickering. Satoru teases you about your slight fear of heights, and you mock him for pretending to be calm when you can feel the tension in his grip on the rail.

At the top, the view is breathtaking. Paris stretches out beneath you like a painting—rooftops, winding streets, the Seine glittering in the distance. Satoru stands behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. “Look….” he murmurs in your ear. “All of this… and you’re still the best thing I’ve seen today.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re so cheesy, Satoru.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. “Only for you.”

As you gaze out at the city, you feel his heart beating against your back, steady and strong. It’s moments like this that make you realize just how far you’ve come with him—from the careful, tentative steps of your early marriage to the unspoken trust and affection that now bloom between you. The nervousness that lingered in both of you is slowly fading, replaced by something deeper, something real.

Later, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you find yourselves wandering into a small park. The air is cooler, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Satoru pulls you toward a bench, sitting down and tugging you onto his lap. He’s always been tactile, always needed that physical connection, and you’ve come to find comfort in it too.

He looks up at you, his blue eyes softening in the fading light. “You know,” he starts, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curious. “That’s new for you.”

He laughs, his chest rumbling beneath you. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” he quips, but there’s a fondness in his voice. “No, really. I’ve been thinking about how… how different everything feels now. How much I want this… us, to be real. Not just an arrangement or a convenience.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest. “It already is real, Satoru.” you whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He nods, his expression earnest. “I know. But I want more. I want… all of you. Your happiness,  your worries, your dreams… everything. I want you to know that I’m here. Fully, completely.”

For a moment, you’re lost in his gaze, the sincerity in his words sinking in. “I do know, you know?” you say softly. “And I’m here too. I’ve always been.”

He smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that makes your heart swell. “Good.” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Because I’ve got big plans for us, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And what kind of plans might those be?”

He grins, that playful light back in his eyes. “Well, I was thinking… maybe a little house somewhere quiet, where we can have lazy mornings and late nights, and I can spend every day annoying you with my presence. Lots of space for Tsumiki and Megumi. For….for more kids, maybe.”

You laugh, the sound bright and free. “Sounds like a dream.” you tease.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “It is, isn’t it?” he whispers against your mouth. “My dream. Our dream.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in his arms under the soft glow of the Parisian twilight, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ll face it together, with love and laughter and all the beautiful, messy moments in between.

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BEFORE LONG, THEY WERE INTO THE FUN. The night falls deeper, and you find yourselves in a cozy, dimly lit jazz bar on the quieter side of the city. The music is soft and sultry, a saxophone weaving its way through the smoky air. You’ve already had a few drinks, and while you’re feeling pleasantly light, Satoru—who rarely drinks at all—has decided tonight is an exception.

He raises his glass, clinking it gently against yours, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “To us!” he toasts, his voice already carrying that playful slur that makes your heart flutter.

“To us!” you echo, and take a sip, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

The band starts up a livelier tune, something with a beat that makes your foot tap against the floor. Satoru grins, setting down his glass with a flourish. “Come on, wifey!” he says, grabbing your hand and pulling you up,.“Get up! Come on, let’s dance.”

You laugh, a little unsteady on your feet, but you let him lead you to the small, crowded dance floor. He spins you around with a dramatic flair, earning a few amused glances from the other patrons, but you don’t care. Tonight, it’s just the two of you, and the rest of the world feels miles away.

Satoru moves with an unexpected grace, his movements loose and free. He’s not a bad dancer—in fact, he’s surprisingly good, his body swaying in rhythm with the music. You let yourself be pulled close, your hands resting on his shoulders as he guides you through the steps, his laughter bright and infectious.

“You’re actually good at this, Satoru.” you tease, your head spinning slightly, not just from the drinks but from the way he looks at you—like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I have many hidden talents, always!” he whispers, his tone low and teasing. “But this, wifey….” he continues, his hands sliding down to rest at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “This is my favorite one.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, and Satoru’s grin widens. The two of you continue dancing, moving in sync, the music carrying you along, your bodies pressed close, swaying with the rhythm. The alcohol has made you both bolder, and you feel his hands tighten on your waist, his touch firm yet gentle.

Your heart races as his face draws closer, his lips brushing your ear. “You know, wifey….” he murmurs, his voice low, “I don’t usually do this—drinking and dancing like an idiot.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know you don’t.” you reply softly, your hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “But I’m glad you’re doing it with me.”

He chuckles, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Me too.”

And then, without warning, he leans in and kisses you—a deep, lingering kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. His mouth is warm and insistent, moving against yours with a fervor that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you forget where you are, lost in the sensation of his lips, his hands, the way he’s pulling you closer as if he never wants to let go.

You kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groans softly, his grip on you tightening. The world around you blurs, and it’s just the two of you, kissing like you’re the only people in the universe. His hands slide up your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending sparks of electricity shooting through you.

“God, you taste good,” he mutters against your mouth, his voice husky, and you feel a surge of heat pool in your stomach. You press yourself closer to him, your body molding against his, and his breath hitches, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“Satoru, baby.” you whisper, your voice breathy, and he kisses you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your back, his touch growing bolder with every passing second. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath hot and fast, and your own pulse quickens in response.

“Let’s get out of here, wifey.” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with desire.

You nod, your breath coming in short, excited bursts. “Yeah….let’s go.” you whisper back, feeling the same burning need coursing through you.

He grabs your hand, his grip firm and steady, and you both make a quick exit from the bar, laughter bubbling between you as you stumble into the cool night air. The streets of Paris are quiet now, the city settling into the late hours, but you hardly notice or rather, you could scarcely care. You were too far gone in cloud nine to care.

Your husband Satoru pulls you close again, his lips finding yours with a renewed intensity, and you’re lost in him once more, the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You barely make it back to the hotel, your kisses growing more heated, more desperate, with each step. By the time you reach your room, Satoru’s hands are tangled in your hair, his lips moving down your neck, and you’re breathless with want, your fingers tugging at his shirt.

He fumbles with the key, cursing under his breath, and you laugh, breathless, helping him steady his hands. When the door finally swings open, he pulls you inside, kicking it shut behind you, and his mouth is on yours again, hot and demanding.

You push him back against the wall, your hands roaming his chest, and he lets out a low, pleased hum, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, sliding up your sides, making you shiver. “I’ve wanted this, wifey.” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “ I just wanted you so bad… for so long.”

Your response is a quiet moan as his lips find yours again, his hands pulling you even closer, and you know, in this moment, that this is exactly where you want to be—wrapped up in his arms, feeling his heartbeat against yours, letting the world outside fade away until it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, in Paris, under the spell of the night.

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn, and the air is thick with the heat of your bodies. Satoru’s breath comes out in ragged gasps, his head thrown back against the pillows, his hair splayed out in a mess of white strands. He grips the sheets beneath him tightly, his knuckles white with the force, and his chest rises and falls with every sharp inhale.

“God……..” he groans, voice low and breathless, the sound of it echoing in the small space. His eyes are half-lidded, darkened with lust, but there’s a softness there too, a look of wonder as he gazes down at you.

You move against him with purpose, your mouth warm and soft, sliding up and down his length with a rhythm that has his hips bucking up slightly, desperate for more. Your tongue swirls around him, and he gasps, the sound breaking into a quiet moan, his hands reaching for you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Feels so good, wifey.” he slurs, his voice thick and heavy with pleasure. “Fuck… you’re so perfect.” He can barely keep his eyes open, his head rolling back against the pillow, his body taut with tension, the pleasure building in waves that crash over him again and again.

You hum softly, the vibration sending a shiver through him, and his fingers tighten in your hair, his breath catching in his throat. “Oh, right there….” he gasps, his voice breaking. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

You don’t. You keep going, moving with a deliberate slowness that has him trembling beneath you, his entire body responding to every flick of your tongue, every gentle scrape of your teeth. He’s never felt like this—so completely undone, so out of control. And yet he’s never felt more alive, more connected, more in love than he does right now, with you.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, and he looks at you, his eyes searching yours. “I—” he starts, but his voice catches, and he swallows hard, trying to steady himself. “I love you, baby.” he whispers, the words spilling out of him in a rush, as if he can’t keep them in any longer.

You pause for just a second, your eyes meeting his, and the intensity of his gaze takes your breath away. There’s so much there—desire, adoration, fear, and a kind of raw, aching need that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

Then you smile, just a little, your lips curling around him, and you take him in deeper, drawing a ragged moan from his throat. He bucks up again, his grip on the sheets tightening as he feels that familiar coil of heat tightening in his stomach, building and building with every movement, every sensation.

“Ah… I can’t—” he chokes out, his breath hitching, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”

And then he’s gone, his head tipping back, a guttural moan tearing from his lips as he comes undone, the pleasure crashing over him in a wave so intense he feels like he might just shatter. His whole body tenses, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth, his eyes squeezing shut as the world blurs around him.

For a moment, everything is silent, save for the sound of his heavy breathing, his chest heaving with the effort. He feels like he’s floating, his body weightless, his mind blank except for the overwhelming sensation of you, your warmth, your touch, your love.

When he finally comes back to himself, he looks down at you, his eyes still hazy, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Holy shit.” he breathes out, his voice shaky, and he lets out a weak laugh, his fingers still tangled in your hair. “That… that was incredible.”

You lean up, crawling up his body to press a kiss to his lips, and he kisses you back, slow and sweet, his hand cupping your cheek as if he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs against your mouth, his other hand trailing down your back, pulling you closer.

You smile against his lips, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, the way he’s still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of his release. “I think we’re just getting started, aren’t we?” you whisper, your voice low and teasing.

He grins, his eyes bright with excitement and affection. “Oh, I hope so.” he replies, his voice filled with promise, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

And as he pulls you back down into another kiss, deep and slow, you feel it too—the certainty that whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. Together.

Satoru's grin softens as he looks at you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His eyes are filled with something tender and deep, a look that makes your heart swell with affection.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, languid kiss that seems to say everything he can't put into words. His hands are gentle as they explore your body, tracing every curve, every line, as if memorizing you by touch alone.

He pulls back slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion. "And tonight… Tonight is all about you."

You shiver at his words, a thrill running down your spine. His hands slide down your sides, settling on your hips, and he shifts you gently, guiding you onto your back. He hovers over you, his body warm and solid against yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, his desire palpable in the air between you.

He takes his time, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, his mouth hot and soft as he moves lower, tasting your skin. Every kiss sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching in your throat as his mouth finds all the places that make you sigh, that make you arch against him.

His hands are everywhere—gentle yet insistent, roaming over your body, touching, caressing, exploring. His mouth follows, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, his lips brushing over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, until you’re gasping, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

“Please, Satoru…” you whisper, your voice a soft, needy plea.

He smiles against your skin, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Patience, baby.” he murmurs, his voice teasing but thick with need. “I want to make this last… make you feel good.”

He continues his descent, his kisses growing more heated, more purposeful. His mouth moves lower still, down your stomach, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and you feel your breath hitch, your body trembling with anticipation. His hands part your thighs, his touch firm but gentle, and you feel your heart start to race, your pulse pounding in your ears.

He glances up at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with a mixture of mischief and adoration. “Just relax, baby.” he whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you gasp. “Let your loving husband take care of you.”

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue moving with a slow, deliberate precision that has you moaning his name, your hips lifting off the bed as pleasure sparks through you like wildfire.

He doesn’t rush—he takes his time, tasting you, teasing you, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you in place as he brings you to the brink over and over again.

You’re lost in the sensation, your head falling back against the pillows, your fingers gripping the sheets as he works you over with his mouth, his tongue moving in ways that make your toes curl, that send you spiraling into a state of pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Satoru, please!” you cry out, your voice breaking, and he hums against you, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

“Mm, that’s it.” he murmurs, his voice muffled but full of satisfaction. “Let go for me… I want to feel you come.”

His words are like a command, and you feel yourself falling, tumbling over the edge as pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body arching against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you as you come, crying out his name.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, his mouth relentless, his tongue flicking and curling, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you until you’re shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body trembling with aftershocks.

“Again, baby.” he whispers, his voice dark and filled with want. “I want to hear you scream my name again.”

And you do—again and again. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t give you a moment to recover before he’s building you up again, his fingers joining his mouth, pressing into you with a rhythm that matches the beat of your racing heart. His thumb finds that perfect spot, rubbing circles that make your vision blur, and you’re gone again, crying out, your body clenching around him, your mind blank with pleasure.

You lose count of how many times he makes you come, each one more intense than the last, each wave of pleasure crashing over you like a storm, pulling you deeper and deeper into a sea of sensation. You’re breathless, your body spent, and yet he keeps going, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure from you, to make you feel as cherished and adored as he possibly can.

When you finally collapse against the sheets, your body trembling, your skin slick with sweat, he crawls up to meet you, his lips capturing yours in a soft, tender kiss, his hands gentle as they cradle your face.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers against your mouth, his voice filled with awe, his breath warm against your lips. “I could spend the rest of my life making you feel like this.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love, and you pull him close, kissing him deeply, letting him know without words that you feel the same. Because in this moment, with him, you’ve never felt more alive, more loved, more complete.

Satoru’s breath hitches when he feels you shift beneath him, the soft, unintentional grind of your hips against his sending a jolt of electricity straight through him. He bites back a moan, his fingers tightening on your hips instinctively, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment as he tries to maintain some semblance of control.

God, the way you affect him—how effortlessly you make his heart race, his breath catch, his body respond like this—it’s like you have a power over him that goes far beyond anything he’s ever known. He’s already hard, painfully so, and the thin fabric of his uniform pants does little to hide his need, the friction almost too much to bear.

“S-Shit…..” he mutters, his voice low and strained, and he swallows hard, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected you to move like that, hadn’t expected the sheer intensity of his reaction.

He wants to touch you, to hold you, to be buried deep inside you, but he’s almost afraid to move, afraid that if he does, he’ll lose what little control he has left.

You shift again, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, a broken moan escaping his lips as he presses against you, feeling your warmth, your softness, even through the layers of fabric. It’s too much, and yet not enough, and he feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

“God, baby.” he breathes out, his voice trembling, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to hold himself back. “You have no idea… what you do to me.”

He’s desperate, his body aching with need, his mind a haze of lust and longing, but he’s also so full of love, of adoration, that it takes his breath away. He wants you—he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything—but he also wants to savor this, to make it last, to make sure you feel just as good as he does.

He grinds against you again, more deliberately this time, and he lets out a low, shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “I’m… I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. “I can’t… I can’t stop myself.”

His hands move to your waist, fingers splaying out over your skin, and he begins to move against you, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. He can feel you beneath him, feel the heat of your body, the way you respond to his every touch, his every movement, and it drives him wild.

He presses his mouth against yours, kissing you with a hunger that matches the desperation in his movements, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, devouring you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips, and he tugs you closer, pulling you against him, needing more, needing everything.

“I… I need you. Need you so bad.” he murmurs against your lips, his voice breaking, raw and filled with longing. “I need to feel you… all of you.”

He shifts his weight slightly, his hands fumbling with the waistband of his pants, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he struggles to free himself. He’s too impatient, too needy, and he lets out a frustrated groan, his fingers trembling as he finally manages to shove his pants down just enough to release his aching length.

He’s rock-hard, the tip of his cock already leaking with precum, and he groans again as he presses against you, the heat of your body sending another wave of pleasure crashing through him.

“Please, baby.” he whispers, his voice desperate, his hips grinding against you, “I can’t… I can’t wait anymore.”

You arch against him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin, and he moans, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels the head of his cock brush against your entrance.

He’s trembling, his whole body taut with need, and he can barely think, barely breathe, all he knows is that he wants you, needs you, more than anything. He presses forward slowly, carefully, his breath catching in his throat as he feels you envelop him, inch by inch, the tight, wet heat of you driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck… you feel… so good....” he groans, his hips pressing forward, sliding deeper inside you, and he can’t stop the shudder that runs through him, the overwhelming sensation of finally being inside you, of being this close, this connected.

He starts with deliberate slowness, his thrusts shallow and gentle, as if testing the boundaries of your shared connection. His breath catches, and you can feel the tension in his body, how he's holding back, savoring the sensation of being so close to you.

The warmth of him inside you, the way your bodies fit together so seamlessly, sends a shiver through you. Your legs instinctively tighten around him, pulling him deeper, and that's when you hear it—a low, guttural growl from deep within his chest.

The sound is raw, primal, a reflection of his desire, and it sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body. His restraint begins to crumble. He thrusts harder, his hips snapping against yours with growing intensity, and each movement feels more urgent, more desperate. His hands, once tender on your waist, now grip you with fervor, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

The pace quickens, his need spilling out in every motion. He’s relentless, each thrust filled with a hunger to make you feel the same pleasure that's overtaking him. You can hear the labored breaths escaping his lips, see the fire in his eyes as they lock onto yours. His voice, hoarse and trembling with emotion, breaks the silence between you.

“God… I love you.” he gasps, barely able to form the words between ragged breaths. His rhythm becomes frenzied, driven by the overwhelming sensation of being with you in this moment.

“I love you… so much… so fucking much,” he groans, his voice thick with passion. Each declaration is a pulse of raw emotion, his need to show you, to let you feel every ounce of his love, pouring out of him.

His movements, once careful and measured, have become wild and uncontrollable, driven by the depth of his feelings. Every thrust is a a call to his desire, every gasp a confession of how deeply he’s fallen for you.

His pace becomes frantic, a blend of raw need and overwhelming affection. Every movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the intensity of his desire matching your own.

His hands roam from your waist to your hips, gripping tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid to let go—afraid that this moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

The sound of your bodies moving together fills the air, the room heavy with heat and tension. You feel the build-up of pleasure rising within you, matching the urgency of his thrusts.

His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he looks at you, as if his every feeling, his every thought, is laid bare in this moment.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, each one catching as his need grows more intense. The sensation of you wrapped around him, the way your body responds to his every touch, only fuels him further.

He lowers his head to press his lips against your neck, kissing a trail from your collarbone up to your jaw, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"I can't… get enough of you," he murmurs against your skin, his voice shaky, consumed by the pleasure coursing through him. "You're everything… everything I need."

His words are laced with both desperation and adoration, the weight of his feelings crashing over him. With each thrust, you can feel how close he is to the edge, but he holds on, wanting to prolong this moment with you, to savor every second.

His hands grip your thighs now, pulling you even closer, the friction between you igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through every nerve.

The pressure inside you builds, coiling tighter and tighter as he moves. His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, your body arching into him, and he groans in response, the sound reverberating deep within his chest.

It’s as if the world outside of this moment ceases to exist. All you can feel is him—his heat, his breath, the weight of his love for you driving him to move faster, harder.

“I’m so close, baby.” he gasps, his voice cracking as he struggles to hold on just a little longer, his body trembling with restraint. His eyes meet yours again, and the look in them is nothing short of devotion. “I need you… I need you to come with me.”

And with those words, everything inside you unravels. The release hits you like a tidal wave, crashing over you in wave after wave of pleasure, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him. He follows soon after, his body tensing as he lets out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he finally lets go, the force of his climax overwhelming him.

For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you thick with the afterglow of what you’ve just shared. His body rests against yours, both of you spent, your hearts beating in sync as you catch your breath.

══════════════════

epilogue

In the cozy living room of your home, Gojo Satoru sat on the floor with your son, Satoshi, sprawled out in front of him, surrounded by toys and colorful blocks.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Satoru was trying to entertain Satoshi with a game of building blocks, but the little boy’s curiosity took an unexpected turn.

Satoshi looked up at Satoru, his big, innocent eyes full of questions. “Papa, papa!” he asked, “How was ‘toshi born?”

Satoru’s eyes widened, and he froze mid-block placement, the toy car in his hand almost slipping out. He glanced around, searching for a way to divert the conversation, but Satoshi was looking at him with unwavering expectation.

Satoru cleared his throat, his mind racing back to that unforgettable honeymoon in Paris and maybe a little after that…..you know, there’s been a lot and he just….he doesn’t know how and where things had become a bit… complicated. He doesn’t really count.

“Well, my little dawn…baby, you see…” Satoru began, trying to sound as casual as possible, “A lot of it is just…. it’s a bit of a… long story.”

Satoshi tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “A long story? Like when we go to Grandma’s house?”

Satoru nodded, his mind still floundering for the right words. “Exactly like that, but, um, with more… magic.”

Satoshi’s eyes widened, and he leaned closer. “Magic? Did you use your special powers?”

Satoru scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if there was a way to explain this that didn’t involve any, ahem, explicit details. “Well, it’s more like… a magical moment, little dawn.” he said, smiling nervously. “Because well….magic is magic!”

Satoshi looked thoughtful, then blinked. “Was it like when you make the cookies disappear?”

Satoru’s face turned a shade of red, and he tried to stifle a laugh. He doesn’t know how he was supposed to do this at all. “Uh, not exactly. More like… a really happy time when mama and papa were together, and, uh, we decided to have more family for big brother Megumi and big sister Tsumiki, you know?”

Satoshi nodded slowly, his tiny brow furrowing as he considered this. “So, you made cookies disappear and that’s how I got here?”

Satoru chuckled, a little relieved that Satoshi seemed satisfied with the vague explanation. “Sort of, yes. It’s a special kind of magic that’s, um, a bit different from making cookies disappear.”

Satoshi pondered this for a moment, then brightened. “Okay! Can we build a magic castle now?”

Satoru laughed, feeling a wave of relief. “Absolutely, let’s build the biggest magic castle ever!”

As Satoru helped Satoshi with the blocks, he couldn’t help but think that he had successfully dodged a bullet—or at least, he hoped he had. He glanced at the photo of you on the mantel and grinned, knowing that despite the complexities of parenthood, there were some things best left to the imagination.

When you arrived home, the late afternoon light was still spilling into the living room, casting a golden hue over the scene. You found Satoru and Satoshi surrounded by a sprawling fortress of colorful blocks, the little boy’s face alight with triumph as he declared his castle complete.

“Mama!” Satoshi called out, running over to greet you with his usual enthusiasm. “Look at the magic castle Papa and I built!”

You smiled, bending down to give him a hug. “It’s beautiful, Satoshi! I’m so proud of you.”

Satoru stood up, brushing the dust off his pants with a sheepish grin. He looked slightly relieved to see you, and he met your eyes with a hint of nervousness. You looked at him with curious eyes as he tried to take a deep breath. It was as though he was preparing himself to tell you something.

“Hey, baby.” you said, raising an eyebrow at him as you moved towards the kitchen. “How was your day with Satoshi?”

Satoru followed you, his expression a mix of amusement and apprehension. “It was good, but we had a little… conversation.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? About what?”

Satoru scratched the back of his neck, his face turning a bit red. “Well, Satoshi asked me how he was born….well, like not born. How…how he was made?”

You froze mid-step, your eyes widening as you looked at him. “Oh, really? And how did you handle that?”

Satoru let out a nervous chuckle. “I tried to explain it with… magic. I told him it was like a special kind of magic and that it happened when mama and papa decided to have a family.”

You stifled a laugh, trying to keep a straight face. “Did he buy that?”

Satoru shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sort of. He thought it was like making cookies disappear, so I went along with it.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head.You couldn’t stop to the point you were coughing. Satoru blushed, even his ears were red. “Cookies? That’s one way to put it.”

Satoru looked relieved to see you find the humor in the situation. “Yeah, I guess. He seemed satisfied, so I think we dodged a bullet.”

You walked over to Satoshi, who was now engrossed in a new block creation. You crouched down next to him, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Satoshi, did papa tell you a magic story?”

Satoshi nodded eagerly, his eyes shining. “Yes! And we built a magic castle! Papa said it’s like magic cookies!”

You glanced at Satoru, who was trying to suppress a grin. “Well, that sounds like a fun story.”

Satoru walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I think we managed to keep things light, but I’m glad you’re home to handle the next round of questions.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. And next time, maybe we’ll keep the magic cookies out of the explanation.”

Satoru grinned, pulling you into a gentle hug. “Deal. Thanks for saving me from my own magical misadventures.”

You both chuckled, watching as Satoshi continued his block building, blissfully unaware of the parental confusion that had preceded his masterpiece.

[tbaluver]

I LOVE YOUR WORK, OMG. i've been binging it since morning, and it's a good wake-up read (ꏿ௰ꏿ) can i request a scenario where reader likes to roam around naked (like, they're already way far into the relationship where they're comfortable enough to do that) and it surprise the four lis. also, they just randomly walk in on reader lying down and playing with their nipples and kneading their own breasts just because. what would their reaction be to that?

Walking Around Naked- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content a/n: hihi anonnie! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ��͈♡) tysm for reading my works its an honor for my works to be read esp in the morning ily .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. ♡ i hope this was alright maybe slight ooc but just close ur eyes if it feels like it is (ᵕ—ᴗ—) but i hope you enjoy reading angel (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He would make sure there is no one around the house, even though you both own the house and it's literally only the two of you. His cheeks were flushed pink and he's trailing behind you to wrap his arms behind you, pressing his very obvious hard on through his sweats. Looks like he's not the only one with the flushed cheeks.

He would honestly join in walking around the house naked and find it comfortable. He would pull you closer to cuddle and you'd feel his cock harden under your ass but that just means it's easier to slip it in.

"Do you mind if I join you honey?"

If he saw you playing with your boobs, he'd ask if he can join you before settling down on top of you. He'd play with one of your nipples with one hand while the other kneads your breasts. Sometimes he'll just pop one in his mouth, sometimes making eye contact with you as he does so

Zayne:

As always, Zayne was immersed in a patient report on days when he’s not in his office until he glanced up and caught sight of you walking around the house naked. His focus faltered, doing a double take and momentarily losing focus on the task on his laptop. Clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, he attempted to refocus back to the patient's details but the images of you clouded in his mind. Eventually he couldn’t resist it and made his way to you

Since this is an often thing, he will tell you to make sure to put on slippers or something warm to slip on when it's cold. He would offer his own robe that he wears around the house and he's not doing this because he thinks you should cover up but because he doesn't want you to get sick!

This man loves your boobs. Mouth or hands or the combo of both are always latched onto them whenever you let him have the chance. So whenever he walks in on you casually kneading your breasts and playing with your nipples, he’d already forgotten what he needed to do in the room in the first place.

“Ahem. Are you cold? You might get sick without a blanket. Here I’ll join you to warm you up.”

You’re not one to complain whenever he joins you. He’ll settle you on his lap and pull over a blanket over the two of you. With a content hum, one of his large hands snake up to your waist to gently knead one of your breasts.

Rafayel:

The first time you walked by his studio and he heard you, he would have his jaw dropped. Although he’s seen your body countless times, each time just feels like the first time he’s ever seen you. The painting can wait because this fishie is tailing right behind you.

Blames you for being distracting but he doesn’t really mean it- he’s actually enjoying it. If you try talking to him, you’ll notice a hint of pink creeping on his cheeks. He just doesn't want to seem rude because he just wants to take a peek a little bit lower.

“Stop! Hold that position and don’t move cutie.”

He sees your beauty in every way, inside and out. He often tries to capture you whether it’s through a photograph or a sketch, even if you move too much, yet no art can do justice to what he perceives. It doesn’t capture the warmth of your touch or the spark in your smile. Once he finishes the sketch, he'll have you looking like a Renaissance painting. You’re forever his muse, his beautiful pearl.

Most of the time, when he sees you laying in bed playing with your boobs, he’ll just make himself comfortable. He’ll crawl on top of you, resting his head against your chest, nuzzling against you with a content smile. He'll mostly tell you to play with his hair as an excuse so he can play with your boobs.

Sylus:

Honestly he’s happy that you can walk around comfortably in your shared home with him. He’s very grateful that your romantic relationship with him is constantly evolving. He would approach you with a lowly chuckle, wrapping his arms around your waist and earning a surprised squeak from you. He’ll throw in many many compliments as he peppers kisses all over your face to hear your giggle.

Very handsy. If you pass by him, he’s most likely going to give your ass a slap or give it a quick grab or squeeze. Also reminds you that his closet is yours to always use if you happen to get cold.

“Got room for one more sweetie?”

If you let him, he would shift your position so he’s lying on his back and so you can rest his head on his chest. One hand gently kneading your breasts and occasionally rubbing your bud with his thumb and index finger as you both settle into a comfy environment

[f1lovr]

LITTLE SURPRISES - LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!college reader

summary: you're finishing up your senior year in college and so you can't attend many races with lando, but despite the long distance you guys still managed, but when you need him most during the stressful finals week of your first semester you might just be able to gain that wish.

warnings: none i dont think?

you sigh as you lean back in your chair, currently trying to get homework done in the local coffee shop instead of your room in hopes that stuff would actually get done, and so far it seemed to be working except you were slowly getting more and more exhausted.

little did you know as you sipped your coffee, your roommate was currently helping lando surprise you, her being the one to let him know you were out of your room for right now and helping him get in the building when he arrived, he had ended up flying from abu dhabi after the post season testing to come surprise you since he had some free time now and he figured you'd appreciate it with how stressed he knew you had been.

you look towards your phone as you see it chime with a notification picking it up when you notice it was lando.

lan :): hey angel, how's homework going, coffee helping?

you giggle at his attempt to lighten your mood slightly. you text him back that it was going well ish, getting some assignments done but ultimately still draining, getting an encouraging message from him in return you sigh with a small smile while turning back to your assignment texting him you loved him and that you'd call him later.

lando and your roommate both knew that despite wanting to hurry up this surprise and just get you back to the room you needed to finish your homework and you'd come back on your own eventually, so while they both waited lando waited in your room chilling on your bed as your roommate did her own homework.

after a couple more relentless hours you finish another assignment before deciding to call it a day for now, planning on working some more later but ultimately needing a brain break, maybe even a nap, right now. you pick up your phone answering some messages on it while finishing the coffee you were sipping on before packing up and heading out of the coffee shop.

you click on landos contact facetiming him as you walk back to your dorm. you giggle when he picks up, noticing him snuggled in a bed, "hi lan."

lan smiles when he sees your face on the screen, missing you despite being able to see you as soon as you ultimately walk through the door of your room, "hi angel, you give up on your homework?"

you nod your head with a sigh, "yeah i just left the coffee shop, i got another assignment done but i think i need a little break, maybe a nap, before i attempt anything else." you talk to lando as he just watches you, taking in your face as you speak and smiling at you. "what?" you ask as you notice him smiling at you.

"nothing, baby, can a man not just look at his girlfriend?" he says while laughing which ultimately makes you laugh.

"where even are you lan, it looks lighter outside for almost 1 AM." you ask as you notice a little bit of sun on his side of the phone confused considering he was supposed to be in abu dhabi.

lando freezes a bit not wanting to ruin the surprise while he tries to come up with an excuse to the sunlight coming in through your curtains without telling you he was in your room, "oh im still in abu dhabi, it's just the light in the hotel room, i've got it on so you can see me."

"ah, i see, you wanted me to see your pretty face rather than just be in darkness," you say back to him while you giggle, reaching your dorm building and scanning your key card to get in.

"did you just get back to your dorm?" lando asked you suddenly, noticing the lighting change from when you walked in, you nodding your head at his question, but then bringing upon a confused expression to your face as he quickly says he has to go before saying a quick 'i love you' and hanging up.

you stood in front of your door with a confused expression at lando's sudden exit from your facetime, barely having gotten to talk with him, sending him a quick text to ask if he was okay before opening your door to your dorm room to find your roommate doing homework on the couch.

"oh my gosh, i don't even wanna look at it," you say dramatically as you turn away from her laptop screen making her laugh at your dramatics, lando smiling when he hears your voice from your living room as he stayed silent in your bedroom.

"it's not even your homework Y/N," she says while laughing at your reaction.

"yes, but it's homework none the less," you grumble as you put your bag down at your table, finding yourself a quick snack.

"hey, also there was a package for you that came in, i put it in your room for you, figured it was probably from lando," your roommate told you as you looked at her with a confused.

"that's weird, i didn't order anything, and lando didn't say he was sending anything," you tell her back, your roommate only shrugging her shoulders in response, secretly opening a video on her phone to record your reaction to your "package" in your room when you turned your back to her to head to your room.

as you open your room door lando is standing there with a smile, but you don't register it was him fully, only registering a person making you scream in fear before slamming your door closed again.

your roommate busts out in laughter as she records the reaction, lando opening your door in laughter from the door being slammed on his face, it was when he opened your door that you noticed who was in your room causing you to freeze in your spot.

"lan?" you whisper in shock as you watch the boy smiling in front of you.

"hi angel," he says with a grunt as you throw yourself on him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling into the tightest hug known to man as tears prick at your eyes in being able to have him here with you.

"what are you doing here," you mumble as lando pulls back to wipe away the tears at your eyes, your roommate having stopped recording at this point, leaving you both alone and letting you both just enjoy the moment.

"figured i'd come visit since post season testing is over, figured you'd need me right about now," he said softly as he ran his thumb over your cheek.

"i can't believe this," you mumble as your head tucks itself into his neck, lando placing small kisses on your head as he holds you, "this is just what i needed actually," you mumble to him as his hand soothingly runs up and down your back.

lando holds you tightly to him as you mumble to him, the two of you eventually moving to your bed, you getting your long awaited nap but with the boy you love most by your side.

finals week might not be that bad after all.

[toorusluvr]

... 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

characters: sylus (love and deepspace) x f!reader

content warnings: vaginal penetration sex + p in v + cowgirl position + mirror sex + sylus being cocky and sarcastic + kneeling sex + missionary sex + unprotected sex + not proofread lol i'm sorry this was written on a whim

notes from nis: my first ever sylus smut lol he has been on my mind ever since the first day he was announced! he has no business being this hot! anyway, if you're also a haikyuu fan pls check out my series featuring iwaizumi hajime ehe. as usual, your likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated! <333 listen to around me - metro boomin ft. don toliver while reading! (only bcs i listened to it on repeat while writing this it's my new fav song atm!!)

sylus who got really interested and was in awe the entire time you were riding him. sylus sees himself as someone who would rather take the initiative in everything that he does, especially sex. after all, he always carries this dominating aura to wherever he goes. but he's not dumb enough to turn down his sweet little girlfriend's intriguing offer to be on top. you wanna show him? go ahead, sweetie. he's your audience and he wants you to entertain him. stun him, make him praise you.

what got sylus going was how enthusiastic you looked when you were on top of him, riding him to the extent your legs were sore enough to walk the moment after. sylus's cock was big and thick. it was no picnic to be on top, taking all of him while trying to work on your hips back and forth, grinding on his cock. you whimpered and moaned endlessly. from grinding to bouncing on his cock but he never once interrupted your hard work.

"mm, sylus, please. need you," you whined, hips stuttering to continue fucking yourself dumb on his cock. it's been almost half an hour but your orgasm was so close yet so far. sylus knew you were starting to get desperate to come, to chase that high you were desperate for. but, he needed you to last longer so you know he won't be giving in to you easily.

sylus's laugh was deep and warm, like the gentle roll of thunder. his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook as his chuckles filled the room. "sweetie, you know the drills when you got on top of me. why don't you be a good girl and finish what you started, hm?" his hand then smacked your bottom as a sign of disapproval. seemed like sylus wasn't too happy when you were whining to him.

you threw your head back, groaning in frustration. this man wouldn't let you give up easily. said that you must persevere no matter what the occasions are. you must rise and be the strongest. but not like this! not when you were vulnerable, aching and desperate for him to take control.

both your hands were now planted on his sculpted chest. his chest glistened with sweat, a bit slippery for you to hold. you then moved closer, your tits pressed against his chest. your arms circled around his broad shoulders. sylus shifted uncomfortably beneath you as he felt your hardened nipples brushed against his sensitive chest. fuck.

again, you rocked your hips, slowly grinding on his cock filling you up so good. all warm and thick inside of you. there was a large full-length mirror next to his bed. from ceiling to floor kind of mirror. he installed it long time ago but you never knew what purpose does it serve. maybe now it finally clicked in your mind.

you've always enjoyed seeing yourself in the mirror or any other reflective surface. maybe this moment needed you to focus on yourself instead of the man underneath you. slowly, you got up. your attention was no longer on sylus but the mirror next to the bed. sylus then shifted his gaze towards the mirror too. now, both of you were staring into each other's eyes through the reflection.

your naked bodies exposed, displaying your most intimate time together. slowly, you rocked your hips, trying to find your rhythm. the tip of his cock nudging your sensitive spot with each thrust. your soft yet heavy pants coming from you filled sylus's room. the man didn't even bat an eye at your noises. his hands then moved to your waist, keeping your hips steady.

since sylus won't take control, you decided to take the matter into your own hands. you know too well he'd end up a whining mess if you started bouncing on his cock. since he was too smug to help you, you planted both your hands on his lower abdomen. your hips moved sensually, grinding on him slowly before you got on your knees and moved up and down his cock. sylus let out a staggered breath once he felt your cunt clenched tightly around his aroused cock.

his larger hands had a firm grip on your waist. he didn't even have to guide your hips now that you did it all by yourself. you alternate between grinding and bouncing up and down his cock. sylus let out soft grunts when your hips started moving faster, just fucking yourself with his cock. what pissed him off was that your attention wasn't even on him but the stupid mirror.

you looked at your drop dead gorgeous reflection in the mirror, bouncing up and down his cock. your tits jiggled with each bounce. you whimpered pathetically at the way his cock nudged your most sensitive spot. "fuck me," you muttered under your breath.

sylus's eyebrows knitted as he grumbled, "you're already doing that, sweetie. using my cock like a sex toy, huh?"

still, you weren't looking at him. he got frustrated so he flipped both of you over. he had the upper hand and he used it to his advantage. he couldn't stand not looking at you in the eyes. to not have your attention on him is fatal to him. sylus needs those beautiful pair of eyes to be on him at all times.

you squealed the moment he used his force to flip you guys over. your back pressed against his bed, his height towered over you. "what's so interesting about that mirror, hm? i need your eyes on me, kitten," he spoke in between sharp intakes of breath, each exhalation coming out raggedly.

sylus's thrust was merciless. he kept fucking you like tomorrow doesn't exist. his patience runs thin when he's inside you. he loves taking his time with you but now, he just wants to make you a crying mess. you stumbled upon your words, unable to speak when your cunt being stretched by his thick cock.

you clawed against his back. several faint scratches decorating his muscular back. "fuck, sylus! give me more, please!"

sylus then cupped your chin when you had your eyes shut. he tightened the hold on your cheeks, "open your eyes, sweetie. i need your eyes on me or else i'll leave you high and dry. eyes on me, sweetie. it's now or never." sylus's voice was a dark, smooth blend of sensuality and power, each words punctuated with a commanding edge. typical sylus.

feeling so dazed in your lust, you slowly opened your eyes. his handsome face came into your sight. hair all messy and some strands were sticking to his forehead that was glistened with sweats. he smirked, crimson eyes looking down at you. his gaze filled with hidden desires.

sylus once again flipped both of you over. this time, he got you on all fours, positioning you in front of the mirror. you gasped loudly when he didn't give you any break from his punishing thrusts. at this point, your cunt could remember his cock so damn well. you tried hanging your head low, shying away from the intense gaze sylus was giving you. but he tugged on your hair, making you squeal.

it's like he had you on a leash with the way he tugged on your hair. not until he pressed your back against his front. now both of you were skin to skin again. sylus's ragged breaths felt warm, tingling your ear. you gulped hard. the heat radiating from sylus's body engulfed your skin. sweats started to run along your back. both of you were sweaty and satiated but no one had their first orgasm yet.

"fuck, look at you, sweetie. looking grumpy just because you cannot make yourself come, hm?" sylus's words taunted you. a smirk tugged in the corner of his lips seeing your frustrated expression. yeah, he hit a nail with that one. "my cock is not good enough for you, sweetie?"

you wanted to tell him to shut his mouth but that would be fatal. nah, he won't kill you. he loves you too much. still. you don't dare to go that route yet. "please, sy. i'm tired," you tried bargaining. a negotiation with the devil? yeah, best of luck to that.

sylus scoffed. his jaw ticked at your pitiful plea. "no, not yet, sweetie," he groaned, head thrown back. sylus stifled the rising impulses to come inside you, but he pushed them down with deliberate effort to maintain control over his cold reactions. "ah, fuck," he cursed under his breath.

he fucked you hard and fast, to the point you got overstimulated and tears started streaming down your face. sylus made you watch you cried your eyes out while being pounded relentlessly. your tits jiggled with each punishing thrust. it was sinful, really. but the devil has seen worse. this was blissful. a piece of heaven he could get.

"ah, sylus!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. sylus's hand reached down to cup your pussy, thumb ghosted over your clit. he let his touch lingered there for a while. eventually, he started to draw circles on your puffy clit, waiting for your orgasm to break loose. your breaths came in erratic bursts, each one uneven and sharp as if you were struggling to catch up.

sylus felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock so tightly, it might never want to leave. it was pushing him to his limits too. fuck fuck fuck. he couldn't do this dance any longer. he pushed your body down to the bed, pressing on your back as you arched your back for him. his cock pounded your pussy harder that each breath that came out of you felt hard. you cried with each breath until your orgasm finally broke, releasing the high and endorphins all over the system.

"fuck," you sobbed as you gathered your breath slowly. sylus fucks like a mad man. but he was yet to come so he used you, he used your pussy until his come, hot and thick, filling your womb to the brim. though a wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him, sylus steadied himself and pushed through, determined to check on his girlfriend.

"fuck, sweetie. you were..." he ran out of words. but sylus managed to pick where he left off, "you were so good for me."

you let out a breathless chuckle, "you must persevere, yeah sure i did, babe."

sylus's chuckle was a deep, gravelly rumble, each note rasping out with a rich, textured quality. "mhm, using my words against me, sweetie? have i underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?"

he then laid you down on his bed, limbs tangled with each other. both of you tried to gather your consciousness and breath together. "love to see you get all worked up, sweetie," he whispered before planting a kiss on your cheek. "like a feisty kitten." you then hit him on the chest. what a way to ruin your post-orgasmic bliss. sylus must be tone deaf since he cannot read the room at all. but he's a damn good guy when he wants to be and you happen to love both his good and bad sides. that's what makes him even more special.

divider creds to cafekitsune <3

[sailortongue]

Lima Bean

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: kenji makes his intentions clear and a certain reporter is a little too committed to his job

an: ik the title is kinda dumb but bear with me i have an idea (title is still subject to change if the idea falls through). also tags are being kind of silly and I don't know how to get them to act right so if you asked to be tagged but didn't get notified I swear I tried 😭

wc: 2k

navi | prev | series mlist

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“I’m pregnant.”

Those two words changed Kenji’s entire demeanor in seconds. His face dropped and his jaw hung open in complete disbelief. “. . . Are you sure?” He asked. 

“Positive test, missed period, morning sickness,” you listed off. “I’m going to make an OBGYN appointment anyway just to be 100% sure, but so far yeah I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” was all he could say in response, his mind both blank and racing at the same time. Had he really not used protection? Was he that drunk? He tried to think back to that night, but all he could seem to remember was a flash of you under him and his lips on your neck. His face immediately flushed scarlet. 

“Are you angry?” You asked, noticing the rapid shift in his complexion. 

He rushed to deny your assumption. “No! No, nothing like that. I'm just . . . not sure what to make of this.”

“I know how you feel,” you said wryly. “Just thought you should know, I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling almost hollow inside with the knowledge that your life was about to undergo a drastic change.

“I appreciate it, thank you. If you don’t mind, uh,” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “I'd like to be present. To be a father.” He thought back to when he took care of Emi and how much he came to love her. He was confident in his ability to take care of his own biological child, even if these weren’t the circumstances in which he imagined he’d have one. 

You looked at him as if you were meeting him for the very first time, entirely taken aback by his willingness to step up. Truthfully you'd expected him to deny any responsibility, but there he was, asking to raise the baby alongside you—to step up to the metaphorical plate and be a dad. “Really? And you’re not going to leave at the first inconvenience?”

“No. You have my word on that.” His expression was one of utmost sincerity. “I want to be a dad. Granted, this isn’t how I expected it,” he laughed awkwardly, “but it’s how it happened, and I won't run away from it.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to be so noble.”

“Thought I’d tell you to get rid of it or just throw a check at you to never contact me again? I understand the concern, but I want to be there every step of the way.”

“Then, would you like to come with me for my appointment? I haven’t scheduled it yet but . . .” you trailed off, realizing you were asking a very busy man to take time out of his day to accompany you to a doctor's appointment. “Unless of course you’re busy or don’t want to,” you added quickly.

He laughed at how flustered you’d gotten. “I'll be there. No matter the weather, practice, or a game, I will be there. That’s my kid you’ve got in there after all,” he said with a broad grin on his face as he pointed to your abdomen. “And that takes priority over everything else.”

“Wow. You’re smitten with something that’s probably the size of a lima bean right now,” you teased.

“Woah now, that’s our lima bean and I’m going to be the best dad a bean could wish for,” he asserted, imagining teaching his future son or daughter to play baseball with him or helping with homework, even what it would be like to do his daughter’s hair, or perhaps teaching his son how to tie a tie.

He was snapped from his thoughts when you slid your phone towards him from across the table, the screen displaying a new contact. “If we're going to be coparenting we should have each other's numbers.”

He picked up the device to input his number and then checked his own phone. He showed you the screen, a message from your own number displayed there. 

It was only when he handed your phone back to you that you noticed how late it had already become. “Oh wow, I didn’t realize the time. I didn't mean to keep you so late,” you apologized. 

“No no, it’s fine. I'm glad you, or, Ami, I guess, insisted we have this conversation in person. Think if I had been told over text I’d still be sitting on the couch reading it over and over again,” he laughed. 

“That was how I felt looking at the test. It didn’t feel real.” You had a smile that mirrored his own, and you couldn’t believe how fortunate you were that Kenji wasn’t the douche you expected he’d be when he found out. Quite the opposite, to your pleasant surprise.

“Do you need a ride back home?” He asked earnestly, not quite ready to say bye. After all, you hadn’t  allowed him the chance the last time you had met. 

You shook your head as you stood from the table. “No, I drove here, but thanks anyway. I guess I'll keep in touch?”

He hummed in affirmation, standing from his chair, his impressive height towering over you. He gestured for you to walk first, following close behind you, his hand lightly pressed to your lower back as he walked with you to your car. While the two of you were wishing each other good night, another patron of the cafe was typing furiously into his phone, notifying his boss that he had just overheard the sport's world's juiciest scandal in months.

-❀-

The first thing you did the following day was schedule an appointment with an obstetrician. There had been a recent cancellation so you were able to get a slot in just a few days. You sent Kenji a text to notify him when and where, a small part of you looking forward to seeing him again. He responded quickly, saying he would definitely be there. 

When the day came, he called you to ask if you wanted to go together, rather than take two cars. You agreed and told him your address, choosing to wait for him inside due to the biting cold of December. When you heard a car pull up, you exited your home, and it took all of your willpower not to gawk at his car, which was probably worth more than your entire house. You saw the driver's door begin to open, and he stepped out, breathtakingly handsome as usual. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and waved, greeting you with a jovial “Morning!”

“Good morning, Kenji,” you returned, a smile gracing your features. 

As you approached the car, he slid back into the driver's seat and looked over at you, taking in the sight of the mother of his future child. He'd lain awake all night, playing with the idea over and over in his mind. He was really going to be a dad. How different could it be to raise a human baby if he’d already done so with a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby?

You noticed his gaze in your peripheral vision, but as you turned to look at him he snapped his attention forward and made himself busy with inputting the name of the doctor’s office you’d given him into the GPS. 

The ride was filled with pleasant small talk, asking each other how you had been since last time, basically avoiding the elephant in the room and talking about everything except the new life between you. After parking, he made sure to open the door to the office for you and entered after you, a rush of cold air enveloping you as you approached the front desk. You confirmed your appointment with the receptionist, and she directed the two of you to sit in the waiting room and told you your name would be called when the doctor was ready. 

As you were waiting, you noticed Kenji’s leg bouncing up and down rapidly, showing his nerves despite it not even being his appointment. You took the opportunity that had presented itself and placed your hand atop his knee. He looked over at you, his brown eyes wide and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You can wait in the car if you’d prefer—“

“No!” He all but shouted, refusing to let you believe for even one second that he would run out. “I said I would be here for you and I will,” he said adamantly, placing his hand over yours where it was still on his knee and squeezing tightly, a physical reassurance that we was staying put. 

“y/n l/n.” You heard your name called.  You and Kenji stood together, his hand not releasing yours. Instead, he rubbed calming circles on the skin as you were escorted into the patient rooms, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was meant to ease his nerves or yours. Either way, it was a sweet gesture.

-❀-

The gel was cold as it was spread across your exposed skin, sending shivers up your spine. A grainy black and white image showed up on the screen, and the doctor pointed to a small grey object depicted on it, surrounded by a sea of black. “This,” she started, “is the fetus.” You looked at the screen in awe before glancing over at Kenji. He was seated in a chair against the wall, his elbows braced on his knees as he leaned forward, his attention rapt on the screen and his lips open in a small “o” shape. 

The doctor chuckled at your amazed reactions. “Excited to be parents?” She asked.

You don’t think Kenji even heard her, so you answered. “To be totally honest, this was unexpected, but I think we can make it work. Kenji here made it very clear that he wants to be a dad.”

“That's wonderful to hear. Well, looking at the scan I'd say you’re about 7 weeks along and you can expect to welcome the baby around August 11. 

Kenji was practically bubbling as you each took your seats in the car, and he kept stealing glances at your tummy even if you weren’t showing any visible change yet. 

-❀-

These past few days of tailing the nation's sweetheart baseball player were so worth it, thought the man sitting in his car while browsing through the photos of Kenji Sato and a woman he’d never been seen with before entering and leaving an OBGYN facility together. Interesting. Very interesting. With those photos there was no denying that Kenji Sato, baseball heartthrob, was a soon-to-be father.

-❀-

Kenji put the car in park in your driveway. You made to get out of the car until he exclaimed “Wait!” You re-situated yourself on the seat, angling yourself towards him. He seemed almost at war with himself, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually say what had prompted him to stop you from leaving. “Would you, uh,” he faltered, chuckling awkwardly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” He gave you a hopeful look. 

Heat flushed across your face and ears, and you beamed at him. “Doing things way out of order aren’t we?” You joked. 

He laughed mirthfully as well. “Way out of order,” he agreed. “So, was that a yes? To go out?”

“Yes, that was a yes,” you giggled, finding his eagerness endearingly sweet.

He nodded his head. “Ok. Ok, great. Are you free this Saturday? I'll pick you up?”

“I’ll see you then,” you agreed cheerfully, and, deciding to take another risk since you were doing things all out of order anyway, you leaned over and placed a quick peck against his cheek before hopping out of the car and waving goodbye. He continued to wait in the car until he saw you safely enter your home, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and his face crimson red, one hand placed lightly against where your lips had touched his skin. 

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[incognit0slut]

Hi author, can you write one where soft Dom Spencer (our beloved) is needy after work and tries to distract reader while she's cooking?

Heat of the Moment

warnings/notes: I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have the energy to write smut but I will write the build-up scene to it. So suggestive content (MDNI) with a sprinkle of fluff and a whole lot of Spencer being horny. (This is also very self-indulgent because I fucking love mac and cheese, and if any of you hate cheese in general, I’m afraid we can’t be friends)

Cooking isn’t exactly your best skill. Just follow the recipe, they say, and you do, although following step-by-step instructions isn’t the same as having a natural knack for it. No matter how closely you measure the spices or time in the oven, something always seems a bit off. A little bit overcooked. A little bit burnt. But Spencer, bless your boyfriend’s heart, never complains.

“What smells so good?”

You look over your shoulder to see him strolling into the kitchen, still in his work clothes. Loose dress pants, rolled-up sleeves, top buttons undone. The tie you help him put on this morning is missing.

“You don’t always have to do that, you know?” You say as you turn back toward the stove. You stir the creamy, slightly lumpy mac and cheese, the thick sauce clinging to the pasta in a way that looks almost perfect, if not for the slightly scorched edges.

“Do what?”

“Pretend it’s amazing,” you reply with a sigh. “I know it’s not.”

You feel his presence behind you. “I’m not pretending.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

He peers over your shoulder. “I don’t need to. I trust you.”

“You trust me too much.”

“Just as much as you do,” he explains, placing his hands on your waist. “You trust me too, don’t you?”

“Trusting you to carry a gun isn’t the same as trusting your taste buds,” you reply, slightly leaning into him. Your back lands perfectly against his chest. “One requires skill, the other… a strong stomach.”

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze as his laughter fills the small space between you. You like his laugh, it’s warm and infectious. It makes you smile even though you’re feeling a bit self-conscious about your cooking.

“Well, I’ve survived both so far. So I think I’m doing pretty well.”

You stare at the pot, watching the mac and cheese bubble slightly. “What do you think the chances are of us getting food poisoning from this?”

Spencer gently pulls your hair out of the way, his fingers lightly brushing against your neck. He leans in and presses a soft kiss. “I’d say the chances are low,” he murmurs. “You're always too hard on yourself.”

You laugh softly, leaning back into him. “Maybe, but I just don’t want to mess this up.”

His hands start to wander, tracing gentle patterns on your waist before sliding around to your stomach. “You won’t mess it up,” he assures you. He lets his lips trail down your neck. “And even if you did, I wouldn’t mind.”

You feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. “Really?”

“It’s already good because you made it.”

You can feel his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping as he lingers on the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Spencer, are you trying to distract me?”

You can practically feel the smile on your skin. He shakes his head, the slight roughness of his stubble brushing against your neck as he murmurs, “Not distracting, just appreciating.”

His denial is playful, his tone light, but his actions tell a different story. His hands continue their exploration, now slipping underneath your shirt. His palm is warm and slightly rough as it makes contact with your skin. He traces gentle patterns along your stomach, moving so slowly and as if he’s savoring every inch.

You feel your pulse quicken, each beat echoing in your ears. “Baby…”

“Hm?” he hums, and your breath catches when his thumb brushes just below your breasts.

“If you keep this up, there might not be any food for dinner.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

You try to focus on the pot, where the sauce has begun to form a thicker layer at the bottom, slightly burned and sticking. But his touch makes it difficult to concentrate. "Unless you plan to feed us on kisses alone, I think we might need something more substantial too."

Spencer laughs softly, a low rumble of amusement that you can feel as much as hear. "I don’t know, kisses for dinner sounds pretty tempting."

"I’m afraid it won’t satisfy our hunger."

"I think it’ll satisfy mine just fine."

“Oh my god,” you gasp, catching on to the deeper meaning in his words. You tighten your grip on the wooden spoon as you resume your stirring. “Stop distracting me.”

If anything, he clings to you even more. He rests his chin on your shoulder as his hands travel down your stomach again, only this time, they linger at the hem of your shorts. His fingers play with the fabric, teasingly tugging at it.

“Spencer.”

“What?”

And then you feel it, the unmistakable pressure of his arousal pressing against your back. It’s a firm, urgent presence, a hard line that aligns tightly against your own curves. The hardness of it distracts you even further.

“You’re making it really hard to cook,” you murmur, trying to sound stern but the breathiness in your voice betrays your growing distraction.

He slips a hand inside the waistband of your shorts while the other trace along your stomach. “I think we should forget about cooking for a while.”

“You know we can’t do that,” you try to argue, even as your hips instinctively follow his touch. “We need to eat.”

“But we could be doing other things,” Spencer whispers, nipping gently at your earlobe. His teeth graze your skin lightly before his lips close around it, tugging softly. The sigh you let out is shaky and breathless. The idea is tempting, dangerously so. The persistent heat from his hand, now tracing idle circles on your underwear, isn’t helping your focus.

“Aren’t you—” your grip on the wooden spoon loosens when he slips a finger over the waistband. “Aren’t you the one who… always says how our bodies need… what was it again?”

Spencer nods. “The human body need about 2,000 calories a day to function properly. But,” he continues, slipping another finger in. “We also need affection and touch for our emotional well-being.”

You swallow hard. “What else do we need?”

“Pleasure. Lots of it.”

You don’t know whether you should be laughing or not. His boldness is both shocking and strangely amusing. Spencer isn't the type to be straightforward when it comes to sex, but when he is, it's always intense. He's clingy, he craves attention, and even when his cheeks flush with embarrassment, it doesn't stop him. It hasn't stopped him in the past, and it's not stopping him now.

Your mind scatters as he starts pressing himself harder, slightly grinding behind you. And when he adds another finger in, then followed by another until all of his five fingers dive into your underwear, you know you’re already too far gone. You let go of your grip on the wooden spoon before it clatters inside the pot, reaching down to hold his arm to stop him.

“Fine. Fine. You win.” You breathe out heavily as you gently pull his hand out. “We should at least turn off the stove first.”

He grins, pulling away to turn off the burner. “There. Now, where were we?”

You finally turn to face him, your hands finding their way to his shirt. You grip onto the material. “I think you were about to prove a point about pleasure.”

His response is a soft laugh before his lips meet yours. He’s gentle when he touches you. He always is. His hands slides around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. You let your hand trail over his chest, up, up, up, until your fingers find the soft curls of his hair.

When he finally pulls away, he's smiling from ear to ear. "I think that's proof enough, don't you?"

You smile back, breathless and flushed. "Maybe," you reply, your fingers gently tugging at his hair. "But I might need a bit more convincing."

His grin widens, and he leans in again, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, "I can do that."

You can feel his hands tightening around your waist as he begins to kiss you again, deeper this time. It's all teeth and tongue, raw and hungry. The forgotten dinner on the stove barely registers in your mind. But with his hands and lips distracting you, you find it hard to worry about anything else.

[acid-ixx]

brutus: both arms cradle you now (villain au concept)

ft. yandere! harley quinn (brief mentions of the poison ivy and catwoman) x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

"so, you're saying you hate the batman, for personal reasons, cupcake?"

you've never expected to have a therapy session with one of your mentors who took you in.

harley quinn, the girl who took you into her abode right after she found you bloodied and laying in a crimson bath of your own one faithful night; death your only comfort.

she, alongside her other company, are well-known people within gotham's criminal gallery. she's known to be obsessed with her ex back then, chasing after his toxic love despite hers being consistently thrown away, she's been seen fighting, or even sometimes helping your father when he's wearing the cowl just to find the joker, she dons clown makeup and displays athletic talent for combat—

she's not the type you'd expect to be well-versed with a person's mental health, with her playful attitude and bouncy steps, but with the way she notices your uncomfortable body language whenever you stumble upon the bat, or how you simmer in silent rage watching him care for his vigilante partners during times they get injured; you'd have to admit she's more than qualified to ask you sensitive questions nobody ought to ask a violent criminal like you.

you don't know it, but you share far more similarities with the girl than you thought; chasing after love never once reciprocated, she has every right to know what makes you so triggered seeing the vigilante every damn time he's within the vicinity.

she has every right because she's the one who saved you when you thought your life would be all over.

when you believed that that day would be the time your soul would leave your body, you'd suddenly awoke to her gentle coos and her retelling her company on how she stumbled upon you. and another woman's palms are on your heated forehead, an unnatural shade of green, yet she helps swipes away your hair for your head as she listens intently to harley's story; she gazes at you just as softly as the other. she's seated right beside a familiar face, too, with cropped, jet-black hair and cat-eyes. it was her expensive duvet that you lay on.

it was there that they coddled you collectively.

they've been your saviors then, and your mentors ever since. it's what you've never asked for, to be cared for by criminals who fought on the opposite side from your fathers, but you've been craving affection your entire life that you'd never once complain about.

now, in the same apartment, her question lingers in the back of your head, you feel goosebumps rise on the topmost layer of your skin, and your heartbeats hasten against the cage of your chest.

despite that, she merely looks over at you, her eyes held a calculating gaze. it's not exactly nerve-wracking like batman's whenever you had your occasional encounters with him, but you can tell she's psychoanalyzing every aspect of your being.

like a therapist for most, but to you, she does so because you know she cares.

gone was the ditzy smile she likes to wear on her playful lips, or the active, bouncy lilt she has whenever she sits upon the swivel chair to talk to you. she stares at you, with piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows, nitpicking every reaction you conjure.

it seems like now's the time she wants to open up with such a sensitive topics.

especially right after the incident where you cried after watching batman speak to the youngest robin, with the sweetest, most poisonous tone you've ever heard from the man. it makes you want to vomit watching it, makes you wish to shrivel outside-in your costume and burn until you're mere embers.

you ask yourself, 'do i hate him?'

truth is...

god, you wish you do. but you're different now.

you have new people to care for you, now and you'd rather throw away that heart wrenching life you had back in the past. batman is nobody to you now, you wish you could lead yourself to believe that he was just your usual opponent, nothing more, nothing less.

yet you merely shift on your cushioned seat, ignoring the blaring telltale signs in your head to stay silent, and reply to her albeit the unsureness in your tone. your words taste bitter, sour, salty, and no way sweet. every unpleasant flavor swirls in your tongue in a cacophony of emotions; and you wish to cry the longer you speak, tongue-tied and wishing to will away the ache in your chest.

"i don't hate him, harley, at least not anymore... it's different, i don't know what to feel about him. maybe it's rage, maybe i want to exact petty revenge on him because of my past with him. don't know. it's all complicated..."

"if it's not hatred, then it's something else, no? you feel something deep within for him, don'tcha, sweetheart? you can't lie to me, you're hurt, and scarred, because of him and his other vigilante partners, i can tell."

she replies, quicker than you do, with empathy and comfort laced in every syllable of her words, and you're taken aback at the kindness and understanding. your eyes flutter away from her worried ones, and you look down to your clenched palms and feel the callouses from all the harsh training you've conditioned yourself to endure, dismissing the way she stands from her chair to walk over to you.

hurt... that's true. you're hurt, and all the emotional scars that lay within you are still open, bleeding, and it aches deeply. every time you build new memories with these people, the pain of the past overpowers whatever improvement you make in life; as if it's haunting and taunting you.

when she kneels down to the level of your lap, just right beneath your vision so you could see her beyond the layers of hair that cover your watery eyes, you see her soft gaze and find her dainty fingers holding your palms, ones you didn't notice dig nails deep into skin until the rivulets of blood escape.

when she squeezes your hands, you follow along the patterns of inhaling and exhaling through her squeezing, a silent session with her to help you calm down from your foreboding emotions; your hastened breaths and brimming tears. you've been so used to ignoring all your emotions that you forget what panic attacks felt like in so long, not until you discover that you've been having small bouts of it every day; not until you realize how it's always your mentors comforting you through every one of your silent sufferings instead of ridiculing you for it.

"calm down, cupcake... i just wanted to know why, so i, alongside the girls, could help you through your emotions. what type of mentors are we if we can't help you, no? you've been so tense lately, we couldn't even see your cute, little smile these days. so don't forget you're still allowed to cry, sweetie... let all your emotions out, 'kay?"

she speaks, with a gentle timbre in her voice, and you allow her to embrace your form, one you didn't realize was shivering until now. yet you still bury your head further into her body without shame and allow yourself respite for once; allow yourself autonomy to be controlled by repressed pain and sorrow you've tried to bury deep into the marrows of your bones and the cages of your heart.

and now you realize why, why you're all crying all the same like last time, and you simply cry for longer at the realization.

because what contrasts with love, was indifference, and never hatred. you once loved batman, bruce, with all your heart because you're his kid, and your momma taught you to love without any expectations. but he sees you with indifference, with nothingness. no care, no emotions or opinions about you, unlike harley's who holds you in her arms and comforts you throughout your lengthened crying.

he doesn't even look at you. the thought bothers you more than ever.

"it's— you're right," you whisper through your hiccups, burying your head further on her stomach as her right hand plays with the strands of your hair, scratching your scalp in a comfortable pattern. she hums as a reply, and allows you to continue.

"i'm hurt, harley... it's so painful just thinking... thinking about how much i'm in pain because of him... but he's, he's—"

"shh, you don't have to force yourself to open up anymore, sweetheart."

when she releases her hold on you, you let out an embarrassingly loud cry, hands swiftly trying to pull her back to embrace you; too desperate to let go, too paranoid that this is all a dream, you wish to sink into her warmth forever.

but she holds you back, just as quickly with her warm palms at your wet cheeks, and looks at you. like you're her savior, her peace, and her everything.

her next sentences satiate the foreboding hunger in your heart, one too starved, one that craved and wished to take what it never have.

she feeds you with love and affection too sweet that it rids the bitter taste in the back of your throat and the bile that slowly rises every time you reminisce.

"i get'cha, sweetie. you wanted something from him you can never have, and when he didn't give you that, it destroyed you entirely you felt like you can never pick yourself right back. been there, done that—"

"—but look at where we're both at now! living the best of our lives, doing fun, risky heists and making ourselves happy with what we think is good for us, no? you get where i'm getting at, right?"

you don't. you feel like melting into her hands and never leaving. she gives and you take, take, and take everything she offers you.

and she knows you don't understand, so she continues rambling knowing you'd grasp into every word she says, not once breaking eye contact with you. she stares fondly, you gaze back reluctantly, unaccustomed to the affection your mentors shower you with. but you don't pull back, she becomes sad and sulky when you do.

you want her to be happy.

"sweetheart, i'm telling you the past is past! get him away from your mind and throw all the thoughts about him away! if you were nothing to him, then he should be nothing to you, easy as pie."

"you deserve better people in your life, like me, and pam, and selina. i can tell you're rough around the edges but that doesn't mean you should strip yourself away from any privilege to be cared for and loved for by people who love you as much as you love them. he's nothing to you now, alright? it's painful, but you can move on from him. i trust you can— you know why?"

harley questions you, with all the confidence in her tone, taking your head to lay it on her body again, positioning it so you could hear the buzz heartbeat, you bury yourself deeper into her warm body and nuzzle into fabric. your heart hastens, but it wasn't panic, it wasn't even fear or hurt, but a drive and motivation that burns deep inside of you; that this is what you always wanted, and needed to protect, and what she generously provided.

all her words echo through your head like it's the truth, your holy grail.

"you have us now, sweetheart. to love, to guide, and to protect you. we're everything you need now."

and you believe her like she's god.

just this once, you do. you're allowed to hope, to dream, and to finally feel special. to be embraced like the fantasies you had in the past, to be held and comforted through every gut wrenching experience, just as she does, now.

for once, you allow yourself to be loved, even if it means it's by the same hands that stain itself with blood, all shed in the glory of your name.

a/n: happy halloween! i was laying in bed and suddenly had thoughts about this. i don't like this drabble at all ngl erm 😭 this post is related to events prior to the out for blood chapter (idk if i should make it canon to the plot or not) and what i said in this fanart post. despite this not being my favorite piece of work, i like writing about other charactersn too though, especially when they're so soft to the mc. so yeah! if you guys like more of this, please do comment since idk what to feel about this.

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 1 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.3k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, this chapter is pretty mild so not many tags are necessary ig?

a/n. thank you to everyone who's shown excitement for this series so far! i see you all, and i appreciate each and every one of you ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ and i'd love to hear from you as we go through this process together!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think someone with a time-slowing quirk is manipulating this shoebox of a room they unceremoniously stuffed you in with nothing but this middle-aged, bearded man roughly 30 minutes ago.

If 30 minutes is even an accurate approximation.

The said man is clicking away at his keyboard behind the desk in front of you, humming a non-descript tune, and, having already studied the room that seems to be an abandoned office, you take the opportunity to clock him. Aside from being around his mid-40s and sporting a full-grown beard, there’s something about him that rings the metaphorical alarms in your mind, signaling some sense of familiarity.

And it’s either you need to work on your subtlety or he’s just plain out observant, because he must have noticed your staring, shifting his gaze from his laptop screen toward you, mouth formed in a friendly smile. “Getting antsy?”

“I—” you start, before trailing off. You weigh your options for a second, before settling with: “It’s hard not to be, sir. Would you care to tell me what I’m here for?”

At that, the man merely purses his lips in a thin line. “Unfortunately, it’s not my place to say. I was just assigned to meet you here. At least,” he checks his silver-plated watch, “until further company arrives.”

You feel yourself frown. “And the men who arrived out of nowhere and fetched me from my apartment?”

He nods, “They were simply assigned to get you, yes.”

A burning question bubbles right up your throat, but you tamp it down, thinking better against it. It’s too soon, you think. You have to dig a bit deeper. And so instead, you finally prod at that inkling from a moment ago that’s been vying for your attention.

“Have we met before, sir?”

That must’ve been the right thing to ask, because the man visibly lights up. He swivels on his office chair, turning a bit so that he’s now fully facing you. “Why, yes! I thought you wouldn’t remember.”

You toss him the most genuine smile you can muster back in courtesy, but also to goad him into continuing. You hope that’s enough for now. “From a while back, right?”

“Yes!” he enthusiastically responds, whatever document he was working on now completely forgotten. “I was one of your earliest escorts until the commission relocated me overseas. I just got reassigned to you for this project, you see.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

However, you don’t get to revel in how you successfully coaxed information and confirmation out of him without lifting much of a finger, because he quickly realizes his mistake. He splutters as you watch the blood drain from his face, and you can’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Don’t worry,” you offer with that placating tone you’ve mastered over the years. “I won’t tell them you just said all that.”

He eyes you suspiciously, as if he’s debating whether or not you’re saying the truth, and you’ve half a mind to use it on him just so that the sole person you’re stuck in this jail-like space isn’t looking at you like you’re after his head, but you don’t get past considering that because the only set of doors bursts open and in comes an all-too-familiar face.

The both of you whip away from your stare down to look at the unannounced guest, and you instantly stiffen when you get a good look at the person leading the group.

Clad in a two-piece slate gray suit, the head of the Special Quirks department of Japan’s Hero Commission waltzes in, seemingly decades older than the last time you saw him. It hasn’t even been five years since, you think, yet he’s aged so much. Trailing right behind him is the woman you vaguely remember trailblazing the Missions committee, hair pinned up in a no-nonsense low bun and sporting a navy blazer and skirt combo.

And, perhaps in an effort to ground yourself in the face of impending danger that always came with the two, you’re about to look down at what you’re wearing in comparison, which, you recall is a baggy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you never intended for people to see you wear, when it happens.

You lock eyes with the third and last person entering the room, and instantly it’s like you’re doused with a sobering bucket of ice-cold water at the same time someone lights a fire under your ass. One glimpse at his firey gaze has your brain screaming at you to look away—anywhere, anywhere but at him— and pretend that didn’t just happen all the while mentally willing him away from existence, but you find yourself frozen in your seat.

Bakugou, who’s dressed casually in a plain black shirt and loose jeans, stares right back as he follows the two officials. You’re the first one to break eye contact, and words aren’t uttered as the guy from earlier scurries out of his seat, offering it to Asahi, the man in the gray suit, who accepts it thanklessly. Moriyama takes the seat the underling drags next to Asahi, and Bakugou plops himself down on the one around a foot to your left, the both of you now facing them.

“Thank you, Tanaka-san,” Asahi says, finally breaking the silence. The familiar escort who you now remember as Tanaka only bows at him, before standing silently to the side.

At that, Asahi shifts to regard you, the corners of his lips twisting upwards in what you think is an effort to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. With both arms on top of the hardwood desk and hands clasped together, he clears his throat.

He says your name as a start, which sends an eerie tingle down your spine. “Long time no see, huh?”

You don’t know how to reply to that, also acutely aware of the man beside you, so you merely nod.

“We apologize for dragging you here on your day off,” he continues, “It must’ve been quite jarring—having our men be at your doorstep.”

You fight back the urge to ask him how the hell he knows it’s your day off today, deciding in the last second you don’t want to know the answer. Frankly, you wouldn’t be shocked if he said they’d been keeping tabs on you and that they even know what brand of underwear you wear.

“I was surprised, I’m not gonna lie,” you respond, voice small. And just because you’re over this whole suspense factor, you cut to the chase. “What’s this all about, Asahi-san?”

“Skipping the pleasantries, aren’t we?” he chuckles, and you resist the itch to scowl at him. You never liked the guy—although you think it must have to do with all those extreme assessments he made you take growing up. To your relief, though, he relents. “I’ll get straight to it, then. We have an important mission for you.”

And as if you weren’t already stiff enough, you feel yourself tense even more, and the action doesn’t go missed by Bakugou, whose eyes you feel boring into the side of your face.

Asahi takes your stunned silence as a cue for him to go on. His gaze drifts to the pro-hero beside you, a knowing smirk decorating his features. “I trust that you’ve met?”

Despite yourself, you chance a glance at the ash-blonde, only to find him already looking at you. You feel yourself flame as he studies you with mild recognition, as if he’s seen you before but can’t quite figure out where.

Bakugou finally speaks up after a beat, voice gruff and eyes remaining locked on yours. “UA Gen Ed, same batch as me, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply dumbly, surprised he even remembers. “And you’re pro-hero Dynamight.”

To that, he gives you a curt nod, donning a serious expression as he turns back to face Asahi. “Go on and brief her about it already. I ain’t got all day.”

“We’re getting to that, Bakugou,” the old-ish man retorts, seemingly unfazed by the pro-hero’s impatience, before readjusting his focus to you. “As I’ve said, we’re assigning you to a very crucial mission. We got word yesterday that an up-and-rising quirk supremacist group is planning an attack somewhere in the city.”

“A-attack?” you croak, “Who’re they gonna attack?”

“That we’re not sure yet,” Moriyama joins in on the conversation, her countenance stern. “But we’re guessing quirkless individuals or people with weak quirks. We won’t know for sure, though, unless we get people on the inside.”

“And that’s where you two come in,” Asahi finishes, eyes darting back and forth between you and the man beside you. “You’re going undercover.”

You gawk at him, suddenly robbed of all words. From the corner of your vision, you sense Bakugou side-eye you, and that’s all the warning you get for what he’s about to say next.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, prominently exasperated by the entire situation. “‘s like you’re feeding a sheep to the fucking wolves.”

Instantly, you feel a sense of indignation wash over you at the comment, which is immediately followed by the familiar feeling of resignation.

You’ve gone through these motions before. Over and over again, in fact.

And normally, you’d let snide comments about the status of quirk slide, like you’ve been taught to the entirety of your life, but apparently this time that’s not an option.

Because Moriyama gives him a pointed look, as if chastising him on your behalf. You don’t dare to check how Bakugou’s receiving it, but you’re assuming not well.

But before the pro-hero can say something in his defense or provoke the woman, Asahi interjects with a good-natured laugh. “Slow down there, hero. Don’t get too cocky now that you just got named Vogue Japan’s Bachelor of the Year.”

Bakugou doesn’t miss a beat. “Shut the fuck up.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Asahi continues. “And no, I am not making a reckless move here,” the middle-aged man peers at you, “This woman right here has a special quirk.”

At that, you steal a glance at Bakugou, and the look on his face betrays the thing he’s evidently trying hard not to say.

‘What’s so special about this girl from Gen Ed?’

He manages not to blurt that out, though, instead going for: “How special?”

“Let’s just say it’s because of her that departments like mine exist in the commission.”

“Quit being fucking cryptic,” Bakugou spits out, just as you say: “It’s really not that special, though.”

That catches his attention, and you feel yourself shrink when his intense, crimson eyes land on you. You, however, fight to maintain his scrutinizing gaze when he pipes up. “What can you do, huh?”

“I—”

“How ‘bout you show him, dear?” Moriyama cuts you off with a knowing smile.

You don’t get to argue because the woman promptly sends Tanaka off to the door, and the four of you watch the guy as he rushes out, leaving you in a few moments of silence, before hurriedly walking back in with a nervous-looking young man in tow.

You decide then and there that you really don’t want to do this.

“An intern, Moriyama-san,” Tanaka announces in front of you with a booming voice, gesturing to the person beside him. “Just as you requested.”

“The hell do we nee—”

“Go on, Y/N,” Asahi encourages with a quiet voice, which you note is in an attempt to not be heard by the poor intern.

The poor intern who’s gaping at #2 pro-hero Dynamight, looking like his soul just left his lean body.

Your gaze shifts between the pro-hero and the young man, and you sit watching the silent exchange unfold before you. You can tell Bakugou is getting annoyed by the unabashed attention of someone who’s likely a fan, and the latter isn’t looking all too hot.

And so with reluctance, you do it.

“Hey,” you call out to the intern, who whips to look at you after another attempt when he doesn’t respond to the first.

“Wha—” he starts, but trails off when you decisively tug on the imaginary strings, and in a split second, it’s like the nerves that were just frying his system a beat ago get washed off his body, his face morphing to that of tranquil calmness in a blink of an eye.

You toss him a tight-lipped smile as he stares right back at you, serene and perhaps a tad bit confused, although you doubt someone not privy to your ability could recognize it on his face.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

You turn to look at Asahi, who’s now leaning back on the office chair with a proud grin on his face, as if he’s the one who just did the demonstration.

You try to suppress the mild annoyance at the sight of him.

You reason to yourself that he’s the one who made all this possible, after all. He deserves to be proud of the stunt you just pulled, at least to some extent.

And just as quickly as he entered, the intern is promptly ushered out of the area by Tanaka. Once the door clicks closed, you then shift to examine Bakugou, who you quickly find is already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched across his sharp features.

“You make people calm, is that it?”

“Oh, she can do much more than that, boy,” Asahi boasts. “She has the ability to tamper with any person’s emotions. She can diffuse or exacerbate existing ones or transform them into another affect entirely.”

“But very few people know that, Bakugou,” Moriyama adds with a warning edge to her tone. “It’s why the commission took her under its wing at such a young age. It’s why—”

“You disguised her quirk as something else and made her take the Gen Ed route.” Bakugou finishes with such certainty that catches you off guard, despite being well-versed in the fact that he is insanely perceptive.

You would know. Really, you would.

Because that’s one of the main reasons why you liked—

“It’s so that the wrong people don’t catch wind of her and her quirk, Bakugou,” Asahi supplements. “It’s for that very reason we’ve named her quirk as luck instead of manipulation. Which is what you’re going to do undercover.”

“What’s he gonna do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head to gesture to the pro-hero beside you.

“He’ll infiltrate the group alongside you, dear,” Moriyama answers. “He’s one of the best heroes we have, and well…”

She glances at Bakugou with such hesitance that juxtaposes the confidence she’s been sporting this entire exchange, before continuing. “…We’ve heard this group has been eyeing to recruit Bakugou, specifically.”

You almost choke on your spit.

Recruit the #2 pro-hero of Japan?

What kind of stupid agenda is that?

To your surprise, Bakugou doesn’t say anything in response to Moriyama’s weighty statement, his usually penetrating gaze fixed on the ground.

“He’ll make sure you’ll be safe, Y/N,” Asahi furthers. “He’ll introduce you to them as a useful tool, what with your ‘luck’, which you’ll tell them works by boosting the chances of success of the people you’re working with. And, given how your quirk actually operates, Bakugou here will emphasize your importance by requesting for their protection of you, so that you can get closer to the people you’ll need to manipulate.”

“How’s he gonna do that without raising suspicion?” you can’t help but ask.

“That’s the thing,” Asahi quips, before heaving a deep sigh. “At this point, there’s no saying for sure, but you’re gonna have to be ready to play the part of a couple if the situation calls for it.”

“A c-couple?” you barely manage to get out.

To that, Asahi and Moriyama only nod at you with such seriousness that you can’t find it in you to protest any further. Still, you try to express your uneasiness.

“I don’t know—if I can pull that off. I—”

“You have your quirk at your disposal, Y/N,” Moriyama assures you, to your chagrin. “You’ve trained hard enough to know when and how to use it.”

Well.

There’s not much left for you to do than nod in resignation, especially with the finality of her tone, so you do just that.

None of you says anything for a brief moment after that, a rather tense silence enveloping the tiny office. And you’re about to ask them one more time if they’re fucking sure about all this, but Asahi beats you to it.

“Do either of you have any more questions?”

You open your mouth to try again but this time Bakugou speaks first. “I do. Let’s say shit goes down and we have to engage this shitty ass group in combat. Does she know how to fight? You know, beyond just playing with emotions?”

You feel yourself bristle, and before your brain can catch up and rein you in, your mouth is already running off. “I’ve had extensive close-combat training, actually. So worry about saving your own ass, hero.”

Bakugou doesn’t get the chance to spew something right back at you, though, because Asahi cuts the tension with a booming laugh. “She actually has, Bakugou. Like I said, we’ve been training her since her quirk manifested.”

“Really?” he asks, a little bit too sarcastically for your taste. “And what’s in it for you, huh, Y/N?” the pro-hero turns to regard you, tone riddled with just enough taunt to make your blood simmer. “Why’re you going along with their whim?”

“They pay well,” you state as simply as you can. “My job as a guidance counselor isn’t exactly the most lucrative.”

“That we do,” Asahi chimes in before Bakugou can drop any borderline degrading remark, which you’re thankful for. You don’t know if you can handle any more backhanded comments from the man you used to fucking dream about way back in high school, who—apparently—also happens to be the man you’re gonna have to pretend you’re dating if things go south.

“If you don’t have any more questions,” Moriyama interjects, “There’s one last thing. We don’t expect them to go lax on either of you despite what you can bring to the table. So anticipate restrictions on your speech and movements—there’s a high probability that they’re gonna place bugs and trackers on you. The same goes for your online footprint.”

At that, you and Bakugou wordlessly nod in unison, the gravity of what you’re about to get yourself into finally sinking in. Shortly after, Moriyama goes through a few more technical details before announcing that they have another meeting to attend, and just like that, and with a promise to get in touch soon albeit clandestinely, she and Asahi exit from the very door they entered what seemed like an eternity ago.

Leaving you and Bakugou.

Alone.

Which is something you’re going to have to get used to for what lies ahead.

But that shit can wait until tomorrow, when the mission officially starts.

And so with much vigor, you quickly gather the purse you barely managed to bring with you when you got dragged out of your apartment earlier this evening, and stand. Bakugou’s head tilts up to look at you when you turn to regard him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“What?”

You force a smile. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Bakugou-san.” Not. “See you tomorrow, then.”

And, before he can say anything in return, you spin on your heel and leave without looking back.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[gghostwriter]

Whispered Truths

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 0.8k a/n: This is actually a request from @bloodredrubyrose and I really liked how this came out. I also used my favorite piece of fiction here as a prop so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Couples, no matter how new or old, tend to create personalized dates as a way to strengthen the relationship. Some go on hikes together, some go on travels, while some stay in the comfort of their homes—under a blanket with a chosen book on hand.

You and Spencer definitely fall under the latter category. It was quite obvious from the first meeting that literature would be one of the strongest bonding agents between you and him. After all, it was how you were brought together—crashing into one another at the library with books and miscellaneous items scattered on the tiled floor. A few shy glances and bewitching dates later, you found yourself spending your Saturday nights in the presence of your boyfriend of six months, hosting an exclusive reading club with just two members, you and him.

“I never thought of it that way,” your left hand paving an aimless path through Spencer’s curly hair while the other held the book up high.

The pitter patters of the rain outside softly echoed through the walls. You were propped up on the loveseat sofa, his head resting on your lap as he looked upwards in question in regards to your statement.

“Never thought of which?” His voice low and soft, striking a resemblance to how he gazed at you oh so lovingly. As if you were the most riveting piece if art he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“How water played a big symbol throughout the whole book. It was really focused on during the first chapters but I—I just never quite connected the dots,” you clarified, bring the book to a close.

It was your choice for the week, East of Eden by John Steinbeck—a modern classic and had been your favorite work of literature since high school. Spencer had lent his copy to you last week and you vice versa—both turning brown from age, pages about to fall apart from its binding, annotations scribbled on the margins and any lengthy self reflections written on various notebook pages sandwiched in between.

“Your explanation on the empty pages at the end—how water is capable of bringing both life and death. Water being essential for the crops but at the same time, drowned victims. It’s such a poignant note that I think I just fell more in love with Steinbeck’s writing,” you added. “It also made me realize how water in his novel represents the dual capacity of the human soul for good and evil. How we are all filled with conundrums and contradictions and what makes us different from the other species on Earth is our ability to choose whether we are good or evil—” Spencer had sat up and leaned in, interrupting your musings. “—what?” You breathed out as his lips hovered on yours.

The once cozy atmosphere quickly charged with tension and desire that seemed to ooze out of Spencer. There was little space in between and you had no doubt that from the outside looking in, it looked like he was kissing you but he was not, rather a sliver of air was still given space to pass through. So close but so far.

You studied his features up close. How his long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings beating against the wind as his molten, darkened, hazel eyes flickered between your lips and eyes. How his nose lightly caressed yours in an endless Eskimo kiss. How his cheeks stained into a lighter shade of red. And how his pink tongue peeked out to wet his pillowy lips. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as if it was some kind of national secret that he now felt right to expose.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time he had said it. His love for you had been conveyed with every touch, with every action, and with every silence but this was the first time he had put it into words.

His lips caressed yours—the pressure almost non-existent. A ghost of a kiss to gauge your reaction and consent.

“I love you,” he repeated a little louder this time, eyes locking into the very depths of your soul. “You and your mind have enchanted me since the beginning—so beautiful, so captivating.”

The butterflies set free in your stomach caused you to viscerally shiver in reaction.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

A smile graced his face and it was bright and as blinding as the sun, like it had finally decided to stop hiding behind the clouds and show itself in all of its glory.

He leaned in once more. The pressure from his lips now heavier and headier, trying to stamp his everlasting mark on you and in between all these kisses were whispers of his utter devotion and adoration until there was no more space—until you both became one on his loveseat sofa.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!