#so visceral and harsh

[wendigoruble]

"It was supposed to be an erotic fuckin WAAAA!"

[starscreamingg]

It's almost December, you know what that means! Time to listen to carol of the bells and nothing but carol of the bells until the clock strikes 12 on new years eve

[webism]

pornstar!satoru who knows there are a million eyes on him, he’s seen his view counts—the whole world has seen his form. He’s cocky, loves knowing just how many people have gotten off to the sight of him.

pornstar!satoru who, despite his infamous confidence, gets nervous when you walk on set and offer him your camera-ready smile. You’re such a pretty thing, the dictionary’s definition of perfect.

pornstar!satoru who can’t help but excuse himself before the shoot, so he can was his face and sate his nerves. Locks himself away in a bathroom just to pull his phone out and google your name—and god does he like what he sees.

pornstar!satoru who is minutes away from having to be balls deep inside of you and can’t help himself from touching himself in the bathroom. scrolling endlessly on his phone, pictures of you in different positions, different little outfits, looking fucking perfect in each one.

pornstar!satoru who cums harder than he has in months, in a porn set bathroom, just to the fantasy of his hand being yours. he feels like a sex-driven teen again, hands clammy as he washes them clean from the receipt of his desperation.

pornstar!satoru who is hard again the second he steps out to find you already naked on the scene bed. your skin looks satin soft against those sheets, eyes soft and lips softer as you watch him stalk over to you. consent checks and camera placement talk goes through one ear and out the other, he can’t get his eyes off you.

pornstar!satoru who forgets he’s a pornstar the moment his hands touch that sweet body of yours. he’s completely fumbling the scene laid out, the scripted dirty talk is forgotten the second his lips open. the only reason cameras aren’t cut is because the filth that leaves his mouth instead is more pornographic than the scene at hand.

pornstar!satoru who presses you down into the mattress in a mean mating press when he’s supposed to have you face down ass up. who would he be to deny himself a long look into those pretty eyes of yours? no way is he losing this opportunity for a paycheck he doesn’t really need.

pornstar!satoru who loses his curated pornstar persona the minute he bottoms out inside of you. his usual moans and groans are replaced with desperate whines of real pleasure. this is sex, he’s a mess of need and want and sweat and god do you look good stuffed full of his cock. he can tell you’re feeling it too, that something else, that electric eroticism that gets lost when you fuck for a living.

pornstar!satoru who can’t stop wondering what you’d look like pinned down in his own bed, away from the harsh light and prying eyes of the production crew. who has such a visceral feeling of dread knowing how many people are going to see you like this, fucked out and cockdrunk by his doing. it’s possession, a need to keep you to himself, sequester you away for his eyes only.

pornstar!satoru who cums ropes way too quickly. he’s usually good at holding his orgasm at bay for long enough to make a porno, but your pussy clenched around his cock was too much, your nails in the corded muscle of his biceps, your lips against his, your body in his fucking vicinity? he can’t help it.

pornstar!satoru who, after filming, invites you back to his for a drink or three, and gets swiftly rejected when you bat your pretty lashes at him and mention your boyfriend waiting for you at home.

pt 2!

[tonycries]

BODY-ODY!

Synopsis. Jujutsu powers aren’t used just in fights…sometimes they’re there to make you absolutely lose your mind.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu techniques, INSANE Gojo, breéding, heats (Choso), spítting, cúmplay, marathon séx, slight jealousy (Toji), creampíe, canon Sukuna lactatíon, FÉRAL boys, ratio technique, limitless, extremely neédy Choso, exhíbitionísm (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.6k

A/N. Hope y’all have a wonderful new week, I’m eepy so I will eep <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - The p*ssy killer!

With Toji’s strength, it was inevitable that he’d break seven bed frames, three couches, and four desks. Unapologetically. 

And with the way he had you like this - splayed out like such a slut on your drenched silken sheets, swollen cock pistoning in and out of your sloppy cunt so easily in that mean mating press he had you folded in - you knew he was well and fully intent on adding to that list. 

“Toji-” you’re gasping over the protesting creaks of the mattress. “S’gonna…”

“S’gonna what, woman?” he rasps out, bringing his ears millimeters away from your pouty mouth. Not even stuttering, smooth taunts falling from his lips each time he bullies his fat length into you. “Can’t hear you over this- damn- bed-”

Another wrecked snap! of wood nearby makes you squeal urgently, clawing for mercy at Toji’s toned hips, “-break! S’gonna break!”

Dark brows furrow in sultry concentration, that tiny scar on Toji’s lips quirking up in a devilish taunt when he gifts another harsh glide of his fat tip against your honeyed g-spot. “Damn right m’gonna break you.”

You don’t get the chance to correct him - you didn’t even need to, because he knew what you meant. He knew. But it was just so fun to shut up those cute lil’ whines of yours. Wrapping two big arms around your thighs to hike them higher up his muscled shoulders, Toji chuckles when you get even more soaked at the feeling of his abs flexing against your skin.

“Heh…s’bad manners to lie, y’know.” Shivers run down your spine at his sweet little scold, only making his grin grow wider. “Ya like bein’ thrown around me like this? Pretending to care about some- fuckin’ bed when all you really want is f’me to ruin this cunt?”

He’s speaking with such confidence - bleeding out from his grunts and churning into each hurried, jagged rut of his cock against your gummy cunt. Using that inhuman strength from his heavenly restriction to maneuver your hips and figure out which angle has you making the sweetest noises. 

You narrow your eyes to meet his glassy one, “M’serious, th-the manager at the ngh- furniture store was concerned last time.”

This earns you a soft smack! right on your sopping slit, Tojis rough palm feeling over the bulge of his massive cock, the hole you were milking him with. Forming a glossy, possessive sheen down his wrist. “You dare talk about another man while m’fucking you like this, doll?”

And, honestly, that desperate wobble of your lips almost makes him feel bad for the way he’s teasing you. Almost makes him wanna cave in and fuck you slow and sensual to save both you and this bed you both had picked out only weeks prior. 

Almost. 

That is until you open your pretty mouth to snap, the words babbling out delirious and bratty. “Well maybe he wouldn’t make me hngh- b-buy a new bed every month.”

Oh. 

That does it. 

You keen when his movements come to a torturous standstill, painfully hard cock stretching out your plush walls to every ridge and curve down his cock. And you can’t help the way your pussy pulses at the low, visceral growl tearing from your boyfriend’s mouth. 

Teeth bared, back muscles flexing as he raises his head up, up, up-

SLAM!

In a split-second, one of Toji’s arms had come down to bang against the already-rickety headboard. Letting a few sluggish seconds of his absolutely animalistic gaze devour you from your dazed, widened eyes to the snug cunt that was sucking the soul out of him - before the bed frame sags on one end with a defeated groan. 

“Whoops.” his words come out in a feverish grunt, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown. “Don’t worry, m’paying tomorrow when we buy a new bed, n’ I can ah- help this manager find you a new one.” A promise - an apology for later.

Still stuffed so deep inside you, he’s securing one arm around you, easily holding you snug against his toned body when Toji gets off the bed - with you hanging onto him in tow. Choking out a gruff, “But for now…”

“F-fuck you’re so deep-” your jaw slacks open to moan sluttily into Toji’s toned pecs, gravity making his greedy thick head slide in so deep to nudge at your cervix. Filling up every nook and crevice of your sweet spots. Molding your cunt to the shape of him. 

And the only response you get is a few sultry, lingering thrusts. His eyes only darting his hazy gaze around the room- shit, where was that desk again? Right, he’d broken it last week. And the loveseat- Ah, that was just last movie night. 

Well, with a low rumble vibrating from his chest, that’s all it takes for you to be spread so shamefully on the bedroom floor. 

Toji’s pushing your face to the cool hardwood, a toned thigh stopping your needy bucking hips, the other keeping your legs open for him to bully back into your hypnotic cunt. Sloppy. Going right for that rhythm from before. 

“Better cum before I break the floor too, huh?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - BULLSEYE

“Ken~”

“No.”

“...p-please?”

“Nope.”

It’s been like this for far too long now - with you bent over your husband’s home office desk, being absolutely pounded into the various work documents he really should’ve been focusing on instead. 

Of course, there was the speckled yellow tie currently digging into your wrists, pinning them both behind you uselessly as if you were some elaborate sex doll for Nanami to plunge his achy cock into. Though, that seemed to be exactly what he was doing.

And he was holding back.

“B-but Ken–” you’re letting out a thick, sultry whine of his name. Teary lashes batting back at the towering man, “I promise I won’t run away this time.”

His response comes out as a rough grunt, “That was what you hah- said last time before it got too good.” A large hand coming up to thread between your tangled wrists, using the leverage to pull you back onto Nanami’s unforgiving ruts of his length. “And the time before that.” Spearing you about halfway along his swollen cock, he’s splitting your poor pussy open. “And the time before that. And right now.”

As if to test your little resolve, his free hand comes down to kiss your ass with a deliciously resounding smack! 

And he’s only humming in satisfaction with your absolute mess of a less-than-composed response. A low gurgle of Nanami’s name in your throat, legs trembling when they fuck down onto his thick cock. Down and up as much as you could, stuttering as if to run away from the burn.

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, my love. You got it.” he’s hushing your moaning cries, soft palm coming to soothe the sting - and the inevitable handprint. “Jus’ like I said- how are ya gonna handle the ratio technique if you can’t handle that?”

“I will.” Is your stubborn response - as expected. 

But to your surprise, your husband only grins, “Thought so.” Using the tie to pull your cunt back to grind deeper against him, “How about this, darling-” Nanami propositions, hips halting down to slow, shallow circles around your gummy walls. Swiping at the sweet spots he hits effortlessly, he whispers. Low and just aching for the type of trouble you always get him into, “-try not to run away before you cum this time  n’ I might consider taking off these for the next round.”

And then, there’s a sudden shift in the air. It suddenly becomes thicker, almost suffocating. You wince at the sudden feeling of atoms around you standing at rapt attention - before that expression is quickly morphing into one of such bliss when Nanami’s fat head slams straight into your g-spot.

Lingering, nudging against your sensitive spot just before it becomes too much before he’s reeling his hips back to do it again. And again. And again and again and-

“Ken ohhh fuck- oh my god-” you’re going cross-eyed, drool dripping down your mouth with how fucking good it felt. That divot at the gummy tip of his cock branding onto your bundle of nerves. “F-forgot how much I love your technique.”

“Oh, I know.” you can hear the grin in his voice over the crackle of jujutsu. Tugging harder on the restraints at your wrists, “Anything for my wife, after all.”

“Then would you hah- ngh- untie me so that I can touch my lovely husband?”

This earns you another gifted smack! to your ass, and an even harder jam of his thorough cock pistoned right at your magical spot. “Not a chance.” He’s absolutely ruining you from the inside out, and you feel like you’re melting with each expert graze of his veins against your honeypot of sweet spots - not missing even a single one.

Your ass is recoiling against Nanami’s sharp hip bones now, leaving a faint heart-shaped print on his hardened abs. Tufts of blond tickling your searing skin, twitching balls slapping against your forgotten clit.

“F-fuck.” your voice wobbles when his scarily accurate aim is making your ravaged cunt cry out in lewd squelches. Drowning out the strain in your voice when you whimper, “That all you got, Ken?” 

“Perhaps.” he huffs slyly against your ear, still pulling back on your restraints. “It’s real a wonder you’re not hah- runnin’ away, yet. Aren’t ya close?”

It wasn’t a question he needed to ask - Nanami could feel the way your slick walls were channeling around him, massaging and convulsing depravedly with each plunge. So fucking wet it was forming a lewd little puddle down to his heavy balls.

So ready.

So near. 

“I-I am.” you admit, gingerly shoving back onto his mean cock as much as you could. Somehow, every minute movement hitting at your weak spots, leaving stars behind your lids.

Oh how you wanted to buck away - the feeling too good that you wanted to run. Nails digging sharp grooves into the expensive wooden desk, knees weakening pathetically. Honestly, it was a wonder you weren’t falling on sorry legs on the floor right now - it wasn’t, because if you were in any better state of mind you’d have registered Nanami’s strong arm under your stomach, holding your entire weight up easily.

“Then cum.” he grits out, absolute need lacing his tone. “Cum f’me - and don’t run away, my love.”

So you do - and you couldn’t run away even if you wanted to. Because he’s securing a vice-like grip on his tie, holding your back flush against the sweaty panes of his muscled torso. Legs unable to move anywhere but back into him as Nanami fucked you through your high. 

Nanami groans at the feeling of you cumming all over his achingly hard cock. Squeezing and trying to milk out the fucking life of him. “Hah…how gorgeous f’me.” He kisses away those tears of overstimulation rolling down your face, though, he’s still nudging against your bruised sweet spots inside. “Now, s’time for you to hold up that bargain, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “T-the cult leader?”

That cute, wide-eyed little question of yours makes the gorgeous man in front of you chuckle. A deep, slow baritone that sends shivers right down to where he had you sat on the outline of his thick, straining erection.

“Of course I am.” he purrs against the shell of your ear, shuffling you around so the drenched excuse of your panties was making a mess on the damp spot at his leaky tip. “What about it?”

“Well then why-” you look over your shoulder at the rows upon rows of Geto’s cult members. Faces still, expressionless. Bowed at the waist to look at the floor - but still ever-present. Murmuring in confusion, “-why can’t you tell them to go?”

Another sultry smile. “Oh, gorgeous.” He swipes the tip of his fingers at your syrupy juices, promptly stuffing his mouth full of your heady taste. Moaning so hedonistically, “They’re here for you.”

And then Geto’s shuffling around the expensive robes of his yukata, having you bouncing precariously on his lap when he frees his achingly hot erection. So so red and angry. 

It’s all you can do to bite back your embarrassment when he’s dragging your sloppy cunt all over that veined length of his. Jolting when a hand of his smushes your cheeks together in a pathetic pout,  “Look at me.” he muses, dark dangerous eyes boring into yours. “They’re your welcoming party, after all. Don’t worry, you’re only mine to see n’-” Pecking at your lips in an innocently languid kiss, “-I’ll kill them if they look.”

Right as he says this, Geto’s slipping his fat head past your sopping slit, such a sinful expression of ecstasy taking over his delicate features at the first taste of your heavenly cunt.

“O-ohhh fuck.” he groans, hips coming up in bullying little thrusts to lodge himself inside. “Mmpf- my girl’s cunt feels s’fuckin’ good. How the fuck do you feel this good?”

You’re panting at the sheer stretch - the feeling of your puckering hole being split apart so blatantly - and for hundreds of others to see. Candied lips coming up to graze his in a messy clash, “My girl?”

Ah, just hearing those words echoed back to him has Geto thrusting up mindlessly into your plushy walls. A hand coming back to circle around your clit pooling your juices back on his addicted fingers. 

“Yes-” his long tongue darts out to catch those drops of your slick. Before diving back in again- and again and- “My girl. My pussy. And every one of these little worthless pigs are going to know that now.”

You could practically feel the wave of shudders that run through your audience. But a quick glimpse back showed that they all stayed firmly rooted to their spot, eyes trained on the luxurious carpet of Geto’s hideout. Whereas you were shivering for a whole other reason - because Geto’s lengthy fingers are back to toying with your poor cunt. 

Two of them spreading out your puffy pussy lips to show off how greedy you were being - the way your dripping cunt couldn’t do anything but milk Geto Suguru for each and every one of his delicious inches. Taking him so well as he pounded up lazily into you, making the fat of your ass jiggle with each calculated pump. 

It’s so filthy - so agonizing. 

He noses up your racing pulse, “Heh, I can tell ya liked that, pretty. You just go so much wetter, almost drippin’ onto the floor.” You weren’t - yet, simply forming a glossy mess of slick all over the cult leader’s distinctive robes. “So sloppy I bet they’ll see soon.”

“But you said-” you’re choking when a particularly hard thrust has you clinging onto his broad shoulders for stability. Fingernails blemishing his worshiped skin with red, raw marks gifted from you. “-said m’only yours to see.”

Oh, how he knew you’d be fucking fun.

There’s an almost reverent pitch in Geto’s throaty rasp, “You’re right.” As if seeing you for the first time - and he’s just ramming into you with a greedy grin. “So fuckin’ right.”

Geto’s dick is so girthy that it fills out every crevice inside your pussy that you didn’t even know existed. Balls a rightfully sinful side of heavy that made a loud smack! ripple throughout the otherwise deathly quiet room. 

“You’re mine.” he whispers, strained like he was losing a bit of his sanity with each press up against your spongy cervix. “N’ I should fuck you like you are.” Which had Geto teething down your jaw, your earlobe - sharp canines digging hard when he bites down at the crook of your neck. Enough to draw blood, to break skin, to have you screaming out for- mercy? More? But he’s already plowing on, “N’ everyone here will accept it.”

He lets out such a lovely moan in tandem with yours, head thrown back when his thrusts get untimed. Sloppy. Glistening with need and slick as you mewl, “S-Sugu m’close m’gonna cum-”

Bang!

You whirl your head up to see Geto with his free hand held out, eyes wide, crazed - glaring intensely at something over your shoulder. Something you don’t get to see, because he’d tilting your head back to his in a romantic gesture.

“Told you I’d kill them if they looked.” He breathes, over the distinct growling of his rainbow dragon. Kissing gently at your lips, the tip of his fat cock colliding into your g-spot. “Now, where were we?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Like an animal

There was something that no one in the jujutsu world spoke about the most advanced curses - something hidden. Something dirty. Something that had you crying out where you straddled Choso’s fat cock, big bulbous tears rolling down your cheeks, throat shot when he was stuffing your poor pussy full of his fifth orgasm this rut. 

“Please oh- please.” Choso whines, hips stuttering up into your gummy depths. Strong arms circling your waist to hold you still while his fat head paints your walls white with thick streams of his seed, “Take it- fuck fuck fuck jus’ take it for me.”

Each sloppy half-thrust is all he can manage to drag you through your own climax, lips falling into a soft oh! at the dredges of your sweet sweet juices slobbering down his shaft. 

“Baby…” Choso starts, greedy eyes just devouring that sinfully creamy ring now forming around his soaked hilt. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, voice cracking at the end, “I think-”

And you know that tone. You know what it bodes for your sensitive cunt. Reminded that it’s currently that time of year for your poor curse boyfriend. When something dark, and primal pokes its head out. Aching to touch you, to breed you - killing him to make you his. 

So you’re gasping out in disbelief, “Cho- what! Again?” Scrambling to perch your hands on his pecs and sit up, “The heat’s still not done?”

You don’t get very far - because he pulls you back onto his body with a possessive tug. Looking up at you with big, teary eyes, “No.”

His syrupy words are coated in desperation, a few octaves higher than normal as he murmurs against your open lips. “N’ it’s a rut, baby. All m’gonna wan’ ngh- do is fuck this cute pussy.” he coos, a slick-glossed fist dipping down to squeeze out the last few beads of cum out of his base and into your overspilling cunt. “Don’t think I’ll ever be done- not until she’s properly bred. Not until- fuck m’not gonna- get out of this alive.”

As if he hadn’t just wrangled out another overstimulated high, Choso’s bucking his hips up sloppily into yours. Toned back arching off of the cotton sheets - soaked and absolutely ruined with pools of your sin. 

Over and over and-

“But Cho–” you babble out when his girth is thrashing back at those sensitive areas inside that he’s mapped out so many times before this. “I think I’m not gettin’ out of ngh- this alive.”

In his barely-lucid state, Choso’s taking this as a compliment, flashing a crooked, pussydrunk grin up at you. Face flushed a pretty pink, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead when he bats his heavy lashes, “Mhm.” 

Then he takes the opportunity when your lips fall slack in shock at his response to plant a steady stream of his spit. Missing purposefully to thumb away the splattered sheen of him along the corner of your swollen lips. “N’ you hah- not going out until g-get this cute pussy pregnant, m’kay?”

The notion is so dizzying that for a moment you don’t believe him. He doesn’t wait for your response - doesn’t have to. 

Back to his mind-numbing addiction of spearing your heavenly pussy on his angry cock. Like he couldn’t stop himself.

Again. And again. And again and again.

And he thinks you look so pretty like this - steady gushes of his cum dribbling down your shamefully spread puffy folds, thighs pathetically shaky trying to keep up with his frenzied tempo. 

A whiny ah! ah! ah! leaves your mouth with each kiss against your ravaged g-spot.

“Cho- I don’t think- ngh I can cum again-” your heavy lips part open to moan. Feeling so raw everywhere. “Are you really gonna-”

“Say it.” he begs. Two hands of his coming up to knead your sensitive tits, running his thumbs in awe over your puffy nipples. “Say it- say it please-” He’s attaching his pretty pink lips around one, cheeks hollowing while he sucks as if trying to draw out something delicious. “Please, ma.”

Fuck - you don’t know what you’re getting wetter at - the lil’ nickname or the way Choso’s dancing a hand down to draw sultry, purposeful circles. Syrupy slick saturating all over his toned pelvis with each ram of his hips.

You’re keening, “Are you fuuuuck jus’ like that- are you really gonna fuck a baby into me? Or die trying?”

“Let’s see…” he lets out a low drawl, quieting down to let your obscene squelches take over. Music to his ears, drunk off of every sound with every harsh piston of his hips. Loud. He gives your clit a hard pinch, grinning, “Yeah. My girl’s pretty cunt says I can.”

It only takes a few more hard crashes of his thick head against your sweet spots before you’re clawing at the headboard, the sheets, him - just anything to hold onto an ounce of your sanity while you’re cumming and cumming and cumming so hard you can’t stop. Wave after wave of your high being dragged out of you.

And if you couldn’t stop - then Choso wouldn’t. Whispering praises slurring together and sticking against your mouth as he spills his potent seed into you once more. 

Wispy strings filling all the way at the back of your pussy while he fucks you through your high. Milking himself on you like some cocksleeve - addicted. Needing to breed you.

Which is why, when his spotty vision catches a trickle of his own seed out of your bloated pussy, Choso’s clicking his tongue. Thumbing your swollen folds further apart, he gives your clit a slow rub to wake up your droopy eyes. “Rut’s not over yet, ma.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Got milk?

“Tch. Stubborn lil’ thing.” the king of curses lets out a proud noise of disagreement - but you catch that tint of red on his high cheekbones, the way his swollen tip twitches wildly against your gummy walls. “S’not gonna work.”

The only response he gets is a cooing hum, your fingers dancing over Sukuna’s pecs to squeeze and grope at the curve of muscle.

So hypnotized with what you’re doing, it’s almost embarrassing for him. And all he can do is tighten the greedy grip he has on the fat of your ass, sliding your sopping cunt down, down, down until your throbbing clit scratches against those tufts of pink. Sitting so prettily on his throne.  

At the site of your lewd entrancement, Sukuna scoffs in frustration, “I told you, brat. I don’t know if you’re already fucked dumb on my cock but- ngh–” 

And oh the great Ryomen Sukuna whines - he whines, such a pretty noise that makes your elastic walls tighten around his rock-hard shaft. Rutting up deeper into your pussy so mindlessly mean when you wrap your pretty lips around one of his puffy nipples. 

“I know what you said, Kuna.” your voice sends vibrations all the way down to his needy cock. Leaky and angry where he was dragging inside your cunt. “But I also know what I heard.” Sucking. Harsh. “And a little birdie told me that someone can make milk-”

“Fuckin’ Uraume.” Sukuna spits, hips picking up the pace now that he has the answer he’s looking for. Long fingernails leaving neat little marks on your skin, “N’ you seriously believed that shit?”

And then he’s making your back arch more, kicking out your thighs even further to spread over the stretch of his girth. Fucking deeper and deeper until he was sure he was massaging at every inch of your walls. 

Managing through pure hissy rage to punctuate each ram of his shaft with threats, “Don’t believe that fuckin’ rumor I swear I’ll kill-” The words die in Sukuna’s chest when he’s snapping his pussydrunk head down at you - the same chest you were still pawing greedily at. “Oi, what did I tell ya?”

When you don’t make a move to remove yourself, he’s dancing a hand down to toy with your neglected clit. Forcing your dazed mouth to pull away. 

“I-I don’t know, Kuna.” you purr, still gasping for air. “Because-” You roll his raw nipples between your fingers again - desperate. Making him hiss. Glassy eyes snapping down to the way he was fucking you so filthy now. “-you seem to love this.”

And he can’t deny it - can’t make up any excuse for the way he was bouncing you along his fat veiny length like some cocksleeve. Pussy lips kissing him tenderly, thick head gliding across your cervix. Sinking into your drenched cunt so desperate. 

Yet, he grits out, “Won’t work.”

“Will.” you smirk, still teasing his pecs the exact same way he’d do with your tits. 

“Won’t.”

“Wi- hah-” your words are being gulped down by Sukuna’s sharp canines nipping on your lips. Drinking in your heady moans with every bullying thrust into your walls. Soft pads of his fingers thumbing at your clit, your puffy folds, pushing himself deeper and deeper. “You’re so unfair-”

That drags out a ragged grin from him, the wet smack of skin-on-skin music to his ears at this point. He’s wiping away the excess drool on your lips from your antics, “Maybe you’re just too gullible. So why don’t you hah- put that pretty mouth instead to-”

And then it happens. 

Your cockdrunk eyes manage to focus on that tiny, beading pearl of white at the very tip of Sukuna’s mouthwatering nipples. Without a second thought, you surge forwards, reattaching your lips with his ravaged skin. 

“O-oh fuck-” he shudders, fingers stuttering where they were drawing obscene circles on your clit. “Wait fuck oh- fuck fuck fuck, brat.”

That’s all it takes for him to cum. Balls squeezing so fucking painfully as Sukuna cums harder than he has in the thousands of years on this Earth. Mashing his cock into you, drawing out every lengthy spurt of his seed to paint your cunt white. 

“Take it-” You don’t know if he’s talking about his cum or his milk. “Fuckin’ take if you want it so bad.”

Each shrill profanity has him reaching deep into your gummy core, bowing his body further to your greedy mouth. The sobbing wet smacks of your lips having him humping you fast. Messy. 

And shit anyone would faint if they saw the infamous king of curses like this - if he didn’t kill them first, that is. 

You, however, his favorite lil’ human, was having the time of your life. Thick globs of cum smearing down your thigh, forming a slippery coating where you were sucking him through his high. Sukuna’s sweet sweet milk treacles down your lips, rich and syrupy. So much that it was spilling down onto lewd little puddles on the curve of your tits. 

“Oi, fuck you greedy little slut.” Sukuna coos at your ravenous pursuit, the way you were pinching at his pecs for more. “Don’t waste- ngh- any of it.”

And upon seeing that grin of yours - that devilishly smug, white-glossed smirk - Sukuna all but forces your lips to crash against his. Hips fucking up menacing - still so pointedly hard, while he tastes himself. “Don’t think m’not gonna make you pay back tenfold for this embarrassment, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sanity? Optional.

You wondered just how high the kill count would be.

In the hundreds? No, you fear, when your boyfriend slams your apartment door open, eyes hooded, glowing. Barely getting a word out before he’s pouncing on you like a wolf starved, ripping off that useless excuse of shorts with only two fingers.

In the thousands? Probably not, you think, when he doesn’t waste a moment before shoving the entirety of his angry, leaking shaft into your sloppy hole. The only apology you’re getting for the moment being a few praises and whispers of “buying a new pair of shorts for you.”

In the hundreds of thousands? Maybe, you muse, when immediately Gojo is smearing his fat tip against your cervix. Sinking his way into your heavenly pussy to wreak havoc on you where he could be going out of control and destroying a few cities. 

“Nah, millions.” His slow, sensual purr is ringing in your ears, and you have half the mind to wonder whether Gojo had a mind-reading technique, too. Greedy lips dragging up to mouth over your thumping pulse. Dangerous. “Might just take out hah- this whole fuckin’ city if it wasn’t for this ngh- sweet pussy hypnotizing me.”

Each and every babble falling from Gojo’s candied pink lips are followed by some of the meanest thrusts. Having his tight balls smack against your ass, running his mouth as mindlessly as he’s fucking you into the living room couch he happened to find you in. 

You’re gasping when his long fingers come down to give your poor clit a buzzing tap! Sending sparks with the very dredges of his jujutsu. 

“T-Toru what happened?” you’re managing to gasp out, your ears popping at the pressure of the air around your two. “Why are you so-”

“Feral? Out of control? Maniacal?” he fires off, a devilish grin spreading with each suggestion. Eyes wide, tinged with an electric glow, voice breaking desperately as he plows on, “Absolutely fucking losing it?”

If either of you were in a better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the way that lamp on the edge of the coffee table exploded. Shards of glass flinging across the room and stopping short where Gojo had limitless poring over the two of you.

“Well, you see…” he’s humming so sing-song, large hands coming up to wrangle your thighs onto his broad shoulders. Gnawing down on his worried bottom lip when he’s trying to squeeze himself impossibly deeper inside you, “-I had a bad day.”

“That’s it!?”

Those startled words are bursting from your lips without any thought. And they have Gojo narrowing his eyes at you like a predator cornering his prey, teasing grin curling down into something almost garish.

He hikes a muscled thigh up, fingers tightening around the plush of your thighs. “Yes, that’s it.”

It’s quiet - barely audible, even - followed by a low thrust that reaches you all the way in the bottom of your pussy. Somehow bruising - Gojo’s fat tip clashing against your g-spot, your cervix, so hard it makes a broken whimper drag from your shot throat.

And this seems to jolt him back to his senses somewhat, that furiously depraved glint flickering in his summer blue eyes. “Oh, sweetheart.” he sighs, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy mess of teeth and spit. “Couldn’t stop hngh- thinkin’ about you all day. Couldn’t stop wanting- needing-”

He’s cutting himself off with a pained groan, back to having the soft pads of his fingers roll over your clit in humming, sultry circles. Little buzzes of his electricity going right through your veins. “Fuck, s’all I thought of even when- hah- fighting. Just you, my girl, waiting at home f’me to stuff you full of my cock.”

Sloppier. Incessant - just milking himself on the dripping channel of your cunt. Deep, lingering thrusts that have you missing him every time he’s reeling back. A few stuttering pops of bones have you spitting out slobbering little pleas into Gojo’s panting mouth, gummy walls sucking him in so good. Clamping down until it was almost difficult for him to ram into your greedy pussy. 

Honestly, whatever shreds of your rationality wondered how the fuck you two were still unharmed, still having no bones broken - it was because of his reverse curse technique, you later learn.

But for now all that was going through your honeyed, oversaturated mind was how full you were of him and only him - until you could barely even breathe-

“Hey hey now.” His words a smooth coo, not betrayed just how ragged his hips were. Another few smacks of his ruthless fingers right down your sopping slit have you wrenching your eyes back up at him. Your poor clit getting caught in the crossfire, leaving lewd smears glistening all over Gojo’s palm. The overhead lights flicker, illuminating little blue specks of lightning as he kisses gently on your forehead, “F-fuck- keep up, pretty.”

Somehow, you manage to gasp, “Keep up?”

“Mhm, because m’not fuckin’ done until I pass out.”

The words are pushing you over the edge, and before you know it, your velvety walls are squeezing around Gojo’s engorged cock so tight. So heavenly as he fucks you through your high - not even bothering to ease you into it, he couldn’t.

And it only takes a few silky whines of his name out of your mouth before he’s beading out pearly white spurts of cum. Overspilling into the snug channel of your pussy, thick seed gushing out as Gojo shoves it deeper and deeper to decorate your walls. His snowy brows knit together when he cums and cums so fucking hard it’s like something bursts.

And something did - every single lightbulb within a fifteen mile radius of your apartment. 

But you don’t notice, too caught up in Gojo’s syrupy sweet hum, “Well, m’not passed out yet n’ since the electricity’s gone I guess there’s only one thing to do, huh~”

A/N. LMFAOOO Toji acting like he can afford to buy another bed smh. Also the way Sukuna being able to lactate is canon?? Gege you hoe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pipthepiper]

virgin!bf!viktor who simply cannot control himself around you.

it’s like he’s some sort of horny teenager, eyes glued to your body at every chance he gets and sticky hands attaching themselves to your ass or tits when he sees the opportunity.

you don’t really complain about it; being wanted so viscerally is a compliment, one that makes you feel good in every way — so even when viktor gets amped up in situations that he shouldn’t, you don’t do anything to stop him.

“wan’ you so bad,” viktor pants into your ear, grinding his hard cock against the swell of your ass and bruising your hips with his hands. “wan’a feel’ya.”

you bite your lip to mute the moan that bubbles in your throat; you know it isn’t entirely safe right now, clock nearing noon and academy halls bustling with life — even behind the thick door of the closet, you can hear the murmuring and cackling of people.

“vik, we gotta hurry,” you whisper, not entirely sure if he even heard your words over his pants and groans.

“i know,” he grits out, slightly surprising you. “jus’… let me, fuck, — feels so good.” his voice tapers off and the shuffling of clothes gets louder as he humps faster, the imprint of his thick cock almost sliding between your cheeks.

you let out a small gasp at the sensation, mind conjuring up lewd fantasies of feeling the hot flesh without the barrier of the layers — and now your own head is fogging up, slick gathering between your folds as arousal grips your gut.

“i-i’m sorry,” viktor says breathily, blunt fingernails digging into your flesh. “shit, i-i’m close,”

a moan escapes from your lips before you can stop it, and the sound seems to strike something carnal in viktor — moans tumble from his throat as he starts to fuck himself against you more desperately, pattern completely erratic and near feral; simply using your body to chase his nearing high.

“you’re so good, sound so pretty — i-i can’t, — hah, oh, fuck — ‘m so close, can’t hold it—!”

a few more harsh thrusts and a long groan later, viktor’s cock throbs against your ass as wet heat seeps into the front of his pants. his dick twitches in something that resembles a rhythm, like a heartbeat, and it’s so fucking hot, you’re soaking your panties — you want him inside you.

“hah, oh, shit,” viktor rasps as his hips stutter, voice deep and honeyed, cum cooling against your ass. that damn fog is thick, and the urge to taste him is overwhelming.

that’s why you wiggle from his grip and turn around, dropping to your knees in front of him and inhaling lungfuls of that bleach-y scent. you grip viktor’s thighs and stare up at him with lidded eyes,

“lunch isn’t over yet, vik. think you can cum for me one more time?”

virgin!viktor save me… save me virgin!viktor…

[gudfornuthin]

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

! Spoilers ahead !

Summary: six years of travelling to different timelines, and Five isn’t sure how much longer he can go on for. Until he stumbles upon a greenhouse, full of strawberries. And you.

Word count: 4212

A/N: so season 4 was a… thing that happened. This story is basically my own idea of how things should’ve gone in ep 5. Instead of the weird Lila/Five situation, it’s just Five, and his chance of living a normal life with someone new. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

Number Five was never one to back down from a challenge. Having been through a series of different apocalyptic events, transporting to a timeline where he spent 40 years alone, and dealing with a misfit group consisting of his exhausting siblings, Five was up for anything. But the current situation he was dealing with? For the first time in his life, he was at breaking point.

After another wasted day spending hour after hour searching for any clues or information on how to get back to the correct timeline, Five returns to the subway, entering one of the compartments and slumping down in the first chair he sees. He rubs his eyes and lets out a visceral sigh, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a small pack of dried fruits. He rips it open and devours every last piece. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was becoming more desperate, rummaging through trash cans and foraging in bushes, hoping anything he picks isn’t poisonous.

The compartment jolts and begins to move, making its way to the next timeline. Five wipes his hands on his already dirty pants, standing up and walking slowly to the door. He wonders whether his apocalypse counterpart will be waiting for him this time.

After several minutes, and Five almost falling over from his lack of sleep, he finally arrives, the doors opening. He steps out, immediately making his way up the stairs. No time to waste. He cautiously pokes his head out, looking around for any signs of, well, himself. Before he can move out more, something wizzes past his head. A bullet. He ducks, as more shots are fired directly at him.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Five mumbles, as he finally takes notices of the other him in the distance.

He sticks up his middle finger, and no soon after closes his fists, blinking as quick as he possibly could.

The Five with a gun disappears along with the destroyed world around him. Five drops his arms to his sides, turning around and admiring the new environment. Luscious, greenery surrounds him, with an array of different flowers sprouting from the ground beneath him. A small pond with fish glimmers in the sunshine, lily pads floating on top. He continues turning, finding himself standing next to a tall greenhouse. The glass was slightly foggy, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Five leans in closer, squinting as if that would help. He can barely make out what appears to be pots of fruit and vegetables, some fully sprouted and others not yet ripe. His stomach rumbles, the feeling of hunger consuming him.

A rustle sounds from behind him. He turns quickly, coming face to face with a pair of shears. Five jumps back slightly. He then spots the person wielding said ‘weapon’. A young woman, probably early twenties, wearing a light yellow dress and a pair of brown sandals. Five can’t help but admire her beauty, if it wasn’t for the fact she had a face like fury and didn’t seem afraid of cutting him in half.

“Can I help you?” Her words are kind, but her harsh tone says otherwise.

Five can’t exactly tell this young woman the truth. Showing up randomly in her back yard, covered in grime, gawking at her crops through the window. He raises his hands up in the air, trying to convey that he meant no harm.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his throat sore having not spoken to anyone in quite some time. “I don’t really know how I got here.” That’s not exactly true. “I’ve been travelling for a few days now.” Try six years. “And I could really do with a hot shower and something to eat.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just staring, with the shears still held out in front of her.

Five puts his arms down, shrugging in defeat. “I’ll just go. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He looks down. “Or step all over your rose garden.” He gingerly moves away from the destroyed flowers.

He turns and begins to walk away, hoping to find an exit as quick as possible. Blinking in front of this woman probably wouldn’t help his cause. A warm hand grabs hold of his wrist, forcing him to stop and look back. She has the shears loosely hanging by her side, as her eyes pierce into Five’s. She seems hesitant, words forming in her mind. At last, she speaks again.

“You’re telling the truth?”

Five nods incessantly, feeling like a child.

“And if I let you in and make you something to eat, you won’t try and kill me?”

Five holds back a laugh, knowing she’s being deadly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The woman waits a beat, then huffs. “Come on, I was just about to start dinner.”

She moves past Five, walking into three greenhouse. He takes this as a sign to follow after her.

***

The young woman allows Five to use her shower, and he’s thankful for the change of clothes she provides for him too. The home is small and cosy, playing into the stereotypical cottage core of living. The lighting is soft, and the smell of pumpkin seems to waft through into every room. It’s calming, it’s peaceful, it’s something that makes Five feel on edge. He isn’t used to the domestic life, away from the terror and destruction, trying to save the world over and over. He knows he can’t stay here long, but he won’t miss the opportunity of a proper cooked meal.

After putting on the change of clothes, Five makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, a small buffet waiting for him. He finds it hard not to drool, the potatoes and fresh pie, along with the fruit and vegetables he’d spotted earlier. It looks incredible. He takes a seat, as the woman places down a final plate of tomatoes, sitting down opposite Five.

They dish out the food, filling their plates as high as they can, especially Five. He tries not to look like a slob in front of the pretty girl, but finds it hard not to drop some things down his top. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to.

The woman takes a sip of her drink, clearing her throat. “So,” her soft voice makes Five look up from his plate. “Do you have a name or is that one of the many mysteries of the man shovelling food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in several years?”

The woman isn’t afraid of being upfront. Five admires that. Although, it’s not surprising considering he’s a complete stranger she’s trusted in her home. He puts down his knife and fork, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No, I have a name. It’s Fi-,” he catches himself, unsure if his ‘name’ would just create more confusion, and unwanted questions. “Jerome. Just, Jerome.”

The woman squints her eyes, but doesn’t push further, seeming to move past his stumble. “Okay. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jerome.”

Five shrugs, not knowing what else to say.

“My names Y/N.”

Five nods. “Okay. We’re closer already.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N says, a small smile gracing her face. Five can’t help but pull the same expression.

***

After a hearty dinner, and some obvious awkward silences, Five insists on helping Y/N do the washing up. The sun was beginning to set, and Five knows he’ll have to leave soon, but something stops him from doing so. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time. The fear or worry of something bad happening wasn’t there, and as he stands close to the woman he had barely met 2 hours ago, he realises what he’d been missing in his 60 something years. A place to live, with a person who makes him feel safe.

“Jerome,” the voice breaks through his thoughts, as Five almost forgets the name he’d given to this woman. “I feel like we’ve skirted around the topic enough. Is there any reason you were in the state you were in, taking refuge behind my greenhouse?”

Five places down the plate he was cleaning, turning to face her fully. Her expression is calm, and her voice shows no sign of interrogation. It’s a first for Five, as he’s become accustomed to people prodding him for information only for their own benefit. No one’s ever shown true interest in him.

He shrugs. “It’s been a tough couple of years. More than that I guess.” Fives eyes glaze over. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever will. And if I do, I’m terrified of the state that I’ll find them in.”

Y/N stops what she’s doing, also turning to look at Five, a look of worry taking over her face. He knows he’s said more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He’s not good at sharing his feelings, and when he does, he’s scared of what will happen once the flood gates are opened. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to close them.

“What d’you mean? Are they in some kind of trouble?” She asks, a slight shake in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”

Five shakes his head, not wanting to stress out this poor woman who’s been nothing but doting to him. “No! No, I just,” he sighs, knowing he’s really put his foot in it. “I just care about them, a lot. Too much. And I don’t even want to think about not seeing them again.”

A soft hand brushes against Five’s cheek, as he glances at Y/N wiping a tear away from his face. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying. He sniffles, moving away and rubbing at his eyes, fearing how red they may look. He sucks in a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Whether it’s from talking about his family, or the touch from the woman next to him, he isn’t sure. But he fears he’s overstayed his welcome.

Five moves away from the kitchen counter. “I guess I should probably go. Don’t wanna miss my train.” Although he knows they’ll always be one there waiting for him.

He heads for the door, remembering to go upstairs and collect his dirty clothes before he leaves. Footsteps are heard from behind him.

“Uh,” Five swivels back around, as Y/N hesitates over her words. “This may seem kinda forward, and a dangerous move on my part, but, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing you were out there in the middle of the night, traveling by yourself.”

Five holds his breath, not wanting to jump the gun, but already anticipating the next sentence out of her mouth.

“I have extra pillows, and blankets.” Y/N shrugs. “It’s not the most comfortable couch but I’d say it’s more comfortable than the chairs on the train.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Five ponders her offer over and over, wondering if this is something he wants to decline. He needs to get back to his family. He needs to get back to help them. But so far, every option has been a bust. He’s not sure how much longer he can go on for. It could be the apocalypse all over again. Stuck for 40 years, traveling none stop, unsure if he’ll ever see his loved ones again. Could a good nights sleep really be such a bad thing?

He thinks the risk is worth it. “As long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”

***

That one good nights sleep turned into three months, staying at Y/N’s home, crashing on her couch. It didn’t stop Five from going out, back to the subway, trying to find the possible solution to his six year problem. But the more time he spent with the woman, the less time he wanted to spend away from her. They grew closer, making meals together, gardening together, watching silly romcoms together. While Y/N taught Five how to bake, Five taught her how to fight. A young woman living by herself? It didn’t hurt knowing some basic defence skills.

Five didn’t want to admit it, but his family hadn’t crossed his mind as often as it usually did before he met Y/N. He’d become soft, wanting to be around her all the time, not wanting to visit the subway as often as he should be. He’s lucky enough to call her a friend. He hopes she calls him that too.

***

It’s late, and Y/N is sat on the couch, crocheting a few pairs of gloves and a long overdue jumper. People used to make fun of her for it, calling her an old lady, but she finds it soothing. And making your own clothes is a big bonus too. Five, or Jerome as she knew him, had been out most of the day. She never questioned what he was up to, only that he returned safe, ready for whatever she’d cooked up for him during the day. She wasn’t completely naive in thinking ‘Jerome’ has involved himself in shady business. But unless he plans on telling her, then she won’t bother pushing him on the matter.

A bang echos from the back of the house, specifically inside the geeenhouse. It makes Y/N jump up from her seated position, quickly rushing out to the source of the noise. It can only be one person, or that’s what she hopes. Either way, she grabs for her shears before entering the warm glass room.

“Jerome?” She whispers, watching her step, the only light in the room coming from the moon through the windows.

A muffled groaning reaches her ears, as Y/N blindly moves her hands over the walls, trying to find the light switch. She finally does, and flicks it on. A sharp gasp comes out of her mouth, as the brightness finally reveals her new friend curled in a ball on the floor, rolling in pain.

“Shit.”

She quickly makes her way over to him, delicately wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly helping him off the floor. He stumbles, knocking into a few pots, almost making them fall off the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word slurring under his breath.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “Let’s just get you inside and onto the couch.”

They make their way through into the living room, Five dropping haphazardly onto the soft cushions, while Y/N finally gets a proper look at him. His clothes are ripped, the once pristine suit (one she bought for him as a gift) now in tatters. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, and he’s clutching to his side like his life depends on it. She reaches for his arm, prying it away to reveal an array of bullet wounds, still bleeding.

“You should see the other guy,” Five jokes, tilting his head back and trying to forget about the burning pain running across his body. Funnily enough, if Y/N saw the other guy, he’d look exactly like him, considering this all happened due to an unfortunate run in with apocalypse Five.

Y/N stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? Look, I don’t bother asking where you go or what you’re up to when you leave this house, but I think now’s the time you tell me the truth.”

Five moves his head back down, looking her in the eyes. She’s terrified. And he hates that. He breathes in deep, taking her hand in his.

“If you can help me patch this shit up,” he briefly motions to his wounds, “then I’ll tell you who I really am.”

So that’s what they do. Y/N retrieves the first aid kit from her bathroom, while Five opens up about his life before he met her, and how he’s not from this timeline. He isn’t sure if she’s believing what he says, as she remains quiet the entire time, only occasionally looking up at him and quickly returning to removing the bullets lodged in his side. But she listens. And allows him to pour his heart out to her.

“The past six years were torture. Somehow worse than the forty I spent in the apocalypse.” Five turns his head and stares at the woman next to him, as she finishes up her work. “But these last few months with you. I could finally be normal. I could live a life most guys would kill to have. And I’m so sorry I lied to you this long.”

They fall into silence, the pair somehow closer together than they were a few minutes ago. Both emotionally, and physically. Y/N moves her hand and takes his, squeezing tightly. Five’s heartbeat picks up speed, only now noticing their close proximity.

“So your real name is ‘Five’?” He nods at her words. She nods back. “Hmm. It suits you a lot better than Jerome.”

They both laugh half heartedly, as they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She moves her hand up to his hair, moving it out of his face, trying to calm it down slightly.

She carries on talking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Five rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even know the half of it. “But if I can be the person to keep you grounded, for however long you’re here for, then I’m happy to do just that.”

Five smiles, glancing quickly at her lips.

She does the same. “And I hope you’re here for a long time.”

They both lean in, softly pressing their lips against each other’s. Five cups her face, deepening the kiss as Y/N rests her arms atop his shoulders. They move in sync, careful not to cause any more damage to Five’s wounds, as she somehow moves closer, one of her legs wrapping itself around his waist.

They don’t stop, clothes discarded, bodies intertwined, as their growing tension is finally broken. Five isn’t sure if he’ll ever get back to his timeline, but for now, he’s happy to call this place home.

***

Another four months, and still no sign of a way back. Although, Five can’t deny he hasn’t been trying as hard as usual. The peace and tranquillity has consumed him whole, falling into a proper routine with the woman he…

Is it love? Could he truly fall for someone like this? Someone who isn’t involved in the shit show he’s grown accustomed to? Someone who wants that quiet life, watering flowers and baking pies, with him? Maybe it’s what he needs.

Five stands in the greenhouse, picking some fresh strawberries, and trying a few to see if they were ripe. He’s already found the perfect recipe to use them in. Something he knows she’ll love.

As if reading his thoughts, a pair of arms slip around his waist. Y/N rests her chin on his shoulder, peaking over to see the basket full of fresh fruit. She picks one up, moving away and popping it in her mouth. Five turns and looks at her, smiling wide.

“They taste perfect,” she says.

Five takes her wrists, pulling her towards him and kissing her lightly. “So do you.”

She laughs, holding him close and breathing him in. “The cheesy lines don’t work on me, bub.”

“I think they do.” He mumbles, bringing her in for another kiss, sliding his hands up and down her back.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in the warm glass room. The sun starts to set, as Five looks out and realises what time it is.

“Damn.”

She looks at him, confusion on her face. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, I just need to do a double check of the subway before dinner.”

Y/N tries not to show her anxiousness, but some of it seeps through. After Five explained to her what the subway is and why he goes there every day, she’s terrified at the thought of him leaving and never coming back. But she knows he wouldn’t do that to her. Not without saying goodbye.

She steps back. “Right. Promise you’ll be safe?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “I promise.”

***

Five spends some time looking around the platform in the subway, checking the lights, checking the maps, even poking his head into the tunnels to see if anything has changed. But nothing. It all remains the same. No sign of his past life waiting for him. Was that such a bad thing?

Holding a small flashlight, he shines it up and down, left and right, hoping his eyes will catch something new. A sudden pop from above startles him, the grip he had on the flashlight loosening. It falls and rolls onto the tracks. Five looks up, noticing one of the bulbs now flickering. He huffs, moving to the edge of the platform and jumping down. He retrieves the flashlight, hitting it a few times to try and get it to work again. It comes to life, flashing in front of him. That’s when he spots something.

“That’s new.”

Five walks over, grabbing the mystery object and holding it up. It’s a plain notepad. He flips it open, scanning over the messy handwriting inside. His messy handwriting. He can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, as he figures out what it all means.

“This is it.” Tears form in his eyes. “This is my way back home.”

He’s shocked. He’s elated. He’s emotionally drained. This is his chance to rejoin his timeline. To see his family after so long. To fix the mess they’ve created. But all he can think about in this moment is Y/N. How the hell is he supposed to break the news to her?

***

After another hour spent pondering this new found information, Five slowly makes his way back home. His home. Where the life he’d built was waiting for him.

He enters the house and walks into the kitchen, where Y/N stands by the stove, boiling something sweet and caramelly. Five just stares at her; humming a random tune, wiping her messy hands on the apron he bought for her when her old one accidentally caught fire. That was the most stress he’d felt since coming here. And if that was the only stress he had to deal with, he’d take it every single day.

She finally turns and spots him, smiling wide. “Oh hey! I was worried for a sec, you were taking longer than expected.”

She moves closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He holds her, not wanting to let go. Y/N can tell something isn’t right.

She leans back. “You okay?”

Five doesn’t reply, only holding the notepad out for her to take. She does so, flipping through the pages just like he did, her expression perplexed.

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s the way back to my timeline.”

She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, as her words fall short. Five can swear he hears her heartbeat speed up, as her breathing becomes erratic. Five isn’t sure what to do, waiting for an explosion of emotions to rain down on him. But nothing comes. Neither of them do or say anything.

Five chooses to break the silence. “I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t. I don’t think I could live the way I used to live. Not after living this life with you.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a sob. “You have to go.”

Five furrows his brow, hoping he heard her wrong. He tilts her head up to stare into her eyes, seeing the tears forming.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life. The thought of never seeing you again, I can’t do that.”

A tear falls down her cheek, as Five reaches out to wipe it away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in this little bubble we’ve created,” she replies, finding it hard to keep her voice steady. “But your family, your timeline, all those people? They need you more than I do. And I know deep down, you can’t bear the thought of letting them die, knowing you could’ve helped.”

Five wants to ask her to come with him. Become apart of his family. He knows she’d get on with them all. And they’d all love her, possibly more than they love him. But he knows it’s cruel to ask her to leave her life behind. The house, the garden, the home that she’s worked so hard on. And the thought of throwing her into the thick of it all. Putting her at danger? No chance.

He pulls her into his embrace, kissing her hard. They hold each other tight, their lips bruising as neither of them can stop the tears from falling.

Y/N is the first to pull away. “If you ever get the chance to come back to this timeline, you know where to find me.”

Five smiles, not wanting to let her go. He kisses her once more. “In the greenhouse, tasting just as sweet as the strawberries.”

[itostea]

care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)

——————————————————————————

in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you

warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999

a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀

——————————————————————————

“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”

You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.

You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.

He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.

“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.

“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.

He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”

The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.

You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”

“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”

You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”

“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”

You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.

Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”

He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”

-

The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.

“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”

Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”

“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.

“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”

His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”

You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”

“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.

That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”

Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”

He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”

“‘Toru!”

He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”

“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.

You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”

“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”

You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.

He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.

He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.

You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.

You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.

Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“

“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.

He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”

“I did not feel you up.”

He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”

That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.

To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”

It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.

You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.

“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”

“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.

His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.

He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”

“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”

He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”

It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”

He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”

Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.

BONUS:

“‘Toru…”

“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.

“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”

A brief silence follows.

“Go to sleep.”

[cercandodiscrivere]

Stat vindicta potens | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.4k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, demeaning terms, dark themes (dubious consent, violence, blood, mentions of war), porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Stat vindicta potens, et adhuc crudelibus ausis respondet poena.

[Vengeance stands powerful, and still punishment answers to cruel deeds]

There had been no pain.

No.

There had been pain—so much that it constricted your lungs and scratched your throat—but not enough time to feel it.

Once, your father had praised the gods for his wealth, a fortune earned through the trade of fine goods; he had adorned you with corals and pearls, a living testament to his success.

Still adorned with the rich jewels he bought, you had walked into Rome wearing a stola stained with his blood.

You had thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—or rather, you had never thought about it at all, not until it was you who had been chosen.

It was a strange way to begin a new life: not through the predictable choices of your father, but through the whims of strangers in a far-off land. Your brothers, dead in battle, had been of no use to you as their wealth crumbled and the last of their possessions were taken. General Acacius had claimed what little was left—and he had gifted you to the Emperors. 

A token of friendship. 

A spoil of war.

Tuis nec parcitur umbris.

[Your shadows are not spared.]

Another servant had dressed you in a woolen tunic and had styled your hair.

You would have to learn how to do it yourself in time, she had warned, but first they had  to gauge your worth — after all, there would be no point in teaching anything to a gift that had no use.

"What should I do?" you had asked her. 

"Serve wine”. 

Dread had filled your loins as soon as you had set your eyes upon the imperial palatium. Shining in the sun, the marble stairs had welcomed you—not like the arms of a mother, but like the open doors of an adorned crypt.

It was then that you had come to understand another truth: General Acacius had been nothing more than a weapon wielded by others. When a sword cuts through your flesh, it’s not the blade you fear, but the pair of hands that guide it.

"How?" you had asked again, but she refused to answer.

Non impune feres: seris venit aspera pœnis retributio. 

[You will not bear it unpunished: a harsh retribution for your crimes will come in time.]

When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

You had served wine before—to your father, your brothers and their guests. You had poured before the same kind of deep red wine: but the hands that had to do it now had changed, and the weight of the eyes on you had pressed harder. 

You had approached your captors carefully, your gaze lowered in deference—but unseen, as they had sat on their adorned thrones, draped in robes of golds and reds, without sparing you a glance.

At the time, you had not known how to tell them apart; both could have been either Geta or Caracalla, as their names had meant nothing to the terror they equally inspired.

The first you poured wine to had ignored the cup, his attention fixed on the man seated to his left. Once, you might have sneered at the lack of a compliment - now, the gift of being nothing to him had washed over you like fresh air (but still stung like a silent mockery). To the man, it had been as though the wine had fallen into his goblet by the gods’ will alone.

Then, you had moved on to his brother — and instead his gaze had lingered, sharp and unwavering. 

"Is there a trick to it?" he had mused, his voice low, almost to himself. You had frozen in place, as still as the statues scattered around the room. For a moment, you had almost believed the Emperor had just asked you how to pour wine — and your gaze had flicked upward, an instinctive mistake. 

His face had surprised you: it was not an imposing man who owned you, not a fierce general or a quiet sage — but a rabid dog, sick and weak in his silks. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed with white, remained unseeing.

"How does one keep something" he had murmured, "when it feels as if it may slip away at any moment?".

But yet again, it had not been you he had been asking. Was it treason to leave an emperor’s question unanswered, when he posed it to the air?

And then, through the suffocating fear, a streak of something darker had twisted in your chest—rage, hot and sudden. You had had men and women alike ingratiating themselves to you, hoping for nought but a smile: and now an ill animal, with his teeth stained in gold and spit and blood, could bite your neck and move on without a thought.

You had measured your words, then. "As the poet says, fortune is like the winds: fickle, but a friend to those who know how to steer."

And if he had truly understood the meaning of your words—that you did not think him a steerer, not a good one—you could have signed your death with feigned servitude. 

But the Emperor (Caracalla, as you would learn later) had just blinked and chuckled. Shrill and sharp, it had not been a laugh born of humor, but something else: as if he had found mirth in you speaking at all, not a thought spared to the words you had used.

He had then drunk from his goblet as if nothing had happened—and yet, seated next to him, his brother had heard and not laughed. 

Emperor Geta’s gaze had lingered on you: no amusement in his eyes, no warmth.

Fatis pendebis, ficta modestia. 

[You will hang by fate, with feigned modesty.]

You once thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—and that’s what Geta did with you.

No hope for burning passions, no overwhelming closeness: this time someone thought it fit to have you learn about your role, because a concubine must please more than a servant.

“You’re less talkative than before”.

Emperor Geta lounges on his lectus, cushions surrounding him. In the soft light filtering through the curtains, his ginger curls seem molten gold—a physical extension of his crown, a birthright to power.

Your started your private encounter like you had started the first: not draped in a rough wooden tunic, but still pouring wine into his cup.

You spent more than one night wondering what had caught his attention, and how he must have heard your exchange with his brother: and whether it was the words he understood, or the venom laced in them, the result still has you in his bedchambers.

“I don’t want to spill a drop” you lie.

He observes you pouring his wine as if it were a religious rite. You try not to care: you pour and pour —and by the time the cup is full, you have emptied your head of all the thoughts and the dread that filled you.

“You won’t” he says. It’s endearing, almost like a compliment, but not quite. “Drink with me.”

He’s not asking.

Drinking in front of him (taking a quick gulp that barely registers the taste) feels as much a part of the ritual as the wine he offers: a play to show you what he can give you, should you continue to play his game.

"How does it taste?”. Geta's voice is as soft as a caress: it’s unsettling, how sweet he is choosing to be. 

You stare down at the large goblet you just filled with thick, red liquid: wine, herbs, and honey—the kind you would have enjoyed in another life. "It's great."

"Only the best for us" he says—and you know, by instinct alone, that us means him and his brother. The remark almost makes you raise your goblet in a toast, but you fear it might come across as mocking. All the rage that Caracalla ignited in you, Geta suppresses with dread.

He watches you as you pass the goblet back, because he is always watching.

Your eyes, your chest, your hands. You know you barely look like your old self now—before purple silks and face paints and ornati crines. A shiver escapes you: if you had thought of his brother as a rabid dog, you don’t know how to describe the quiet madness behind Geta’s gaze.

A predatory smile twists his lips, the kind that reveals his teeth and narrows his eyes with a hint of delight. You try not to let any old rage show on your face, knowing he would easily pick it up—but every pass of his eyes screams satisfaction.

His head cocks to the side as he regards you. “Your lips are stained" he observes instead.

When he rises from the lectus, his movements are deliberate. Even in the privacy of his own rooms, servants dismissed and gone, he still carries himself as if an audience is present—so much so, you wonder what kind of untold he feels the need to hide in the presence of a concubine.

Emperor Geta pauses before you, and you let him taste the flavor of the wine off your lips. His kiss is almost too sweet—and his command comes next.

“Undress me”. 

Someone must have started the task, for he wears only a linen tunic; a servant must have helped him with that, while others lit the incense that now thickens the air in the room. It's an oily smell, suffocating—mixing poorly with whatever herbs had been added to the rich wine.

“As you wish, domine”. The term makes his eyes roll toward the drapes above your heads.

You know some concubines call Caracalla Carus as an endearing term. A bold young man had boasted to you how he called him regina once —going into detail about how much the Emperor liked it, though few had believed him.

You dare not try the same with his twin.

After the tunic falls to the ground with a soft thud, you let Geta guide you to sit on his bed. You let him undo the braids in your hair and take your own tunic off your shoulders; the multitude of bracelets and anklets he had his servants put on you stay on.

He does not turn you to face him when lays you down on the bed, as your own nails dig into your palms and his head bows low into your hair. 

You don't say no. You could not say no if you wanted to.

So when your knees are firm on the mattress, and you feel his weight behind you, you take the small liberty of parting your own legs. If he appreciates the gesture, he does not say: with a palm he pushes on your back until your bare chest is touching the linens, his hand sliding slowly back to your hips.

It is not the first time you’ve lain with a man — a stain on your pudicitia that your father would have abhorred, and one that Geta does not even question.

Your sigh is one of relief when you feel him push into you, because this is what you have been waiting for since you had been brought to his bedchambers: not the his little scene with the wine, not his feigned sweetness, not his long stares.

“I suppose that’s all what you wanted” he grunts, his lips caressing your collarbone. His hips trusts into you so hard that the anklets on your legs clash against each other, creating a soft  and clinking sound. 

Tink-tink-tink. You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. 

The soft kisses he peppers behind your neck are nothing like the way he thrusts into you. As he moves you grip the pillows, the linens, your own arms—whatever you can find to steady yourself.

"This is what you wanted" he continues, his deep breaths coming out fast. “When he gifted you to us”.

Faster, he's going faster. The meaning of his words is not lost on you: that he may have taken your hatred for lust, your insult for a praise. That if Caracalla had shown the same interest he would have left you to him —because you were equally one’s and the other’s. 

But Caracalla hadn’t cared for a servant and her poets; and his twin was not one to let a good gift go to waste.

Your thighs squeeze around him —and even if you command yourself not to say a word, it’s like the small yes escapes on its own. Let him believe whatever he wants; let him give you thought and purpose, as long as he keeps moving. 

He growls his approval — and then he throws himself to the pillows that had been your anchor up until that moment, and pulls you on top of him. 

At this angle and lighting, he looks divine.

Everything about him turns to gold under the sunlight: it serves to remind you of what he is, and what his people allow him to do. You loathe how much you admire the view as you sink down onto him, cataloging all the ways the muscles in his face shift when he is lost in pleasure.

“You were such a good gift to us”. 

Your skin crawls at the praise and you push up on his chest, bringing your hips down quicker and quicker ad quicker. 

The lingering presence of Caracalla in the rooms — even if only through the us Geta keeps referring to—ignites you, and you are furious once again. The heat of it washes over your naked skin, waking you up from your subservient slumber. 

You feel Geta twitch within you as you slam into his hips one final time, his fingers sinking deep into your hips. You cherish that feeling: it’s sobering, for it means tomorrow you will still be alive—not as a servant but something more, the future the three Fates have woven for you clearer and clearer. 

As he comes and grunts, your thoughts wander. 

Geta on his knees, his throat slit. Blood gushing from him, as dark as the wine he had you taste.

Geta scared: you over him, not as an object of pleasure, but as the extension of Nemesis herself.

Geta powerless.

Geta defeated.

Geta enslaved—and it’s with that last thought, with that image, that you come.

Quis dabit exitio tantos, scelerate, triumphos?

[Who will give such triumphs for your destruction, wicked one?]

[obscure-imagines]

wet dreams - Zoro

🍃staring. Zoro Roronoa x afab!Reader

⚔️ preview. The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, wet dreams, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, praise, exhibitionism (sex outside in the Crowsnest), cum play/swallowing, fingering, mutual masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick zoro, fingering, overstim, mutual orgasm, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.

🔫 rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I wc. 3.7k

⚔️ aus. One Piece Live Action, pwp, acquaintances to lovers, etc…

🍀 mlist + an. I showed Sanji and Mihawk some love so I figured I might as well adore my big three and make it a full set with Zoro.

Zoro is exhausted. His body feels heavy as he lumbers around the ship, his footfalls a little too loud on the wooden deck. His eyes are practically shutting on their own, but he resists the need to nap.

He's been having problems lately... when he sleeps.

While he's able to keep himself mostly in check around you during his waking hours, his mind - and body - have been betraying him in dreamland.

He's woken up five nights this week with the soft sounds of your moans etched into his memory and his pants ruined with the sticky truth about his feelings for you.

Naps had once been a time of rest, but Zoro has been anything but restful since Luffy convinced you to join the crew two weeks ago.

Zoro hates feeling like he's not in control. He hates the way you seem so real in his mind's eye, only for him to wake up and watch you acting completely indifferently toward him- as if he didn't just watch you go down on his cock in explicit detail- as if he didn't just try to fuck you so hard you couldn't even walk-

Being around you is something like torture. His tongue gets tied, his heart races, and he's unable to hold a conversation with you about anything unrelated to piracy... and even then, he stumbles over his words and gets frustrated with himself.

You're just too beautiful.

The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

He does his best to be the last to go to bed, out of fear that someone will walk in while he's sleeping and hear his problem, hell, he wouldn't be shocked if they could even see it.

It's not even midday and Zoro feels like death. It doesn't help that it's hot out. The wind feels practically nonexistent. Everything is stale, sweaty, and full of tension. Even Sanji, who usually dresses in formalwear, has stripped himself of his button-up, opting for an undershirt instead.

Then there's you. Your shorts don't leave much to the imagination, and Zoro has to tear his gaze off of you every time you get within his line of sight. His cock is practically throbbing in his pants anytime you're nearby- anytime your soft scent lingers in the air when you walk past.

"You look like shit."

Zoro sighs at Sanji's words, refusing to look at the chef who's come to lean on the rail next to him, staring out at the sea.

"I mean it. And I'm not trying to be a dick, but seriously moss head, you look like you need some rest," Sanji presses on. "When was the last time you had one of your famous Roronoa naps?"

"I wasn't aware they were famous," Zoro sighs, this conversation is making him even more tired.

"We all know you get a little scratchy without your beauty sleep," Sanji smirks. "Go on, get some rest. It's a shit day, and it will be even more shit if you're in a bad mood. I'll wake you up for dinner."

Usually, Zoro wouldn't do anything Sanji suggests, he wouldn't even entertain it- but the idea of a nap is having a visceral effect on him. He's reminded of the exhaustion that's overtaken him, and the harsh sun is only making things worse.

Zoro lets out a deep breath. "I guess I could use a little shut-eye."

You let out a loud whimper as Zoro drags his tongue across your neck, holding you close on the deck of the ship. Above, the stars are twinkling, but to the swordsman, all that matters is you. He can hardly see anything else, his mind completely blank except for the feeling of your hand stroking his cock.

"I need more," you tell him, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He's tried dissuading you from sucking his cock, but you're absolutely insatiable for him. Stroking isn't enough, and the promise of filling you up all nice and snug doesn't satisfy you either- no, you want him in your mouth, and you're very verbal about it.

Who is Zoro to deny you?

With a sigh, he agrees, and you sink to your knees immediately.

God, you look beautiful like this.

Your thumb strokes the head of his cock, rubbing through precum as you bring your mouth closer.

You're always a bit of a tease, licking at him gently, pumping his shaft. Zoro can't help but release a small groan, eyes fixed on you, waiting.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Zoro moans, his head lolling back as he enjoys the feeling.

"That's it, angel," he tells you, reaching down to grab at your head, helping you find a rhythm. "Just like that."

You take him so deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat much too easily. The feeling of you choking around him has Zoro's abdomen clenching, and a familiar sensation is growing in his balls-

It's as if you can read his mind, your hand snaking up to massage his most sensitive area while you continue practically gagging yourself on his cock.

The sound is absolutely obscene, and Zoro's never heard anything so pretty.

"If you keep sucking like that, I'm going to cum," he warns you, wanting to hold out to finish in your perfect, needy little cunt-

The way you suck on him even harder makes Zoro think you want him to cum. You want him to release down your throat, want to swallow him up like the good girl you are.

Again, who is Zoro to deny you?

"Fuck, angel," he groans, orgasm rising even faster. "You're always so good for me."

You whimper loudly around his cock, stroking your tongue along the vein that runs the underside of his length while squeezing his balls, and that's all it takes for him to cum.

He lets out a grunt as he shoots his load down your awaiting throat, his brows knitted together in concentration and something close to overstimulation. He whispers your name, over and over like a mantra while you suck him dry, eager for every single drop he can give- you're his greedy little angel, and he loves you with every fiber of his being.

You pull off of him when he's done, staring up at him with eyes that reflect the stars above. Then, you stick out your tongue, proving to him that you'd swallowed all he had to give.

Zoro can't help but reach for you, lifting you back onto your feet so he can grab your face and press his lips against yours eagerly.

He treasures the moments you're in his arms, and there's something so satisfying about the salty taste on your tongue-

"Dinner!"

Zoro sits up so fast he nearly falls out of his hammock. His heart is thundering in his chest, and when his eyes quickly dart to the door, he sees that Sanji hadn't bothered to enter, only called out a word of warning.

Swallowing thickly, Zoro looks down at his pants. He can feel his cum, hot and sticky against his skin, his half-chubbed length angrily confined by pants.

Zoro's not sure who's more upset about being woken up from his dream, himself, or his cock.

Luffy has already gone through half the food by the time Zoro saunters into the dining area. The swordsman's eyes are downcast while he takes a seat next to the captain, and you're kind of glad for that- you want to watch him, but you doubt you'd be able to make eye contact with him right now.

Your skin tingles with the forbidden knowledge that you now have. Your mind keeps replaying the scene you'd walked in on not half an hour ago; Zoro, asleep, his brows knitted together, your name on his lips.

You hadn't stayed long upon finding him in that state, your skin too hot with the realization of what you'd just witnessed, and now, that fevered sensation returns.

You've always had a bit of a crush on Zoro, but you'd never in your wildest dreams imagined that it could be returned. Out of everyone on the ship, Zoro interacts with you the least. He practically avoids you, and you've just spent two weeks thinking he doesn't even like you-

No, this changes everything.

The man with green hair lifts his gaze, and your eyes meet momentarily, only for you to look away, skin flaring again. Your heart is practically beating out of your ribcage, and you can feel your panties sticking uncomfortably to your core.

You'll have to do something about this. You're not sure what- but... you definitely can't go much longer with this kind of unresolved tension. One dinner with a dripping pussy is enough.

You decide you'll have to confront Zoro, and something tells you that you'll thank God for doing so.

Once everyone is asleep, you slowly tiptoe out of the sleeping quarters. Zoro has been staying up late, keeping watch in the Crowsnest, and you feel like that's a perfect place to talk with him. There's no way he can escape... unless he jumps into the ocean and risks his life- but you don't think it will come to that... or at least, you hope it doesn't.

Carefully climbing the ladder, you think of all the things you can say to him. You're not sure where to even begin, and as you make it to the top, poking your head through the manhole to stare at Zoro's broad shoulders, all the words you'd planned slip your mind.

He hasn't noticed you yet, and it takes closing the ladder cover for him to finally hear you, whipping around with his hand reaching for one of his blades.

Zoro freezes. You both do.

Then his hand drops to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought..." you bite at your lip, "I thought you might want some company."

He gives you a quick once over, then turns to look out at the sea again. "I'm good."

"Why do you act like you hate me so much?" you sigh, ignoring his dismissal and moving to join him.

"I don't act like I hate you."

"You hardly talk to me."

"I'm not a big talker."

You let out another exasperated sigh. There's some truth in what he's just said. "Then I'll talk."

"Go ahead."

Staring out at the sea, you're once again at a loss for what to say. After a few moments of silence, you decide to just... put it all on the table. "I walked in while you were napping earlier."

Zoro goes rigid next to you.

"What were you dreaming about?"

He's quiet, then he turns to look at you. "Sword fighting."

"I didn't think you'd actually lie to me," you frown.

"Who says I'm lying?"

"I just- I don't think sword fighting would lead to you moaning my name over and over."

Zoro looks out at the sea again. "You must think I'm some kind of pervert."

"Trust me, I don't," you assure him. "I'm kind of curious about what we were doing in your dream."

He sneaks a glance at you, and there's a hint of a smile that curls onto his pretty lips. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Maybe... maybe I've been having 'sword fighting' dreams too. We could... compare notes, or something."

Zoro lets out a laugh, shaking his head. The chuckle dies down into a groan. "Fuck." He grips the railing tighter, taking a deep breath. "You really wanna know what we were doing in my dream?"

"Yes, please."

The swordsman turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. "You were down on your knees, sucking the fucking soul out of my cock."

If your panties hadn't been ruined at dinner, they're definitely ruined now. "I was?"

"Uh huh. You were begging for it. Begging for every last drop."

Your mouth practically waters at the idea. "And did you give it to me?"

"Of course I did," he says softly, scanning your face. "How could I not?"

"Should we..." Your skin heats at the words about to come out of your mouth, "Can we make that dream real?"

Zoro sucks in a shaky breath. "I think I have a better idea."

"A better idea than me sucking your cock?" You're shocked.

"You're always so good to me in my dreams, maybe I want to be good to you."

Your pussy throbs at the insinuation of what he's saying. Most men would jump at the chance to have your mouth around them, but it looks like tonight, the swordsman wants to be the one pleasuring you-

He's just like the Zoro from your wet dreams, and you have a suspicion that when it gets down to it, he'll be even better.

You can't help yourself any longer, you practically launch your body at him, throwing your arms around his strong shoulders while his hands catch you. Your lips meet as if it's the most natural thing in the world, a soft groan escaping him when you swipe your tongue across his mouth, already eager for entrance.

The kiss deepens, and his hands grip you tighter, pulling you flush to his chest. It feels absolutely insane to be actually doing this in your waking hours- nothing your mind could conjure up compares to the real Zoro-

You can feel his cock already pressing against your hip and it makes you whine loudly, shoving your hand between your bodies to cup him through his pants. He's as big as you imagined he would be, and your pussy flutters with interest.

"Zoro-" you whimper, already needing more.

You've been waiting too long for this, for him-

He groans. "Say that again."

One of his hands joins yours between your bodies, but his slips under the waistband of your shorts, deft fingers rubbing you through your panties.

"Fuck, angel, you're already soaked-"

"Zoro!" you moan, louder this time.

"Tell me you want my fingers."

"God, I need them," you gasp when he leans in, pressing kisses and tracing his tongue along your throat. "I need you inside of me- any of you, I just- I need you!"

"Good girl," he says smoothly, pushing your panties to the side.

His fingers make contact with your dripping cunt, and he teases your pussy lips, just dipping inside enough to coat his skin before he circles your clit.

You cry out, squeezing his cock harder-

"Enough of that," Zoro practically slaps your hand away from him. "Tonight is about you. Let it be about you."

"Fuck, you're too nice to me-"

"Trust me, you deserve it." His fingers sink into your pussy and you moan loudly, leaning forward to begin peppering his own throat in kisses. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him close as he begins pumping his digits in and out of your wet core.

You can already hear yourself- the sick squelching of your pussy as he works you open. His palm rubs against your clit, creating a delightful pressure that has your legs shaking and your toes curling.

"You sound so pretty."

Who knew he'd be such a sweet talker.

In the exhibitionistic privacy of the Crowsnest, with the crew sleeping soundly below, Zoro is showing you his true colors, and you couldn't be happier.

No one has touched you like this in too long- but then again, has anyone ever actually touched you like this?

You can't believe how close you already are to cumming. Your skin tingles and you moan louder against his neck, moving your mouth up to suckle on his earlobe.

Zoro groans, and the sound goes straight to your aching core.

"Close already?"

All you can manage is a nod, your eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure of his fingers pumping into your wet hole. "Please-"

"You can cum for me," he tells you. "I wanna hear it."

You can hardly even stand on your own. If it weren't for his strong form, steady under your grip, you're sure you'd be falling. His free palm is on the small of your back, keeping you snug to his front while his fingers work you closer and closer-

"Zoro," you whimper again, feeling tears in your eyes from how tight the coil in your stomach has grown.

"Be a good girl and let go for me. Come on, I know you can do it."

You let out a strangled half sob as your high slams into you. Your entire body tingles with electric energy as your core clamps onto his fingers, which continue inside of you, working you through your orgasm. You shake against him, digging your nails into his shoulders while you whimper and moan, lips pressed to his throat.

"That's it," he praises you, a steady guide through one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

You nearly black out, only for his fingers to slow inside of you, drawing you back into your body. Zoro removes his hand from your pants, and you listen to him suck his digits clean, letting out a small groan at your taste.

"Can I lay you down?" he asks next, tone gentle.

You nod, unable to speak. Zoro softly helps you onto the wooden floor of the small Crowsnest, staring at you with dark eyes that seem to sparkle in the moonlight.

He slowly undresses you, watching as you lift your hips to help him remove your shorts. Your shirt and bra are next, and he's careful to set them nearby before removing his own clothing.

"You still want to do this?" he asks.

"There's nothing I want more."

Once he's naked, Zoro gets between your thighs, holding himself over you while you wrap your legs around his hips. You grab at his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss.

His hard cock is too enticing for you not to touch, and soon, you're gripping it while your tongues battle. His moans are music to your ears, and you swipe your thumb over the head of his length to smear his skin with precum.

"You know-" he swallows thickly. "After today, after watching you cum on my fingers, I might not last that long."

"That's okay, I won't last long either." Your pussy is already aching for him again, and from the way his cock twitches in your hand, you know he's as into this as you are. "Just fuck me Zoro, please."

He kisses you deeply, allowing you to guide him to your wet hole.

He's big, but you're soaked, and slipping into you is much too easy. He sinks all the way in, his hips flush to yours when he bottoms out. You moan into each other's mouths, and you grab his face, wanting to keep his lips on yours as he begins to thrust into you.

"Fuck, Zoro, it's so good-" you whimper, pussy clenching tightly around him to earn another sound of appreciation.

"Angel, you're fucking perfect," he agrees, pace already quickening.

The sound of skin on skin fills the night air. You open your eyes, looking up at the moon and stars. It feels natural to be with him like this, under the watchful eye of the heavens-

Your nails dig into his shoulders when his hand adjusts your thigh on his hip. He drives deeper into your wet hole, and each thrust has your head spinning.

You can feel him everywhere, and it's the first time you've ever really felt full, complete.

"Zoro," you whisper, gaining his attention as you draw his lips back to your own.

You get lost in him. His cock is filling you perfectly, and his lips feel like they were made to be on your own.

That familiar tightening in your lower abdomen builds much too fast, and each thrust has Zoro grunting and moaning even louder-

"Fuck, angel, I'm close-"

"Me too," you assure him, pressing your forehead to his own and staring into his eyes. "You'll cum with me, right?"

He can only nod as you slip your hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing your sensitive clit-

Your core tightens even more around his thick length and Zoro lets out a deep moan-

"Shit," he mutters, "where should I cum?"

"Inside," you insist. "Cum inside, I'm on birth control, please, I want it, I need it-"

Zoro's hand balls into a fist on the wooden plank by your head, and he groans. "Can't wait-"

"Me neither," you whisper, eyes closing as the feeling ravages your body, "Cumming-"

Zoro buries his face against your throat as you both reach your highs. You can feel him painting your inner walls, making you even more full than you already are with his cock- it's the most delightful feeling.

Your toes curl as he fucks you through it all, his pace even harder than before, if not a bit erratic. The sounds he's making will be something you never forget, and you cling to him like a lifeline, tracing his muscular shoulders and gasping-

It's as if your orgasm lasts ages, and when Zoro's motions finally begin to slow, it's hard to even catch your breath.

He begins to press kisses along your throat again, working his way to your ear, and then your mouth.

You can't help but grin into each soft press of his lips against your own.

"You look happy," he muses.

"That's because I am. Are you happy?"

"Very."

Your smile widens. "So we're done not talking and pretending to be indifferent to each other, right?"

"Completely done."

"Good, because I don't think I could go back to that."

"Me neither," he admits.

"I like you a lot."

Zoro presses another soft kiss to your lips, his pretty eyes twinkling with emotion in a way you've never seen from the swordsman. "I like you too."

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[embbarnes]

Roasted Chestnuts. | B.B

summary: Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa.

warnings: Angst & Fluff | PTSD symptoms | Nightmares | Post accidental injuries

a/n: I hope this technically qualifies, even though it's sort of angsty. But there is fluff! I decided to use a few themes from the list provided and melded them together. Unedited, mistakes to be fixed later lol. ;; wc: 3.3k

Cold sweat and cold weather don't exactly mix.

Neither did the cold, wooden floor of the living room but...he insisted on it ever since he woke up choking you to near unconsciousness, his hands trembling with horror when he realized what he had done. The hardwood became his self-imposed punishment, refusing the comfort of proper bedding.

He couldn't forgive himself for that, his instability taunted him for weeks after that, having to see the bruise around your throat cause by his hand. Every morning he would catch glimpses of the purple-blue marks adorning your precious neck, each glance a reminder of how close he had come to destroying everything he held dear. The guilt ate away at him, manifesting in sleepless nights and countless apologies that could never seem to erase that moment from his memory.

He deserved it; the chill in the air making every bead of perspiration feel like tiny needles against his skin.

Especially his scars.

His shoulder hurt bad during the winter, which wasn't a huge surprise, but he would've appreciated if his body formed a bit of resistance to the cold by now.

Between endless cryofreezing, Siberian training, the prolonged exposure to freezing should have given him some sort of enhanced ability to withstand the cold but...cruelly, almost laughably, he was more vulnerable to the bite of chill now.

It pissed him off, quite frankly.

But right now, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on his annoyance.

Instead, his thoughts drifted to you as he sat there on the cold floor, his body tucked carefully against the chair that stood positioned by the stark wall. He had turned the chair into an improvised shelter of sorts, his upper body deliberately laid close beside it in a way that almost seemed to mimic having another body near him for comfort. The transition had been gradual over the course of several months, he had slowly grown accustomed to sleeping in a proper bed, and more importantly, he had grown used to having you there beside him.

Your warm, protective arms would wrap around his frame each night, and he had found himself free of any hesitation or shame as he tucked himself against your chest, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeat become his personal lullaby, lulling him into peaceful sleep. Better than any goddamn noise machine he could dream of.

But that peace had been shattered after one particularly visceral nightmare that had resulted in him nearly choking the life from you in his sleep-addled state. He found himself unable to bear the thought of sharing a bed with you again, too terrified of what his unconscious mind might make him do.

He thought he was getting better, he was supposed to be better. The words didn't work anymore...therapy was mediocre at best but it was supposed to help him. Yet, after all of that, he still hurt you.

He's still plagued.

Frustrated with himself and the situation, he kicks the chair slightly, causing it to skid a few inches across the worn wooden floor with a harsh scraping sound. Bucky takes a deep breath, his flesh hand instinctively gripping his dog tags - those small pieces of metal that remind him of who he once was - one his own, one Steve’s.

Damnit, Steve. Why didn’t he stay?

The one man who always had his loyalty, his best friend, he felt so abandoned.

Now he had to dump his shit on you. You didn’t deserve this.

Dealing with what remained of Bucky. Dealing with his problems.

Burdening you with his issues.

All alone.

His vibranium hand nervously bundled the thin, threadbare blanket he used to sleep under. The television continued to drone on in the background, playing yet another cheesy Christmas movie that felt hollow and distant. He didn’t like these ones.

He liked the older ones.

They were simpler, easier to grasp. The fantasy of talking snowmen and flying reindeer seemed far better to lose himself in than these modern romantic tales of a cheerful woman who sings perfect carols and inevitably falls for a handsome shop owner...predictable stories that seemed to play on an endless loop.

The warm glow from the Christmas tree cast a gentle, inviting light across the sparse living room, making the empty space feel more like home. The apartment was still largely unfurnished, your current financial situation wasn’t great to say the least. Bucky's couldn’t get a job with his ‘criminal’ background, nor would anyone hire the Winter Soldier, regardless of how good he worked and how well he was with his hands. That left you as the sole provider. The weight of being the only one working pressed heavily on your shoulders, though you never complained.

You were happy to do it, if it meant Bucky could spend time relaxing and not worrying about anything.

Still, he didn’t like it.

The thought of his girl working for the both of you gave him a sour taste in his mouth, his gut tightened as he saw it as just another burden for you. A gentleman deep down, you having to work to support the two of you didn’t do anything but give him even more mental crisis.

Even when you were on the run in Romania, he found odd jobs. He brought food home. He took care of the two of you. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t think you shouldn’t be working because you were a woman, it’s just…he felt horrible. You did so much for him, and all he could do was sit at home and wait for you to come off your shifts. He felt worthless.

And despite the tight budget, you'd worked extra hours so you could afford a Christmas tree for the apartment. While Bucky had initially been indifferent to the idea of holiday decorations, his memories of past Christmases long since faded into a blur. Watching your face light up as you carefully placed each ornament made every penny worth it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle creak of floorboards, and he turned to find you peering around the corner of the short hallway that led to your bedroom. "Buck Buck...what're you doin' up?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep. Your hair was charmingly disheveled, and his old henley hung loosely on your frame, the hem nearly reaching your knees. Your eyes, still heavy with sleep, blinked slowly, "I heard somethin' out here, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, doll I'm...I'm fine." He exhaled slowly, not exactly confident in his words, shoulders slumping forward as the weight of sleepless nights pressed down on him. His hand still held the dog tags, fiddling with them restlessly as his thumb pad gently traced the engraved names and numbers, a nervous habit he'd developed.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself that?" You asked softly, sitting down beside him on the cold floor, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give him space. "Why don't you come back to bed with me? It's cold out here and that small blanket is not enough... I can see you shivering."

"No." He spat firmly, his jaw clenching with tension, "We've been over this. I'm not going to risk hurting you again. I can't...I won't let that happen."

"It was an accident-" you tried to reason, reaching out instinctively.

"NO!" Bucky snapped suddenly, his volume and tone loud enough to echo off the walls, making you flinch as it startled the sleep out of you. The fear in his own eyes matched yours for a split second.

It was silent for a few beats until finally he found the courage to break it with trembling words.

"I can't...I won't hurt you again. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face - the fear in your eyes when I came back to myself. You can downplay it all you want. The doctors told me how close I came to crushing your trachea. How am I supposed to carry on knowing what I almost did? You still have that dark bruise around your throat, oh...god..." His voice cracked and faded, heavy with anguish. The traumatic memory had carved itself deep into his psyche.

The faceless HYDRA torturers had been replaced in his nightmares, instead, visions of his own hands wrapped around your throat, watching helplessly as the life slowly drained from your eyes.

That was more horrifying than any of HYDRA's torture.

He would willingly submit himself to every cruel experiment, every brutal conditioning session, every moment of agony they had ever put him through - if it meant he could erase that one terrible moment when he had almost become your killer.

"Bucky," you interrupted his thoughts, your hand reaching out hesitantly in the dim light of the room, hovering just inches from his tensed shoulder but not yet making contact. You turned your palm slowly upward toward the ceiling, silently willing him to either take your hand or at least allow you the comfort of touching him. "I promise you, I am fine. Yes, it might've been a bit scary in the moment when it happened, and I understand why you're worried...but I know you'd never hurt me on purpose, not in a million years. It was an accident, nothing more than that."

He shifted uncomfortably under your unwavering gaze, his fingers clutching the deep green blanket even tighter to his chest, drawing it close like armor against both the cold and his own guilt. You could see the slight tremor in his frame, whether from the chilly air or his inner turmoil, you weren't sure. You knew he must be freezing out here in the living room, but if there was one thing you'd learned about Bucky, it was that he could be impossibly stubborn.

No matter how much you yearned to lead him back to the warmth of your shared bedroom, you knew he wouldn't budge an inch, wouldn't dare return to your bed, not while the belief that he might unconsciously harm you still gripped his conscience.

Instead of trying the back and forth of arguing, you decided to do something else. Rising from your spot, you made your way back to the bedroom, your bare feet making soft padding sounds against the aged wooden floorboards that creaked ever so slightly with each step. When Bucky heard you walk away, he assumed you had given up and gone back to bed for the night, so he slowly lowered himself down onto his makeshift sleeping spot, trying to find a comfortable position to attempt sleep.

But your absence was only temporary. Within moments, you had returned.

Your arms were laden with an assortment of blankets and a plush pillow, carried from your bedroom.

"No, doll..." he sat up immediately, preparing to launch into reasons why you shouldn't subject yourself to sleeping on the floor, even if it might be hypocritical. But you possessed every bit as much stubbornness as he did, and you had already made up your mind that he wouldn't have to face this night alone.

"Hush. I'm staying with you, and if that means camping out in the living room, then that's exactly what I'm going to do." You insisted firmly but gently, carefully arranging the blankets and pillow beside his spot. "And if sleep doesn't come easily tonight, then we can always put on a movie to pass the time. But I don't want you to be on your own, you've been torturing yourself for weeks now..."

Bucky looked down at his lap, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his features. "You are such a brat..." He finally replied, his lips pulling into a small, almost reluctant smile. The warmth in his chest grew steadily as he watched you, touched by how adamantly you insisted on sleeping beside him, even if it meant spending the night on the cold floor.

"That's me," you replied with a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now...how about some hot chocolate? If we aren’t gonna sleep, then we might as well have a little treat. Plus, it'll warm you up." You offered, already making your way to the kitchen with determined steps, your mind set on the comforting beverage. "Marshmallows or whipped cream?" You called over your shoulder, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as you deliberately didn't give him any opportunity to decline the offer.

He shook his head slowly, running his hand over his face as an affectionate smile spread across his features, unable to hide how endeared he was by your persistence. "Marshmallows...please," he responded softly.

"And that chestnut flavoring?" You added thoughtfully, observing him still comfortably tucked away on the floor, his form relaxed against the wall. Bucky gave a shy nod, a gentle expression crossing his features, and you couldn't help but smile warmly in return. "We should roast some, I hear people do that this time of year. But I'm not sure why exactly? I haven't had the chance to try them prepared that way before."

You carefully made your way back to where he sat, extending the steaming mug of hot chocolate towards him. The ceramic vessel was filled nearly to the brim, with a generous mountain of tiny marshmallows creating a fluffy white peak on top.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders slightly, reaching up to pluck a few of the dry marshmallows from the pile, popping them into his mouth one by one. "You can eat them plain as a snack," he offered simply, savoring the sweet dissolving treats.

"Yeah, but that seems a bit too plain for chestnuts. How about…a pie? God, I love pecan pie, why not chestnut pie? Or I hear they go good with apples."

"Pie would be really good...you know how much I love your baking," Bucky smiled warmly, his eyes lighting up as he fondly recalled all the delicious sweet treats you had lovingly prepared throughout the seasons. Apple pie was one of Bucky's all time favorite desserts, and he always lit up when you made it for him. You aren’t a professional baker by any means, but the homemade pastries and treats that came from your kitchen had become one of his most treasured simple pleasures in the world.

You sat nestled against him, your shoulders touching as you both sipped hot chocolate and talked about everything and nothing. The conversation drifted from the gentle snowfall outside to potential weekend activities, from dessert recipes you wanted to try together to movies you both wanted to watch.

Bucky had changed visibly since you crept out to see him, his tense shoulders had gradually loosened, the worried lines around his eyes had softened, and genuine smiles now came more frequently. You both occasionally made playful commentary about the predictable romantic comedy playing on screen, sharing knowing looks as the plot became increasingly formulaic and harder to tolerate.

"Can't we watch something else?" Bucky asked, turning to meet your gaze with a slight grimace, "I'm getting tired of these kinds of movies...at this point, I could practically recite exactly what's going to happen next, line by line."

“What do you mean?” You laughed a little, smiling at him as he rolled his eyes in return.

“Let’s see…it’s either Noel, Carol, or some other Christmas themed name for the main girl, and she always moves back to a hometown or is divorced or lonely or just…wandering through life feeling like something’s missing. Meets a handsome guy, a handy man, a baker, someone she knew from her childhood, and they eventually fall in love after this big Christmas event happens.” Bucky muttered, “And there's always singing! That’s been the plot for the last three movies, I swear.”

"Sure," you responded with another laugh, he hit the nail on the head. You reached forward for the remote and scrolled through channels until you stumbled on one specifically for classic holiday films. "Oh my god, this one! It's from, like...1960." You watched, somewhat amused, as the distinctively vintage stop-motion animation showed Rudolph trudging through the snow, the character's movements charmingly stilted by today's standards. Your finger hovered over the remote button, ready to continue searching.

"No, no...don't change it," he interjected softly, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice, "I'd like to watch this one..."

"Really? Alright," you set the remote down and got comfy. These classic films held a special place in your heart, each frame bringing back cherished memories of curling up on the couch as a child, lost in the magic of storytelling and still believing in Santa Claus. "This used to be one of my favorites," you murmured softly, snuggling closer against him. Bucky lifted his right arm, eager to feel your heat against his bare chest. He hadn't experienced watching these movies the same as you had, his past denying him even these small comforts.

It wasn't like HYDRA allowed him a tv.

Watching it now, even without the foundation of the right nostalgia, he was drawn into the film's spell. There was something touching about its simplicity, the way it managed to weave enchantment through every scene despite its less sophisticated approach. Even with its fantastical storyline, it carried an authentic magic that resonated deep within him, something pure and genuine he could instinctively recognize. Much better than the movies he had seen all day.

The first movie seemed to float by in a comfortable haze, and before you knew it, another began to play. These old ones didn’t have a very long runtime, but you forgot just how quick they fly by. The Charlie Brown Christmas movie filled the screen with its familiar charm. The gentle orchestration of the score and soothing tone of the character’s voices set a comfortable mood in the room.

While the movie played, you felt a slight shift in weight beside you. You glanced over and noticed Bucky's empty mug resting forgotten in his lap, old white foam from melted marshmallows sticking to the rim, his features softened as his eyelids had finally drooped closed. His weight leaning more against yours, and you carefully adjusted yourself.

"Oh, Bucky..." you whispered tenderly to yourself, watching as the exhausted man finally succumbed to sleep, the warm hot chocolate having done its job exactly as you'd hoped it would. Gently, you removed the empty mug from where it rested precariously on his lap and eased him down into a more comfortable position, making sure his head was properly supported by the plush pillow beneath it. You then took your time meticulously arranging the thick blankets over his body, paying particular attention to his metal arm, ensuring it was completely covered.

The winter months were especially difficult for him, the cold made the connection points of his prosthetic ache terribly, so you made sure that every inch of the metal limb was thoroughly insulated against the chill.

Damn, you should really invest in a heated blanket…they were just so expensive.

You were determined to get one for him though.

After adjusting the television volume just a little to create a soft, ambient background noise, you settled yourself beside his sleeping form. You snuggled in close, your hand moving in slow, soothing strokes up and down the broad expanse of his back.

Even in the depths of sleep, he instinctively sought out your warmth, shifting closer until his face was buried against your chest, his arm wrapping around you in a secure embrace. Though the weight and coolness of the metal arm pressed against you was initially a bit uncomfortable since the henley rode up a bit, but you quickly adjusted. Vibranium was nice, once it warmed it would stay that way for a long time.

But the same vise versa, meaning you really should get a heated blanket soon.

For now, this would do. You'd be the heat he needed, even if it meant staying with him on the floor.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

@buck-star 's Fluffy Winter Event.

[ineffectualdemon]

I've crafted another scenario for why doesn't Shen Jiu beat the shit out of Disciple Shen Yuan

But it's fucked up

He sees Shen Yuan, newly transmigrated street kid, rush out to protect and then comfort another much younger street kid and gets a visceral reminder of Qi-ge before

This kid reminds him viscerally of Qi-ge but if he was this kids Shizun then this one couldn't leave him

He can also make him better

Make him care about the correct things

Shen Yuan agrees to come with him (System orders) but tells the other street child that they will see each other again someday, he's sure

But he doesn't promise and that makes Shen Jiu even more sure he has made the right choice

Shen Jiu moves this kid into his house and works on molding him into what he thinks Qi-ge should have been

He's obsessed and all his focus is on Shen Yuan and his training. He doesn't abuse his other students but he doesn't pay attention to what they are doing either

He's harsh and his words hurt but he can't bring himself to touch this kid much less hit him.

And when he does think about touching it's not out of anger and that's worse

But he doesn't lay a hand on Shen Yuan

Not yet

And then Luo Binghe shows up

And Shen Yuan who has been so good. So obedient is now arguing back

Because that little useless street kid Shen Yuan was protecting? That was Luo Binghe who is ecstatic to find his saviour in his new home

And Shen Yuan is caught in two people's obsessions that he can't escape even as they rip him apart

[w4ndal0ver]

Good Old Fashioned Lover Girl (rockstar!agatha x fan!reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: rockstar!daddy!agatha x fan!sub!reader

summary: You find yourself in the bed of the one and only Agatha Harkness, the lead singer of your all time favourite band.

content warnings: drug use in build up, shameful daddy kink, gagging, slapping, praise and degradation, slut shaming, spit play, fingering, cunnilingus, semi-public sex, choking, strap sex, throat fucking, spanking (minimal), power imbalance considering reader is a fan, only read if you wanna be railed by rockstar agatha

word count: 10k, sorry but it is shameful smut, I'm ovulating <3

You could hardly believe the night you’d had as you walked the streets alone at midnight. The concert you’d just been to was the best you’d ever been to, the lights blazing hot and harsh against the smoke that filled the room, neon halos on top of each member of the band's head. The Coven had been your favourite band for years, so when you found yourself in the middle of the heaving crowd, your brain half-euphoric, you could hardly believe who was standing in front of you. 

Agatha Harkness stood centre stage, as she always did, owning the space with the kind of effortless power that seemed too raw, too real to be anything but magic. The Coven had made a name for themselves in the music industry, their sound something darker, more visceral than any other you’d heard and at the heart of it was her. 

She was wearing another version of the same outfit she always wore, her hair wild and untamed, nothing but a black headband around her forehead. She didn’t just sing, she commanded, snarling lyrics into the mic that she grasped with such intensity. Her voice had a honey gravel to it, carrying a rough edge that cut right through you. 

After a while, your brain still awestruck as you found yourself at the doors of a dive bar not too far from the venue. This place looked like it had been standing here forever, soaked in beer from the outside, and stale smoke encompassing the inside. The wallpaper was peeling, faded posters from bands that had long since faded away hung over the top. 

The bar was small and dimly lit, just a few lowlights casting a dull amber glow over worn out tables and booths. A jukebox sat in the corner, glowing softly, though it was clear nobody had bothered to feed it quarters in a long time. Behind the bar, a bored looking man with a cigarette between his fingers was polishing glasses with a rag that looked as though it might be dirtier than the glasses themselves. The air was thick with the scent of old leather, cigarettes, and spilled whiskey, mixed with the indefinable mustiness that clung to the room. 

In one corner, a small group of regulars huddled over their drinks, murmuring quietly to each other, their faces shadowed and weathered. So you decide to slide onto a stool at the bar, ordering a drink and letting the strange, comforting grime of the place settle around you. It wasn’t at all glamorous, but it was real, a welcome change from the chaos of the concert. The drink was cheap, but strong, and as you took a sip the buzzing in your brain started again. You’d taken everything you had at the concert but now you looked around eagerly in an attempt to see anyone doing any type of drug that you could befriend just to continue your high. 

That was when you saw her. 

You didn’t think it would happen, nowhere near a place like this, a dive tucked away from the spotlight, a world removed from the stage. But there she was: Agatha, who took centre stage even here, as if the universe had conspired this moment itself. She was perched on the edge of a booth in the corner, surrounded by a shifting circle of friends, hangers-on, industry types, all vying for her attention as she leaned back, one arm slung over the seat like she owned the entire bar. 

A glass dangled from her fingers, half filled with something dark, and her other held a cigarette, a thin wisp of smoke curling up toward the ceiling. She looked utterly magnetic, her hair still tousled from the stage, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the room through half lidded eyes. You couldn’t help staring, even though you knew you should look away. You could see the way her eyes flickered to the small folded up bill tucked in the palm of her hand. It was all too subtle, like a well worn habit, but you noticed. She unrolled it slowly, taking the time to expertly cut the line on the table, the sharp scent of it lingering in the air to you even from across the room. 

You zip up your jacket, hiding the Coven logo branded across your chest, but you feel your gaze stray back to her again and again, like a pull that you couldn’t resist. She seemed to glow in the low, smoky light. You watched her lean forward slightly, legs still spread, the sharp click on the lighter cutting through the noise as she held up the rolled up bill to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a brief moment of bliss, before she straightened back up, licking her lips with a satisfied smile. Even in this rough dimly lit bar, she looked untouchable, like she could have the entire world if she wanted it. 

As she looked up again, her eyes met yours across the room and you felt your face go warm, the thrill and panic hitting all at once, as if you’d been laid bare under her piercing gaze. You quickly looked down, pretending to focus on your drink, and took a long, shaky sip, hoping to drown the strange tension in your chest. Even as you stared at the scratched surface of the bar, you could feel her eyes on you, lingering like heat on your skin. You laughed at your situation, before downing the rest of your drink, slamming the empty glass against the bar and waving at the bartender once more. 

“Whiskey, rocks.” You say, but somehow, impossibly, she was there beside you, moving so smoothly that you didn’t realise it until she was close enough that you could feel her presence, like a dark star drawing you into her orbit. You felt one of her hands pressed firmly against the small of your back, a strong, grounding touch that made you catch your breath, while the other reached up to signal to the bartender. 

“All her drinks are on my tab.” She drawled, her voice rich and low, a quiet command that made it clear she was used to getting what she wanted. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You protest, swallowing deeply at the way her fingers pressed just a little too hard into your back, possessive in a way that made your pulse race. She turned toward you, and there was a smirk playing at the corner of her lips, a knowing glint in her eye.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening, clearly amused by your protest. “Oh, but I insist,” she murmured, leaning in close enough that her breath grazed your cheek, warm and tinged with whiskey and something sweeter. “It’s the least I can do for a fan.” Her gaze flickered down, lingering on the way you fidgeted with the hem of your jacket, the subtle nerves you were trying so hard to mask.

“Fan? Who says I’m a fan?” You tried for nonchalance, but the way her hand lingered against your back made it hard to focus, like she was rooting you in place with the barest of touches.

Agatha chuckled, a low, velvet sound that seemed to resonate through you. “Don’t play coy,” she teased, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and challenge. “It’s adorable, but it doesn’t suit you.” Her gaze slipped down your form, slowly, her eyes dragging over every detail. Her fingers pressed a little harder, her thumb tracing a lazy circle over the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging one shoulder, but your heart was pounding. “I didn’t realise you were so charitable,” you shot back, lifting your glass and taking a steadying sip, hoping the whiskey would help ground you, help steady the thrill building in your chest.

She laughed softly, a flash of teeth in that knowing smirk of hers. “Only to the ones who catch my eye,” she replied, her voice dipped in honey, slow and deliberate. She let her gaze linger on you a beat too long, making her meaning unmistakable. “And you, well you’ve been looking at me all night, haven’t you?”

You felt your cheeks flush, caught off guard by her directness. “Maybe,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made it impossible to keep up the facade. “Or maybe you’re just used to people looking.”

“True,” she admitted with a shrug, her hand sliding from your back to the bar beside you, her presence enveloping you as she leaned in. Her face was close, her voice barely a murmur. “But I don’t usually notice them.” She let that hang in the air, a faint smirk playing at her lips as her eyes drifted down to your mouth, just for a heartbeat, before flicking back to meet your gaze. 

The air between you was thick, electric, and you had to steady yourself, gripping your glass tighter. “So what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?” you asked, tipping your head toward the dive bar’s worn booths and the crowd that was beginning to dissipate, leaving the two of you in a quiet, unspoken bubble.

She shrugged, glancing around with a lazy, amused smile, as though the place were her personal playground. “I like the grime,” she said, her fingers idly tapping the bar. “It’s real. Cuts through the polish.” She tilted her head, studying you like you were part of her scenery, something curious and worth examining. “Besides,” she added, “I thought I’d find something interesting here tonight.”

“Something interesting?” you echoed, and she nodded, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Or maybe,” she purred, her voice soft and edged with challenge, “someone interesting.”

She was close enough now that you could feel the faint warmth of her skin, smell the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with smoke. You swallowed, barely able to hold her gaze, feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling. She reached for her own drink, her fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, her touch electric.

“Come sit with me,” she said, tipping her head toward the booth in the corner where a glass, a small mirror, and a familiar rolled-up bill waited. Her invitation was as much a challenge as it was a command.

Your breath caught as she turned, her fingers slipping from your back in a way that left you feeling almost cold without her touch. But you didn’t hesitate. Her gaze stayed locked on you, even as she made her way to the booth, the air between you thick with anticipation. You could feel every eye in the bar turn as you followed her, but Agatha walked as if she was born to be watched. Heads turned; glances lingered, but she was utterly unfazed, her attention fully on you as she slid into the dark leather seat.

The booth was tucked in a shadowy corner, half hidden from the rest of the bar. You slid in across from her, feeling the cracked leather beneath your fingers as you settled in. She leaned back, one arm draped casually along the booth’s edge, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm as she watched you. The tension in the air thickened, like a coiled spring, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were in a game you didn’t quite know the rules to.

She reached for the mirror on the table, her movements smooth, practised, almost mesmerising. With a practised flick of her wrist, she cut a line, her fingers graceful and sure. She caught your gaze as she leaned down, taking her time, her eyes glinting with something wild as she inhaled. The scene felt surreal, like you were suspended between reality and some hazy dream, the sounds of the bar fading as she lifted her head, exhaling with a slow smile.

“You want one?” she asked, gesturing to the mirror, her voice low and edged with mischief.

You hesitated for a beat, but then nodded, feeling the adrenaline humming in your veins. You weren’t about to back down now, not with her eyes fixed on you like that, daring you to take the plunge. She slid the mirror toward you, a hint of approval in her gaze as you leaned forward, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took the line, feeling the sharp rush as it coursed through you, heightening everything, the smoky lights, the hum of the bar, the way her gaze seemed to burn into you.

“Not bad,” she murmured, her smirk widening, clearly satisfied as she watched you settle back, your senses tingling from the rush.

Conversation drifted between you, each exchange a slow burn, full of glances that lingered too long, subtle touches that seemed to spark against your skin. Her fingers grazed yours as she reached for her drink, her knee pressing against yours under the table, each point of contact like a flicker of static. The intensity in her gaze never wavered, her eyes dancing with amusement every time you tried to play it cool.

At some point, her hand slipped over yours on the table, her fingers tracing lazy circles along your knuckles, the touch so subtle it was almost maddening. You could feel yourself leaning closer, caught up in the gravitational pull between you, until her face was inches from yours. Her thumb brushed over your hand, her eyes flicking down to your mouth, and you barely had a second to react before she closed the space between you, her lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was fierce, almost desperate, her mouth hot and demanding, like she’d been holding back until now. You felt a rush of vulnerability, exposed and yet anchored by her touch. Her fingers tightened over yours as she deepened the kiss, her other hand sliding to the back of your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head backwards as she took your bottom lip between your teeth. The world blurred, the sounds and lights of the bar fading into nothing, leaving just the heat of her mouth and the taste of her lingering on your lips. 

When she finally pulled back, her lips hovered just above yours, her breath warm against your skin. She looked at you with a raw intensity, her fingers slipping down to the collar of your jacket. 

“Come with me, pet.” She growls into your ear, her voice a quiet demand that leaves no room for argument. 

“I’m not your pet, and I’m not just going to go anywhere-”

“Now, last chance.” She smirked into your lips as the pads of her fingers graze the skin of your throat.

Your heart pounded as she helped you off the booth by your hips, leading you down the narrow hallway to the back of the bar, her hand firm around yours, fingers intertwined as if she couldn’t risk letting you slip away. She pushed open the bathroom door, pulling you inside and locking it behind her with a decisive click.

In the small, dim space, the air felt even more charged, thick with the weight of everything that had gone unsaid. She pressed you against the wall, her fingers tracing along your collar, slipping down to your jacket’s zipper. She looked up at you, her eyes dark and unyielding, a smirk playing at her lips as she began to tug it down, slowly, drawing out every inch.

The moment the zipper gave way, her eyes flicked down, catching sight of the faded band logo on the shirt beneath. She froze, her expression flickering between surprise and satisfaction, her fingers tracing over the familiar emblem. Her gaze lifted, and a grin spread across her face, filled with a mix of pride and something darker, a glint of triumph in her eyes.

“So, you really are a fan,” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement, as she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “I like that. So you really will do whatever I want hm?”

Her words curled around you, low and smoky, settling over you with a teasing weight. You swallowed, your pulse racing as she traced the band logo with her fingertips, a lazy, possessive touch that sent a shiver down your spine. She was so close, every breath she took brushing warm against your neck, her fingers just hovering there, making it clear that she was savouring every second of this reveal.

Her smirk deepened, eyes locked on yours, searching for that flicker of hesitation that never came. You could feel yourself melting into her, caught up in the heady mixture of her touch and her scent, the unmistakable pull she seemed to have over you. “You don’t mind, do you?” she murmured, her voice a velvet-soft purr that seemed to echo in the dim, tiled room.

You felt the words catch in your throat, but the defiance flickered in your gaze for a brief moment, just enough to make her laugh softly, a dark, satisfied sound that only pulled you further under her spell. She let her fingers slide up to your shoulder, resting there with a possessiveness that made it impossible to pull away even if you wanted to.

"Good," she whispered, her lips tracing a feather-light line down to the side of your jaw. "Because I don't intend to be gentle."

“I don’t like it gentle.” You smirk, feeling the confidence hit you as her hands roamed your clothed skin. This seemed to rile Agatha up to the highest degree, her hand grasping your jaw, tilting your head roughly upwards, her thumb pressing against your bottom lip before her lips collided with yours again, her hands obsessed with wrapping themselves in your hair and pulling you about and into the positions she wanted your mouth in. 

She angled your head to just the right position, her lips moving against yours with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. Every motion was a reminder of exactly who was in control, and somehow, that only made your pulse race harder.

The roughness of her touch sent a thrill through you, her nails grazing your scalp as she pulled you even closer, moulding you to her with an urgency that left you dizzy. The cool tile pressed against your back, grounding you, a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Her thumb swept over your bottom lip again, lingering there for a tantalising moment before she deepened the kiss, taking exactly what she wanted. You felt her smile against your mouth, a sly, knowing curve, as though she was savouring every bit of control she held over you.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes roamed over you, dark and pleased, her lips curled in that signature smirk. "There’s a good little girl," she murmured, her voice low and taunting, her gaze raking over you like she was cataloguing every response, every tell. Her fingers stayed buried in your hair, keeping you close, her eyes searching yours, relishing in the effect she had on you.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" she teased, her voice edged with satisfaction as she took in your slightly dazed expression. "Let’s see if you’re still this bold by the time I’m done with you."

“Please Agatha.” You couldn’t believe those words were tumbling from messy lips as your chin covered in her saliva, the way she kissed was rougher than anything you’d ever experienced before and each brush of her lips against your neck sent chills to your core and you could feel your arousal pooling at the cloth of your sheer underwear.

Agatha’s smirk widened, her eyes glinting with wicked amusement as she ran her thumb over your swollen lower lip, silencing any further plea with a dark satisfaction. “Begging already?” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry taunt that only made the heat pooling in your core throb harder. Her grip on you was firm, unyielding, her fingers tangling through your hair with a control that left you feeling both held and exposed. She tilted your head back slightly, her lips grazing your neck in maddening, fleeting touches, each one calculated, leaving you breathless.

“Patience,” she whispered, dragging her thumb down over your chin, tracing a line through the glisten of her own lingering kiss. “I need to know what I’m working with.” Her lips ghosted over your collarbone, her hands roaming, exploring, as if mapping out every sensitive inch with deliberate care. Each press of her fingers was possessive, each touch purposeful, a silent reminder of the control she had over you.

You swallowed, chest heaving, trying to keep up with her pace, her confidence, the edge in her gaze that promised you were just getting started. She seemed to drink in your reactions, her smirk only deepening as her lips moved back up to your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

“You don’t disappoint so far,” she purred, her voice low, wicked, as her fingers traced over the thin fabric clinging to your hips, teasing just enough to make you ache for more. “But let’s see if you can keep up with me, hmm?”

“I can, I will.” Your voice is laced with desperation, her lips cutting you off again, the burning sensation that spread across your entire body as she pressed you harder into the wall.

“So desperate to please, you’re ticking all the boxes.” Agatha hums, her lips grazing your ear lobe before biting down hard, eliciting a sharp moan from your lips as your head falls back against the tiles, “Such pretty noises, god you might be perfect.” Even that allowed for another moan to fall from your lips.

A dark, satisfied glint lit up Agatha’s gaze as she took in every sound, every tremble that escaped you. Her teeth dragged down the curve of your neck, marking her path with enough force to make your breath hitch, as if staking her claim on each inch of your skin. The pressure of her body kept you pressed against the wall, her hands never leaving you, roaming with a practised assurance that left no room for doubt, she knew exactly the effect she was having on you.

She pulled back just enough to watch your reaction, the intensity in her eyes searing into you. Her fingers traced slow, tantalising circles over the thin barrier of fabric at your hips, her smirk widening as she watched you bite your lip, barely able to stifle another moan. “I think I quite like you like this,” she murmured, her voice a velvet drawl, “all needy, waiting on me.”

Her lips found yours again, rough and consuming, a heady mix of possession and challenge as if daring you to keep up with her relentless pace. The kiss left you dizzy, her hands tightening around you, pulling you in closer until there was nothing between you but the heat and tension building with every breath.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her tone teasing, her thumb pressing firmly against your jaw to hold you there, “how long have you thought about this, hmm? Standing there in my crowd, wishing you were closer, wishing you could have this?” Her words were low and knowing, stoking the fire that was already blazing through you, her mouth grazing the edge of your jaw, her breath warm against your skin.

She didn’t need you to answer. The truth was written all over you, and from the look in her eyes, she was revelling in every moment of watching you unravel. “On your knees pet, now.” 

Her eyes held yours, sharp and unwavering, a quiet but unmistakable demand as her fingers traced down your jaw, guiding you downward with a touch that was both gentle and unrelenting. Heart pounding, you sank to your knees, feeling the rough tile beneath you as Agatha’s smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering across her face like she’d been waiting for this moment all night.

She took her time, savouring each second, watching with dark amusement as you settled, as though you were exactly where she’d intended you to be all along. Her hand stayed on your jaw, firm but caressing, fingers brushing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Her thumb traced your cheek, slow and deliberate, her gaze warm with both pride and anticipation.

“There we go,” she murmured, her voice a low hum that washed over you, making you feel completely at her mercy. She tilted her head, studying you like a masterpiece she was in the midst of creating, her smirk widening as she took in your flushed cheeks, the way you looked up at her, completely caught in her orbit.

“You look good like this,” she mused, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip, her fingers tilting your head up just enough to meet her gaze. “Desperate, willing, exactly as I imagined.” Her eyes glittered with satisfaction, and she leaned down, her lips ghosting over yours in a barely-there kiss, keeping you aching for more. “Now,” she whispered, a wicked glint in her eye as she leaned back, “show me just how much of a fan you really are.” As she said this, her fingers were unbuckling the gold belt that kept her flowing trousers up. 

You decided to take some initiative, your hands reaching up the back of her thighs, grabbing her ass with two firm handfuls before slowly pulling her trousers down her legs, placing kisses along the length of her skin, your hands trembling as she stepped out of the leg holes. 

Her smirk deepened as she watched you, clearly relishing every moment of control and every tremor that ran through your fingers as you traced her skin. The dim light cast shadows over her, adding to her untouchable aura, but here she was, letting you peel away the layers. Your lips brushed her thigh, feather-light, trailing upward as you took your time, savouring the feel of her beneath your hands. She hummed in approval, a low, satisfied sound that sent a thrill through you, her fingers tangling into your hair to guide you exactly where she wanted.

She pressed herself against you, one leg between your knees, steadying you with a possessive hand at the nape of your neck. Her grip tightened, firm yet teasing, as though she were testing your resolve, testing just how far you’d go to please her. Each kiss, each touch, seemed to stoke the fire between you both, her gaze dark and knowing as you looked up at her, taking in the raw, magnetic presence that she commanded so effortlessly.

“Keep going,” she murmured, her voice low, dripping with authority, as she looked down at you with that signature smirk. “Show me that you’re worth taking home.” The words were laced with challenge, her tone daring, yet there was an undeniable hint of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she’d known all along you’d be here, right in her hands. 

In the rush of her impatience, she pulled her lilac underwear down, stepping out of them and putting them in her pocket, pressing her leg between yours, putting pressure against the heat of your core in a gesture of getting you to hurry up. You looked up at her cunt, your hand reaching up to touch her but she batted your hand away, grabbing your hair and pushing your face towards her. You obliged immediately, the grip she had within your hair way too strong to disobey her. 

You sweeped your tongue through her folds, sliding gracefully across her glistening skin, with the first contact her grip tightened in your hair and you moaned deeply into her cunt as she placed her other leg over your shoulder, allowing for you to get the best angle. You couldn’t help but devour her, the clear view of her pussy reacting to every breath you took near her, lying your flat tongue against her entire slit, feeling her hips slip underneath you, finally gaining a level of contact that made her weak in the knees. 

Her light groans against your tongue quickened as you dragged your tongue from her entrance, encircling her clit with sharp strokes that made her grip tighten as you heard a thump from where her other hand fell against the wall, holding herself up. You took her clit between your lips, sucking gently which made her gasp in a way that surprised even Agatha herself. 

You were eagerly watching and feeling for her body to react positively to each new way you swiped your tongue against her clit, wanting to remember how you made her tremble beneath your mouth. You wanted to know what made her grip your hair tighter, more desperate for your tongue to drive her into that desperate release that you didn’t think she was expecting from a bar goer that she’d dragged into the bathroom. 

Her hips started to grind against your tongue, her low groans sometimes slipping into sharp moans, but once you hardened your muscle against her clit, she groaned a list of expletives for anyone in the entire bar to hear that sent a rush of arousal to your already dripping core. The way her leg was wrapped around your body, gripping your body closer to her cunt, not letting you pull away even if you wanted to.  

You continued your movements and there she was, moans tumbling from her lips as her climax reached its peak, her breathy groans forcing you to push away the feeling of your jaw beginning to clamp up, but there was no way you were going to stop now with her hips uncontrollably bucking against your mouth, her arousal lacing your lips and seeping in against your tastebuds. 

You continued light gentle circles until Agatha removed her leg that was tightly wrapped around you. She looked down at you, her eyes saying everything without her needing to speak a word. You knew you looked irresistible to her, she wasn’t expecting you to make her cum in the bar's bathroom, you got the feeling she wanted to humiliate you when you couldn’t, but you showed her. Her thumb stroked your lip, your face covered in her glistening arousal. She prised your lips open, allowing a long string of saliva to fall from her lips and land against your worked out tongue. You immediately swallowed, your mouth still open and she couldn’t help but smirk down at you. 

“Well you’re an experienced whore aren’t you.” She said and your immediate nod told her everything she needed to know, she needed to take you home. She grabbed her trousers off the floor, slipping back inside of them quickly, grabbing you by your hair and guiding you off your knees. She captured you in another kiss, “You’re coming with me, I need to use you like you deserve.” You whined into Agatha’s lips, nodding desperately as you could feel your own arousal leaking from your underwear. “You’d like that wouldn’t you pet.” 

“Please Agatha.” That was all you needed to say, she pinched your hardened nipple that had suddenly arisen through your Coven t-shirt and you groaned in desperation as she led you out of the bathroom and immediately out of the bar. 

As soon as the cool night air hits you, the taste of Agatha still on your lips as her driver turns the corner and stops right in front of you. The car was massive, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the dim street lights as the door swung open. Agatha’s driver gave a polite nod, allowing you to step inside. The interior was everything you’d expect, rich leather seats, polished wood accents, and soft lighting that gave the whole cabin a warm, intimate glow.

Agatha’s presence was magnetic as she followed you into the car, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. She slid into the seat next to you, her hand resting briefly on your leg before she reached for the partition, smoothly lowering it with a subtle press of a button. The car’s low hum enveloped you both in a private space, shutting out the outside world.

She leaned back, her eyes glinting with amusement as she studied you. “Comfy?” Her voice was smooth, like velvet, making your skin tingle.

You nodded, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside you. Agatha’s presence was overwhelming, and being this close, in the intimate confines of the car, only made everything feel more intense.

The car began to move and Agatha lent forward, shutting the divider between your section and the drivers, unclicking your seatbelt with a chuckle. “Come sit on Daddy’s lap.” You swallow in shock at the title she’d crowned herself, not that you were complaining. You shuffle off of your seat, straddling over her lap, burying your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. She smelt like smoke covered in vanilla, a smell that you couldn’t help but need. 

You were wearing a short black skirt, your Coven t-shirt still on show, now directly in Agatha’s eyeline as her hands fell to your bare thighs. You arched your back into her touch as you kept your head against her shoulder. You could feel how desperate you were, your legs being spread over her lap constantly reminding you of how your arousal was dripping down your thighs. 

“I need you Daddy.” You whimper into her ear, sucking lightly against her earlobe. You were trying to pull on every one of her strings, you’d imagined this moment in your head for years, ever since you heard her first song. You never thought you’d ever be sitting on her lap in the back of her car, so you weren’t going to pass up on the opportunity. 

“Oh I know you do, pet.” Agatha grins, her palm cupping your clothed cunt, licking her bottom lip at the damp fabric. You whimper at the slight contact, unconsciously grinding your hips against her hand. “Behave.” You comply, stilling your hips and allowing for her finger to push your underwear to the side, just the tip of her finger grazing your arousal. She isn’t prepared to do much more, just gently allowing your arousal to seep into her skin, letting you get used to not getting what you want. 

After a few more minutes of relentless teasing, the car pulls up to the entrance of her estate. The mansion looms in front of you, a towering structure bathed in soft light, the large windows reflecting the night sky. The grand, wrought-iron gates open slowly, and the driver steers the car down the long, winding driveway. 

“You have a beautiful house.” You say, awestruck at the sight of it. 

“Thank you,” Agatha replies, her voice as cool and controlled as always, though there’s a flicker of pride in her eyes. She watches you with a knowing expression. “ I take care of it, and those who walk through its doors.”

The car stops at the front steps, and as the engine quiets, you can hear the sound of crickets in the distance, adding an eerie but peaceful touch to the atmosphere. You’re still trying to process the vastness of the estate, the grandeur of the house—its stone pillars, the delicate arches of the windows, and the perfectly manicured gardens that line the path.

Before you can say another word, the door opens, and Agatha steps out of the car, her coat billowing around her. She doesn’t look back, but her posture is commanding, as though she knows exactly how you’re looking at her.

“You coming?” she asks, her voice low and smooth.

You quickly follow her, stepping out onto the cold marble steps, your breath visible in the night air. Agatha walks ahead, her heels clicking on the stone as she leads you to the massive oak doors. The faint scent of something floral lingers in the air as she opens the door with a practised ease, and the interior of her home is revealed.

Rich tapestries hang from the walls, the faint glow of candlelight illuminating the elegant furniture, casting shadows that dance across the room. It’s opulent, but in a way that feels lived-in, comfortable, inviting.

She turns to face you as she closes the door behind you, her lips curling into a slow, amused smile. Agatha steps toward you, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she stops just in front of you. The temperature seems to rise just slightly, the intensity of her gaze holding you captive. She lifts a hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, her fingers grazing your skin with a touch that feels like it could set you alight.

"This way," she murmurs, her voice smooth, yet carrying a subtle authority. She walks toward the door at the far end of the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the floor before she opens it with a graceful motion.

The room she reveals is everything you'd expect and more, a serene, almost ethereal space. The soft, golden light from a chandelier above illuminates the room, casting warm shadows across the floor and highlighting the luxurious details of the décor. The walls are lined with plush velvet curtains in deep, rich tones, and the polished wood floors gleam beneath the thick, patterned rug that stretches across the room.

In the centre of it all stands a grand four-poster bed, its towering wooden pillars reaching toward the ceiling. The bed is draped in luxurious linens, plush, silken sheets in shades of deep cream and gold that shimmer slightly in the soft lighting. The canopy above is sheer, cascading down in delicate folds, adding an almost dreamlike quality to the space. The posts are intricately carved, their designs subtle but elegant, giving the bed an air of grandeur without being overwhelming.

A large vanity mirror stands across from the bed, its surface covered with a scattering of perfume bottles, fine brushes, and a few other personal items.  Agatha stands by the window for a moment, her figure framed by the soft light pouring in from outside. Then, with a slight glance over her shoulder, she turns to face you, her lips curling into a slow, confident smile.

"Make yourself at home," she says, her voice laced with both invitation and command. You try to listen to her order, perching yourself on the bed. “By that I mean strip.” The soft light from the window creates a halo around her, enhancing her presence as she stands across from you.

There’s no mistaking the implication in her voice. She watches as you slowly take in the room, the elegance of it, the softness of the bed beneath you, yet the quiet authority in her gaze makes you feel almost like an open book.

You hesitate for only a moment before standing, feeling the subtle weight of her eyes as you begin to unbutton your jacket, the fabric slipping from your shoulders. Each movement seems deliberate, and yet, there's a strange sense of freedom in it as you follow her quiet, unspoken guidance.

Agatha watches you silently, her eyes never leaving yours as she steps closer, the distance between you two narrowing. She reaches out, her hand brushing against your arm lightly, the touch almost reassuring in its gentleness, yet it carries an unspoken promise that makes your heart race just a little faster.

"Relax," she murmurs, as her presence seems to fill the room even more, her every movement calm, but purposeful.

You glance back at her, a slight tension still present in the air, but there's an unspoken understanding that whatever this moment brings, it's going to be entirely on her terms. And somehow, that feels just right.

“Let me help you.” Agatha’s voice is low, almost like a murmur, but it carries weight, pulling your attention completely. She steps closer, the subtle click of her heels on the floor the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Her presence fills the space, each step deliberate, each movement calculated, yet graceful. You can’t help but be drawn to her, the way she commands the room without a word.

She stops just in front of you, her eyes locking onto yours, searching, reading you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand lifts slowly, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist, as if testing your reaction. Her touch is soft but firm, a clear signal that she’s in control, but she’s patient, letting you decide how to respond.

"Let me help you," she repeats, her words steady and calm, but there's an underlying edge to them, a subtle demand you can’t ignore. She unbuttons your skirt, yanking it down quickly, leaving you in nothing but the band tee and your soaked underwear, a sight that was making Agatha drool all over you. 

You cross your arms over your shirt, reaching the hem before trying to reach it over your head. She stops you, grabbing your wrists. You cock your eyebrow at her refusal to remove her band's logo from your chest. “You want me to keep it on?”

She holds your wrists firmly, her eyes never leaving yours. The air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken words and a subtle challenge. Her grip is forceful, just enough to let you know she's in control. Her lips curl into a slight smile, almost teasing, as if she’s waiting for you to respond.

"Is that a problem?" she asks, her tone soft but with an edge that makes you wonder if she's testing your limits.

You stand there, caught between defiance and curiosity, feeling her presence loom larger with every passing second. You shake your head, her grip on your wrists never loosening. You look up at her, knowingly allowing your desperation to seep through your pupils as they lock with hers. 

“Come on, you've got work to do.” She smirks at you, laughing in the face of your desperation to be touched by her.

“What work?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, not quite getting on the same wavelength as the older rockstar. 

“What work?” She mocked, her finger tracing your jaw, “You give me another orgasm and I’ll fuck you, make you cry, work you out until you’re begging me to stop.” She orders and you gulp in nervous anticipation. 

“I can do that for you.” You say, silence falling again and for a moment she expected you to turn and run away, but you didn’t. You stayed still, wanting so desperately to please her. 

“Good, c’mon then pet.” She gets herself on the bed, trousers removed in the process, her shirt unbuttoned allowing you to see the outline of her cleavage. She rested her back against the headboard and you weren’t prepared to waste any time. 

You shifted yourself across the bed, kneeling down in front of her. For the first time she wasn’t looking at you but instead straight in front of her. In curiosity, you turn to see what she was looking at, to which you saw the reflection of your ass in the mirror that she was looking directly into. You turn and purposefully arch your back lower so she could get a better view. 

Your lips gravitate back towards her inner thighs, her underwear had already been removed in the bar bathroom, but she wasn’t appreciative of your teasing judging by her hand on your head. In response, your tongue grazed her clit and a moan left her lips as you looked back up at her.   

“That's a good girl, show Daddy how good that tongue of yours is.” She orders through panting breaths as you hum against her cunt, making her squirm slightly beneath your mouth. You were determined to make her cum quicker than before, one hand slipping between your body and hers as you spread her lips apart giving yourself more room to work with. Her moan that escaped was much louder this time, a sound that was doing nothing but doubling the arousal between your own legs. 

“You’re getting Daddy close, pretty girl.” 

“Already, god I must be really impressing you.” You smirk against her folds and she delivers a quick and sharp slap to your ass, making your body fall against her. 

“Three strikes and you’re done.” She warns, your whimper ricocheting around the room, her spank leaving a harsh bright red mark. 

You were gasping desperately against her pussy, the vibrations of your humming rippling through her body as you could feel all the muscles touching you tense. This was a moment of confidence surging through you as you continued to move your tongue in the same tangled circles that were driving her crazy beneath you. You began to make sloppier movements with your tongue, allowing her to hear the way your tongue moved gracefully against her folds. 

“Oh fuck baby, you’re gonna make me-” She curses, a hand flying into your hair, gripping tightly as she grinded down on your face as her orgasm ripped harshly through her body, her entire body convulsing beneath you.

It didn’t take her long to recover, she pulled your head up and admired your skin, glistening with her arousal and it was a picture perfect image that was forever branded in her brain. You hum into a gentle kiss, her lips gently touching yours in an attempt to not remove any of her fluids from your face, wanting to see you drowning in her wetness. She brings her hand up to the base of your throat, grasping around you tightly making you dizzy as she swipes her tongue against yours. 

“Please can I give you one more.” You plead, wanting to touch her with your fingers, desperate to see how the woman would fold beneath your touch. There was a slight selfishness to your begging, knowing that you would get exactly what you wanted if you showed her the respect she so desperately wanted to see from you. 

She laid herself back down, pulling you around her body, your chest resting on her arm with one leg hooked over hers as you pushed her legs apart with your foot. “Such a people pleaser hm?” Agatha quizzed, but not complaining, she was usually happy enough to not receive anything, but from someone who could bring her to orgasm so quickly, she wasn’t going to pass it by. 

“I just want to please you.” You say, a faux innocent smile on your face as your fingers carefully brushed against her clit. She whimpered with sensitivity but you carried on with your movements, but her pussy was dripping, coating your fingers with natural lubricant before you moved her shirt out of the way, allowing your tongue to carefully circle her nipple until it hardened against your mouth. 

As you began to make wide circles around her clit with your two fingers, she shifted her arm so it was stretched just enough to be able to brush your clit every time you grind your hips at the correct angle. It was like fireworks inside of you so you began to suck against her nipple, quickening and narrowing the circles you made with your fingers around her clit but soon enough she matched your movements. 

You let out a whimpery moan, desperate for so much more than she was giving you, yet the contact alone interrupted your movements against her clit. She slapped your ass again. “Second strike sweetheart, focus on your Daddy.” You nod at her words, knowing you had to carry on. It didn’t take too much longer before her hips began to buck when you sped up your circles. 

Her breathing laboured as you sucked the other nipple between your teeth, you spare hand playing with the other, overstimulating her in the best way possible as she started to grind down on your fingers. 

“You want me to cum again baby?” 

You nod, her nipple still loosely placed between your lips as she added another finger worth of pressure to your clit, mirroring exactly what you’d done to her. “Yes,” You gasp, “Please.”

The sound of your broken panting voice, whimpers tumbling from your lips made everything too much and she couldn’t help herself as her second orgasm fiercly crashed through her body, growling at the sensation as she let go of you, her back arching away from your relentless touch.  

She stilled your hand as she recovered, looking desperately into your eyes and you could feel her domineering persona washing straight back over her as she yanked your shirt from your abdomen, chucking it onto the floor by the bed. She hungrily attacked your breasts with her mouth, making you moan desperately at the sudden contact. 

“You did such a good job,” She smiles, “Looking so pretty while you did it too, that deserves a reward only good enough for whores like you.” With that, she flips you over her body, planting your back against the mattress with an insane level of strength that you didn’t expect. She wasn’t planning on wasting any time, needing to taste you as you glistened directly in her eye line. “God you’re already so wet, I don’t think I even need to warm you up for my cock huh.”

You gasped at her words, but before they processed her tongue licked one long stroke up your clit, before replacing it with her fingers, circling your clit with one hand, the other trailing around your quivering opening. 

You were nothing but desperate, aching for the feeling of her inside of you, but she repeatedly teased you with circles around your entrance, until eventually, she slipped them in, just one at first, gently stretching you out with her expert, well practised hands. 

“Taste yourself on my fingers pet.” She demanded and Agatha’s fingers pressed in and out of you, gathering enough of your arousal to place in your open mouth, but she didn’t. You watched her eagerly as she sucked you from her own fingers, prying your jaw open with her other hand and spitting your arousal from her mouth, holding your mouth open and continuing to spit against your tongue, knowing your skill from earlier you swallowed as much as you could, but you were still left with a mix of Agatha’s saliva and your arousal dripping down your chin. 

She couldn’t help but groan at the sight of you, before she slid her fingers down your throat until you choked against her, saliva bubbling from your mouth now. She continued to fuck your throat until you were a spluttering mess. Her lips pressed against yours now, her soaked fingers sliding between your folds as your entrance begged for them inside of you, and you took them so much easier now. 

She pumped her fingers relentlessly inside of you, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing it aggressively, stretching you out and you couldn’t help but squirm and moan against her hold, but she kept you still. “You sound so pretty, Daddy needs to fuck you now.” She demanded, pulling her fingers from you and you couldn’t help but feel fucked out already, but you weren’t giving in now. 

“Play with yourself while I put this on.” She orders, shuffling over and reaching for the strap which she kept in her bedside drawer. You could barely see it, but you could tell it was way bigger than you were used to, but you weren’t surprised in the slightest. One that matched the size of her enormous ego. 

You did as she said, pressing two fingers against your clit, carefully applying pressure that didn’t match up to the way Agatha made you feel, but watching her pull her legs through the harness you couldn’t help but squirm and moan as you waited in anticipation. 

“Show me that pretty pussy baby.” She hummed as she turned around, the sheer size of the nine inch dildo attached to her waist making you moan let alone her words. Your hands spread your cunt apart right in front of her. She crawled up to you on her knees until she was between your legs, the position allowing her to tease you, dragging the head of her dick through your wet folds, watching as your body prepared for her. 

She locked eyes with you before she slid straight inside of you, gasping at the feeling of every inch of her forcing its way into your entrance, purposefully making you feel every single centimetre of her cock as it pushed you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Oh fuck Agatha.” You whined, her hands spreading your thighs further apart, her strokes becoming deeper as she aimed to hit every spot inside of you. You couldn’t stop the whiney gasps and high pitched pornographic moans that were escaping your lips. You wrapped your legs around her, pulling her into you, leaving her flush against your sweat painted skin. 

“Aw you’re so wet for Daddy aren’t you.” You nod in response, actually you don’t stop nodding as she pulls out of you, rubbing the head against your aching clit, before pushing herself back into you quickly, pinning your waist against the mattress and pounding into you. You couldn’t take much more of her thrusts, each one hasher than the last, something which you didn’t think was possible but she proved you wrong with every buck of her hips. 

You grip onto her shoulders, arching your back off the bed so you could press your chest against hers. This allowed her to draw messy circles around your clit and it was like she could feel you clenching around her cock. 

“Daddy, I’m gonna-”

“No you’re not.” She commands, pulling out of you and spinning you round by your hips, pressing your head into the mattress, moulding you into the position she wanted you in. “You’re mine, pet, you take what I give you and you cum when I ask you to.” Her voice was a continuous growl as one hand gripped your waist, the other spreading you apart before she spat against your entrance before pushing her cock back inside of you. 

This angle changed everything, your moans jumbled into the duvet as you felt your body being forcefully moved with every rapid thrust, her rhythm never faltering once. 

“Please Daddy, I need to cum.” You beg, turning your head so she could hear your pleas more clearly. Her relentless thrusting of her hips had you so close to the edge and you knew you couldn’t hold it anymore. Just as your cunt clenched around her dick, she could see it in your body language. 

“Cum now on my cock you fucking slut.” You did exactly that, your hands gripping against the covers as Agatha refused to slow down her pace. Your orgasm coursed through you harder than any you’d ever felt before, your moans became screams against each pounding thrust she delivered into your dripping, aching cunt. With a string of expletives and breathy moans you fell flat against the mattress, whining as you felt the emptiness consume you as Agatha pulled out of you. 

“Agatha, that was something else.” You spoke, your eyes only just opening from how hard they’d scrunched shut at the peak of your climax. When your eyes opened, the strap was hovering over your mouth, your arousal glistening in front of your face. 

“You’ve got to clean Daddy up, look at all the mess your slutty hole has made.” You moaned at the deep husk in her voice as you did nothing but open your mouth as wide as you could, allowing Agatha to guide her cock into your mouth, only the head was filling you up to the back of your throat. You began to suck, holding the base between your hands, not letting Agatha thrust her hips into your mouth. You let it go deeper, but not as much as Agatha wanted. 

“You can do better than that, I thought you wanted to be my little cock whore.” Agatha teased and you opened your throat as wide as you could, thrusting your own head into the length of her cock, allowing her to harshy thrust into your choking and spluttering mouth. Her nails deep into your scalp now, as you started coughing she went easy on you, slowly pulling out of your throat as your head fell back in sheer tiredness. 

“Oh sweet girl, you did such a good job.” Agatha praises, loosening the harness and tossing it towards the end of the bed, reminding herself to deal with it after she’d given you the praise you deserved. 

“I’ve never been fucked like that in my life.” You admit honestly. 

“Didn’t seem like it.” Agatha teased before she pulled your naked body into a deep embrace, her body cocooning you between hers. “I’m joking, I only perform best for my fans.”

“Oh shut up Agatha.” You laugh, the reminder of who she actually was came flooding back to you and you couldn’t help but feel the flush of scarlet red beam at your cheeks. 

“Well you’re the prettiest little fan I’ve ever had the honour of fucking.”

[azrielbrainrot]

After The Show

Pairing: Band Member!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Thigh Riding

Description: Azriel invites you to another of his concerts and you can't stop thinking about how hot he is the whole time.

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, semi public sex, car sex

Word Count: 1,2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This story is simultaneously part of my band au and one of the stories I wrote for kinktober. This is just smut though so you don't really need to know about their lore before reading this or anything. Also I proofread this on the subway so I hope it's fine. Hope you enjoy!

Band AU Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Azriel has always brought out the most intense feelings out of you, this much wasn't new. You've also seen him perform a million times before, even when you weren't officially dating yet, and while you had always thought he looked incredibly mesmerizing up on that stage, you had never had such a visceral reaction to it.

As you watched him play his bass and sing along with the music on stage tonight, you couldn't focus on anything other than unfairly attractive he was, eyes darting from his beautiful face to the way his shirt tightened around his biceps and expert fingers played the bass, plucking every string with ease. You barely even managed to pay attention to the music during the whole show even though he played one of your favorite songs.

So when he came down to give you a kiss after finishing his set to find you unbearably turned on, it came as a bit of a surprise for the both of you. You had been so needy that he couldn't resist putting away his stuff quickly, almost ignoring his friends and letting you drag him to the backseat of his car.

This wasn't a good idea, seeing as the bar was still open and your friends were still inside, but you were certain that if he didn't touch you right then and there you would explode. Azriel had tried to protest, wanting to drive you home so he could fuck you properly, but you shut him down with needy pleas and passionate kisses. And that's how you ended up straddling him and grinding down on his muscular thigh like your life depended on it.

The angle was awkward and there was barely enough space for you to sit on him let alone move properly. The short dress you wore had been hastily pulled up to your waist, his strong hands holding it in place so he could see the movement of your hips, the black panties you picked out drenched and on display for him, but you didn't care at all. Your only concern in that moment was the feeling of your soaked and sensitive cunt grinding against the rough material of his jeans, giving you just enough friction while he trailed wet kisses over your neck and shoulders, making you lose your mind even further.

The windows were fogging up with the temperature rising in the car, your harsh breaths and barely muffled moans filling up the space. It would be obvious what you were up to in there for anyone that passed by, good thing it was still early and the act playing after Azriel was good enough to keep everyone entertained.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his own desire evident in his tone, sitting back, sadly abandoning your neck, focusing on your body, mesmerized by the way your hips ground down on his thigh, so wet even though he had barely touched you. “You're making a mess, princess.”

A mess was an understatement, the fabric of his jeans was absolutely drenched under you. If you weren't seeing it too, you might have tried to deny it.

“This is your fault,” you manage to get out, the tone not as accusatory as you meant for it to be between your shaky breaths, your movements never faltering even though you were in such an uncomfortable position and your muscles were starting to burn.

“My fault?” He chuckles, hands grabbing onto your asscheeks, the rings he wore cool against your overheated skin. “I didn't even do anything.”

“You don't have to.”

“Yeah?” He starts guiding your movements, making you grind down into him even harder. “Love me that much?”

Nodding feverishly, you lean down to kiss him, knowing words aren't enough to tell him how much you truly love him, and you definitely couldn't find them in this moment, not when even breathing was proving too difficult and your thoughts were so scattered.

It's a messy kiss, teeth clanging together as you grab onto his hair, desperately needing more. One of his hands abandons your ass, trailing over your skin teasingly, too slowly for the current situation, until he finds your panties, pushing them to the side with his thumb so your cunt was grinding directly into the rough material of his jeans, the new sensation sending you to new heights.

Azriel resumes his earlier assault on your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses and sucking on the skin, probably hard enough that you'd have to cover up a few marks tomorrow - you couldn't even complain about the jovial nature of him leaving hickeys on your neck when you had been the one to drag him to the back of his car like a horny teenager. Wrapping a hand around your neck softly, he tilts your head to the side, kissing a trail up to your ear.

“You need to cum so I can drive you home and fuck you properly, princess.” He sounded a bit feverish himself. If you were a bit more lucid you would have noticed the way his cock was straining against his pants and the way his body seemed to tremble along with yours.

“I'll let you ride me just like this,” he whispers right against your ear, guiding your hips harder, showing exactly what he wanted. Gods, just the thought of his cock stretching you out makes you clench around nothing, a needy moan escaping you.

With how wound up you had been ever since he stepped on stage it's no surprise that your orgasm hits you so fast, it's actually stranger that you had managed to hold out for so long. It hits you like a wave, pulling you under until you can't breathe. You lean down and hide your face in his neck, a silent scream escaping you as you try your best not to make too much noise and alert the whole bar about the mind numbing orgasm your boyfriend just pulled from you in the backseat of his car.

Azriel keeps guiding your hips slowly, dragging it out until your body is shaking too much. He lets you wrap your arms around him and catch your breath as you come down, massaging your thighs softly. It takes you a while to come back down to earth, but when you do the first thing you notice isn't even how bad your muscles are burning after the intense workout, it's the soaked fabric under you and the wetness around your thighs.

“Still with me?”

His voice pushes you out of your thoughts, leaning back to find him watching you, his fingers coming up to push your hair behind your ear, the adoration in his hazel eyes sending a different kind of butterflies flying through your stomach.

“Yeah,” you say at last, kissing him softly before adding, “Still need you.”

The promise he made earlier hadn't been forgotten even in the midst of your jumbled thoughts, and as much as the intense orgasm had taken most of the edge off, you still wanted him to fuck you.

He hums, a teasing smile trying to fight its way onto his lips. “Think you can wait until we get home this time?”

You let out a soft laugh of your own, “As long as you get me there fast.”

[girlwithadragonheart]

hey i’m obsessed with lucanis (and spite) as well! I’m wondering if you would be interested in a mourn watcher elf rook x lucanis and have it be the week (or weeks i can’t remember) of rook being trapped in solas’ regret prison. i feel like spite would be pissed and confused as to why rook is missing! thank you and best wishes :)))

Lights Out

Pairing: GN!Rook x Lucanis (x Spite)

Summary: Rook is gone. Lucanis is grieving. Spite is restless.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Really depressing shit, spoilers obviously

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t longer! I felt like dragging it out too much takes away from the visceral gut punch it is.

DATV Masterlist

Death was all Lucanis had ever known.

It clung to him like a shadow, a constant presence in his life as a Crow. It was his trade, his art, and his curse. The blood he spilled lined his pockets but left scars on his soul, marks he carried with him even when he tried to move beyond the life he once embraced. But death had always been something controlled. Until now.

Rook was gone. You were gone.

He stood in the doorway to your room, once petrified by the thought of how it reflected the Ossuary, now only drawn to what was left of your presence. His hands flexed at his sides, his chest feeling hollow.

The night was heavy with silence, the Lighthouse mourning the loss of its leader. Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his voice a low growl that rippled with confusion. “Where. Is. Rook?” The demon hissed, each word sharp as one of his daggers.

Lucanis didn’t respond immediately. He had no answer, and the truth stung worse than any wound.

Spite pressed on, his voice gaining a harsh edge. “Where. Is. Rook?!”

Lucanis could feel Spite’s frustration growing as he was ignored. Your absence was a gaping void, a wound that bled frustration and fear and loss. There was nothing he could do. The Fade was something so far out of his understanding, even with the demon possessing him. Still, he’d spent days searching, combing every lead, every thread of information he could grasp, only to find himself standing here, fists clenched in futile rage.

“Lucanis!” Spite snarled.

All he heard was you screaming his name as you were pulled into the Fade. He relived that moment every time he closed his eyes. What could he have done different? You had survived against impossible odds, and he had gotten his second shot at Ghilan’nain, somehow killing her. That high was quickly dashed as he watched your wide eyes, saw you reaching for him, screaming for him as you were dragged out of his reach.

“They’re gone, Spite,” Lucanis whispered, barely audible. 

“Where?” He demanded, pushing against the boundaries of Lucanis’s mind as though searching for you.

“I don’t know,” Lucanis’s voice was ragged as he huffed, taking a step further into your room and closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “They’re gone,” he repeated.

The faint scent of Nevarran spices drifted around the room, and the lingering smell of your oils. The things you had on a day to day basis haunted him. The Nevarran urns around the room and hastily scribbled notes on Elven architecture and the runes you’d found during the group’s travels. 

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to go any further in the room, his back pressed firmly against the door. His chest was tight, and he was finding it almost impossible to breathe, but all he wanted was to drink in your scent as long as it lingered. It was all he had left of you.

He had fought his way through countless battles, defied impossible odds, endured the Ossuary, and survived Ghilan’nain’s wrath, but none of it mattered now. The one light in his life had been extinguished. Every breath hit him like a blow to the chest, the tangible reminder of your presence that made his breath hitch. Every object in this room screamed your name, echoing in the silence that now filled the space.

Lucanis pressed harder back against the door, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He forced himself forward, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as he sat down heavily. His head fell into his hands as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. He had dared to hope. After years of blood and shadows, he had begun to believe he could have something more---someone more. And now, that hope lay in ruins.

Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his presence a simmering heat that was neither comforting nor intrusive. The demon was quiet at first, an uncharacteristic stillness that only deepened the ache in Lucanis’s chest.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer as the grief threatened to suffocate him. He reached out, almost without thinking, and picked up one of the notes you had left on the desk. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged in places, but your handwriting was unmistakable. His thumb traced the curves of your letters, his hands trembling as he clutched the note like a lifeline.

“You were my freedom,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over to streak down his face. “The only thing that made all of this worth it.”

Spite’s presence shifted, his usual arrogance subdued by something almost… mournful. “Rook…” the demon murmured, his voice a low growl that trembled at the edges.

Lucanis’s grip on the note tightened, his teeth clenched as guilt and rage swirled within him. “I failed them,” he hissed,his voice trembling with self-loathing. “I should have done more. I should have saved them.”

Spite didn’t argue. Lucanis wasn’t sure he was listening at all. The demon was restless, his silence heavy, a shared grief that settled over them both. “Rook.” Spite said again, pushing against Lucanis’s skull. He wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t. Spite wouldn’t stop moving, stop searching, looking through Lucanis, looking through the room, searching for his Rook.

“Spite…” Lucanis said wearily. “Spite, they’re gone,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“Rook!” Spite pounded against Lucanis’s mind, screaming as though it would do anything to bring you back.

“Spite, enough!” Lucanis yelled finally, hands tangling in his hair. “Rook is gone! Gone! The one good thing---” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish. The anguish in his chest was too much, a wound that refused to heal.

Lucanis pressed the note against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he fought to contain the sobs threatening to escape. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the silence of the room broken only by his ragged breaths. The scent of you lingered, faint but persistent, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Spite shifted again, his presence like a smoldering ember in the back of Lucanis’s mind. “Lucanis…” the demon growled quietly.

Lucanis’s hands stilled, his breath catching. “I know…” he whispered. “I know.”

You were gone.

And he didn’t know if you could come back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying ;-;

Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis Tag List <3

Tag List: @cirillabelle

[hersweethrt]

CNC LUKE WHERE HE JUST FUCKS YOU WHIKE YOU SLEEP

tw: somnophilia, pre-established relationship, smut, dark!luke

a/n: Luke and his somno kink 😵‍💫💨😵‍💫💨

it’s 11pm when he wakes up, already feeling the strain of his cock against his boxers. he’s felt it before-vivid nightmares equal even more evocative wet dreams. Eyebrows furrowing as he gets up, every step worsening the throb in his stomach. Curfew being 3 hours ago-you’re asleep, more than likely and he sees this, knowing that he should turn right back around to his cabin but can you blame him?

you’re right there, so pretty and soft, letting out quiet, contented hums as he watches you through the window. the sight of your plush lips against the silk pillows worsening his need for them around his cock. so he does it, hoisting himself through the window beside your bed as your face contorts into something confused.

He goes still.

When you’re face relaxes, he’s right back on you, knees creating creases in your sheets as he positions himself behind you. he can’t take it anymore,never being one to resist temptation.

And he’d never have the strength to refuse the invitation that you pose.

He hikes up your dress, revealing your bare ass as he lets out a hiss.

No panties.

You have to be trying to kill him. He lets out his cock, the brush of the cool air making it twitch as he begins to rut against you. It starts out slow and controlled.

He’s trying to not to wake you, at least be considerate.

“L-luke?”

The second he hears your hazy,voice-all inhibitions are thrown out of his head as he picks up his pace, pre cum trickling down onto your thighs.

“makin’ me a fuckin” mess, baby” he mumbles, eyes turning dark as he taps his dick against your glistening pussy. “couldn’t even sleep, was dreaming of your pretty, little cunt”

He gives your clit a light pinch as you let out a whine. “‘S just me yeah? gonna let me use that pretty hole of yours, angel ?”

You let out a muffled whimper when he pushes all the way in-and he takes it as confirmation .

“‘like you’re made for me-christ ”

His hand moves to your mouth, fingers prodding your lips as he resists the urge to gag you with them instead choosing to use his hand to stifle your moans-your eyes flicker at the movement and you subconsciously tense around him.

“Never knew my girl was such-such a slut”

His expression grows almost enamored at how your squeezing him-tense, as he thrusts into you, balls slapping against your ass at his relentless pace. Hot, searing pleasure makes its way up your spine-emitting a low, almost inaudible,squeal from you as he pinches your clit. Your constantly on the edge, slipping in and out of consciousness from his assault on your cervix, harsh-angry thrusts punctuating his words.

“quiet, can’t wake up your friends now?”

Hes so mean for it, knowing its almost impossible to keep silent with his pace.

Stars dance across your tunneled vision, white blurring into a little galaxy in your head as you feel the tensing of your core, as you tiptoe the line, knowing how close you are to slipping into that pure, visceral release. Another slap is all it takes.

“m-maybe you want them to see you like this, being used like my good fuckin’ you”

Your eyes roll back, and he fucks your hips right back on him with his tight grip on them. Even when the rope breaks, and you’re pushed under-thighs shaking in illicit euphoria as you leak around him, he doesn’t stop. Like some rabid animal, he takes you back in-then out again with his movements-his thoughts becoming scrambled, accentuated with primal, violent pushes and pulls before he’s slamming back in you again as tears gather in your eyes.

“shit, just me yeah? got you, sweet girl” he mutters, but it’s like he’s saying it to himself as all you hear is ringing as he slam’s into you once again.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck-“

He’s close, sloppy movements giving you a perfect indication, as he bites his lip to stop a moan from coming out as he cums, spilling his seed into you as he stops, making sure you’re all stuffed with his seed. he pulls out of you lazily, unbeknownst to your unconscious body as you fall right back into dreamscape. Pulling back down your dress, he gives you a soft kiss before disappearing just as he came, your bunk mates none the wiser.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Hi i have a jude bellingham request. Shy introverted reader that is scared of social interactions, who starts pulling back from jude after a bad event and he comforts her. Some angst mixed with fluff pls(u can add some smut if u want to idrc) thankss🫶🏾

Insecure

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You're insecure and he reassures you.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x You

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 6.8k

Warnings! Angst (but only a little bit for the plot), FLUFF!! Jude being the best boyfriend, NSFW! SMUT (18+), oral sex (f receiving), sweet love making, protected sex (for once),

The notifications on your phone felt relentless.

Each buzz, each ping, eating away at your self-esteem.

It had all started a couple of weeks ago when Jude invited you to a gala. You hadn't thought much of it—an evening spent in a sleek gown by his side, pretending to enjoy the swirling champagne and over-polished conversations.

Jude had introduced you to a few people, his arm around your waist the entire night. For a moment, you'd felt like you belonged.

Until now.

You had only taken a few seconds to scroll through the comments, the ones you could bear to look at before your fingers began to tremble and your throat tightened. The first one caught your eye, cruel and biting, its words harsh and unforgiving.

"How did he end up with her? She’s so basic. 🙄"

The words stung, a visceral ache, but you read on.

"Girl’s shaped like a fridge and dating a star. Make it make sense. 🥴"

You should’ve closed the app, should’ve thrown the phone across the room, should’ve stopped. But you couldn’t. You needed to know, needed to see, needed to feel the weight of it all like a punch to the gut that you couldn’t escape.

The comments piled up, each more venomous than the last, each one cutting deeper than you thought possible.

"Bet she’s just in it for the fame. 🚩"

"Wow, he downgraded HARD. Can’t believe this. 😂"

You felt the familiar sting in your chest, the way your breath caught in your throat as you read them. Each word a dagger, each sentence an echo of your worst insecurities.

"Imagine thinking you’re hot enough to date him with that body. 🤡"

"If I had her face, I’d be embarrassed to leave the house, let alone post. 😬"

You couldn’t breathe now. The phone felt like a weight, pulling you down as you sank further into the dark hole of self-doubt that had always been there, lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you under.

"Pathetic."

You felt the tears before they came, hot and salty on your cheeks. You hated this. Hated what people were saying. Hated how it made you feel. Hated that you'd thought it was a good idea to scroll in the first place.

And hated even more that Jude would see.

The tears fell faster now, and you couldn't do anything to stop it.

You tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming, never-ending like the messages on your phone. Each drop a reminder of how small you felt, how unworthy you were. Your chest tightened with the kind of suffocating shame you hadn’t known since high school.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to block the app, to retreat, to hide. But the instinct was stronger. You wanted to see more. You wanted to know if the cruelty would ever end, or if you were doomed to be the punchline of a joke you hadn’t asked to be part of.

But what if they were right? What if he did downgrade? What if you were just a blip in his life, a temporary distraction until someone else, someone better, came along?

The thought gnawed at you, whispering its doubts until you weren’t sure which way was up anymore.

You did the only thing you knew to do.

You deleted the app, and anything related to it from your phone. It wasn’t the bravest move, but it was better than reading the same comments over and over again. Because at the end of the day that's what you were.

A coward.

The next few days went by in a blur.

You barely remembered them.

The world outside felt muffled, distant, as if everything was happening on the other side of a thick glass wall. You went through the motions—work, meals, sleep—but there was a hollowness to it, an absence where joy should’ve been. The phone sat untouched, the social media apps gone, erased from your life like they never existed.

And you were ignoring Jude.

The calls, the texts, the messages. All ignored. You didn't know how to face him and the possiblity of those comments being true.

He had never once made you feel bad about yourself, but the fear remained, eating at you like a living, breathing thing.

If you could just stay away, stay quiet, he'd never know. And you'd be able to save face.

The phone buzzed again, shrill against the quiet of your apartment. You ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

When it stopped, you let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived. It started ringing. Loud. Insistent.

You knew who it was before you even saw his name across the screen.

You hesitated, the phone in your hand feeling like a live wire. You could almost hear his voice through the screen, warm and persistent, the kind that always made you feel safe. But now? Now, all you could hear were the words from those comments, echoing in your mind. You’re not good enough for him. You’re just a placeholder, a filler for when someone better comes along.

The ringing continued, each ring a painful reminder that you were avoiding the one person who could make this all better. But he’ll know, you thought, he’ll see how weak I am, how fragile this all really is.

With a deep, shaky breath, you answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. A soft, hesitant exhale from his side. “Hey. I… I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s going on? You’ve been distant, and I’m—” His voice wavered, the worry clear even through the brief exchange. “You okay?”

You swallowed, but the lump in your throat refused to go down. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice cracking at the seams. “Just… been busy. Lots of stuff to catch up on.”

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t filled with the usual comfortable hum of him shifting in his seat. It felt different. Weighted.

“Baby, you know I love you right?” Jude asked quietly, as though he could hear the lie even through the distance. “You know you can talk to me—right?” His voice softened even more.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your hands shaking now, fingers pressing tightly to the screen. He knows. He had to.

“I just… I’m not feeling great. That’s all. I’ll be fine. Really.” You couldn’t look at the screen. You couldn’t face him.

"Sweetheart, isten to me," Jude said, his tone firm but gentle. "You're not going to lie to me, and you're certainly not going to avoid me." He paused. "If something's wrong, then you're going to tell me and we're going to get through it together." He was quiet for a second before he spoke again. "Now. Let's try this again. Are you okay?"

The tears were back now, hot and biting as they fell. “I can’t do this, Jude,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady even as the sobs started.

“Can’t do what?” Jude’s voice rose. His worry was palpable now. “What happened? Tell me.”

But you couldn’t tell him, couldn’t risk it. You weren’t sure you could even say the words out loud. What would he think of you then?

“Maybe this was a mistake, Jude. Maybe we should just stop.”

Another pause. “Stop what?”

“Us.” You had to swallow before you could continue. “I think it’s best if we stop.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. The weight of them, the finality, nearly crushed you. You stared at the screen, willing yourself to breathe, to not let the panic rise higher than it already had. Maybe this is better, you thought, but the thought felt hollow, empty, like you were lying to yourself.

Jude’s silence on the other end of the line felt like an eternity. It stretched out, each passing second pulling you deeper into your own spiraling thoughts, drowning in the fear that this was the end, that you'd finally done it. You’d ruined everything.

Finally, his voice cut through the tension, soft, almost broken. “Are you… are you serious right now?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you whispered, “I’m serious.”

The phone trembled in your hand, as if it, too, was unsure of what to do next. It was as if the world had tilted, your stomach twisting in knots. You had never wanted this. Not really. But the fear, the shame, the constant feeling of inadequacy—it was too much. And maybe, just maybe, walking away from him would spare you from the pain of having him see who you really were, of letting him down.

“Baby,” Jude breathed, his voice thick with disbelief, “what happened? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You wanted to explain, wanted to tell him everything—the comments, the hurt, the way they ate away at you, leaving you raw. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t find the words. Not when you felt so small, so insignificant, like the version of you he deserved was locked behind a wall you couldn’t break down.

“You deserve better than me,” you finally choked out, your voice barely audible. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but it felt like the only truth left. “I’m not good enough for you.” The tears fell faster now. You couldn’t stop them. You didn’t want to. The ache in your chest swelled, filling you until there was nothing left but the echoes of those cruel, cruel words. “They were right. I’m not good enough.”

For the first time in a long while, Jude’s response wasn’t immediate. But when it finally came, it felt like a gentle breeze against your flushed skin, soft and warm. “Is this about the articles? The ones from the gala?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

“I see,” Jude said quietly, the words coming slow as he processed. “Well, let me tell you something.”

He paused as though collecting his thoughts, as if he needed to be sure of what he wanted to say. “First of all, there’s no one better than you. Not one.” His voice deepened with conviction. “Every person at that gala would’ve killed to be in my place that night. Every one of them wanted to be you, sweetheart.”

You wanted to laugh. To scoff. How could he say that? How could he even believe it? But a small voice in your head reminded you that Jude wasn't one to lie, that he had always been honest with you. It whispered that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. But you didn’t dare believe it. Not yet.

“And second,” Jude continued, “You have to be stupid to think for one moment that you're anything less than amazing.”

The words washed over you like a wave, gentle at first but growing, pulling you under before you could catch your breath. You felt the weight of them settle in your chest, and for a split second, the storm inside your head stilled.

But only for a moment.

“You think you're just some filler in my life?” Jude’s voice was quieter now, but there was a rawness to it, a crack that betrayed the calm exterior. “But I’m here to tell you—you’re not. You’re everything I want. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The finality in his voice, the quiet intensity, almost broke you. Everything I want.

How could he say that? How could he be so sure ?

You couldn't help it. The fear, the doubt, it all spilled out, the words a jumbled mess of tears and desperation. “But what if you realize I'm not the one? That you can do better ?” Your voice trembled as you spoke, but you couldn’t help it.

Jude was silent for a long time. You could almost feel the frustration that radiated from the other end of the call. You could feel him wanting to reach through and grab you. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, “you are mine. That’s not going to change.”

“How can you be so sure?” The words came out of their own volition, as if your brain and your mouth were on different wavelengths. You wanted to take them back the moment you heard them, but it was too late.

“Because,” Jude murmured, his voice softening again, almost too gentle. “Because I love you, and that’s never going to change. I don’t care what they say about you. You’re my person. And I don’t want to lose you to the lies in your head.”

And there it was, the thing you’d been trying to run from—the thing you were terrified to hear. Love. The word felt so foreign, so big, and yet, in that moment, it felt like the only thing that could make everything right.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness anymore.

It was from something more vulnerable, something raw and tender that you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in so long. The possibility of being loved, of being seen—not for how you measured up to anyone else, but for who you were.

“Then don’t push me away,” Jude said, a quiet plea in his voice. “Let me in, okay? Let me help you. Let me love you.”

You inhaled shakily, the walls in your chest crumbling just a little.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to let him in, to trust him the way he trusted you.

But the fear that clung to you like a second skin, made it hard to even breathe, let alone surrender.

You thought you were protecting yourself by keeping him at arm's length, by pushing him away, but now, his words—his steady, unwavering belief in you—began to crack the walls you’d built around your heart.

“I don’t know how to stop being scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The admission felt like an exhale you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for years.

Jude’s response was immediate, his voice tender and full of understanding. “You don’t have to stop being scared, love. You just have to let me be there with you through it.” His words were quiet but firm, something unbreakable. Loving. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

A small sob broke through you then, uncontrollable and raw.

The tightness in your chest, the constant ache, the never-ending flood of doubt—it all spilled out in that single moment, like the dam finally giving way to everything you had been holding back. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear those words until now. How much you needed him to hold you through this mess inside your head.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. For being so… so scared.”

Jude’s tone softened, his voice a balm to your raw nerves. “No need to apologize, babe. You don’t owe me an apology for feeling the way you do. Just… don’t shut me out again. Okay?”

You nodded, though you knew he couldn’t see you. The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against the tightness in your chest, but for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel a flicker of hope.

The terror that had ruled your every step began to loosen its grip, if only a little, as Jude’s quiet insistence filled the spaces where your insecurities once roamed.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling but steady. "Okay."

"Good. Now, can I come over? I want to see you. I miss you, baby." His voice was soft, like he was whispering a secret that only the two of you could know. His words made you feel safe, seen, loved.

"Yes." It felt like a sentencing. But one you would subject yourself to everday if it meant you would have him by your side.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” Jude asked, a hopeful edge to his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a slow, tentative smile tug at the corners of your lips. “Soon.”

*********

You were in your room when you heard the knock on the door. You stood, your heart quickening. It felt as though hours had passed since the call, but in reality, it had only been 20 minutes.

You opened the door slowly, and Jude was already there, his eyes locked on you as you stepped out into the hallway.

He moved first, his footsteps sure as he crossed the distance between you. He didn’t hesitate before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest.

The hug was tight, almost fierce. “I missed you,” he whispered against your hair. His words were a little shaky, as if he’d been holding it in for so long.

You felt yourself melt against him, allowing yourself to be held for the first time since this had all started.

His arms were warm, safe, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured into his neck.

You stood there for what felt like forever, the two of you holding onto each other like your lives depended on it. You felt him press a kiss against the top of your head. The touch was gentle, loving, and your eyes fell shut as you absorbed it, the warmth seeping into your chest.

Jude held you like he would never let you go. You didn’t want him to. You needed the safety he brought, the shelter of his arms.

Jude had never been your crutch before, but in this moment, you felt so helpless, so broken, that you weren’t sure you could stand without him.

He didn’t let go of you. Not once.

His hands stroked up and down your back, his lips pressing kisses along your hairline, his arms holding you close like he didn’t want you to go. The only sound was his breathing and your own heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what the future held, but in this moment you were content to just hold onto him and have him hold onto you.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, standing in the doorway of your room, but it felt like time had slowed down, just for the two of you.

You weren’t sure when you stopped holding back, when you finally allowed the tears to spill over. Maybe it was the feeling of his hands gently cradling your face, or maybe it was the quiet understanding in his eyes when you pulled away just enough to look at him.

Jude cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. His gaze was unwavering, full of love and something else—a quiet sadness, a longing to reach you, to help you see what he saw.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a plea. “You’re beautiful and lovely and perfect just the way you are. You’re mine and I love you. You’re my beautiful girl, and you always will be.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead, the softness of his lips dragging across your skin. It was warm, gentle, comforting.

Jude lifted his head, his eyes locking on yours again. His fingers were still curled around your face, and he moved slowly, his lips tracing over your skin, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss against your lips, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

You couldn’t look away from him. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you, his expression full of emotion and need. Your heart tripped, stumbling as your own need swamped you.

He pressed another kiss to your lips, this one light, almost reverent. You shivered as his hands stroked over the back of your neck, his fingertips tracing along your shoulders and down your arms. He moved slowly, each touch a promise of love, of passion, of want.

You felt your legs tremble at his touch, and Jude was there immediately, his arms coming around you and holding you up. He pulled you against him again, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Let me show you,” he murmured against your skin. His hands moved over you, dragging up your back and back down, "Let me show you how beautiful you are." They dropped to your ass, his fingers curling around it as he pulled you into him, grinding slightly against you.

Your body reacted on instinct, arching into him. He groaned, the sound vibrating against your neck.

"Please, baby girl," he whispered, the words a prayer. "Please." He pressed kisses against your throat as you lifted your head to look at him. His eyes held yours, pupils blown with desire and need. "Please, let me show you what I see every time I see you."

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your ears as you stared back at him. You saw the truth in his eyes, and for the first time, you let yourself truly believe it. You were perfect to him, just the way you were.

You nodded, and a soft smile spread over his face before he dropped his head to kiss you again. This time, there was more passion in his kiss, more emotion. He kissed you like you were the only thing he wanted or needed. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, until you were trembling against him, your arms wrapped around him and your fingers tangled in his coily hair.

He pulled away, a breath of air between your lips. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide with the same need that burned in yours.

"Bedroom," he whispered, and you nodded.

He followed you to your room, closing the door behind him and pulling you into his arms again. The kiss you shared was longer, hotter, more intense as you reached between you and started to undo his belt.

"Wait, baby…Hold on."

You pulled back, your brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

He smiled, his expression soft, loving, and he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "This is about you, baby, not me. I want to see you." He leaned in to kiss you again, soft and gentle, and you felt yourself melt under his hands.

He kissed you for little longer before pulling away again. He gently tugged on your hands, guiding you to the bed and pushing you down to sit on the edge.

He moved to his knees between your legs, spreading them as he went. The light from the window shone down on you, and he stared up at you for long moments, his eyes roaming over your face and neck. He touched you as if he was memorizing you—your skin, your eyes, your lips.

He leaned in and kissed the skin just beneath your collarbone, and your breath caught. You felt a shiver work over your skin as he kissed down to the top of your breasts.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered against your cleavage, "Perfect, gorgeous…beautiful, beautiful girl." He trailed kisses across your chest, moving back up to kiss your lips again. "I love you so much, baby," he said between kisses, and then his mouth moved back down.

"Can I?" His fingers drifted over the top of your shirt and you nodded. He smiled softly, his lips moving over your skin. "Good girl," he breathed, and the sound of his voice was like a caress over your skin.

You watched, wide-eyed, as he undid the buttons of your shirt and slipped it off. The top of your bra was visible, and his hands drifted down to cup you through the fabric. He squeezed lightly, groaning when he felt your nipples harden through the fabric of your bra. You could feel his eyes on you, could see the heat in them.

"Look at you," he murmured, "So beautiful…" He moved to slide the straps down your arms, his mouth moving down your skin to kiss between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste you. Your hands found their way into his hair and you tugged him closer, sighing when he sucked one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue swirled over it through the fabric of your bra and your hips jerked.

His hand slid around to unhook your bra, and he looked up at you as he slipped it off. "Oh, baby…" He leaned down to kiss the side of your breast, his breath hot and full of promise. "God, you're perfect."

He kissed over your breasts, sucking your nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue over them. You arched up under him, your head dropping back, and he moaned.

"Fuck, baby…" His hands slid down your sides to your jeans, and he popped the button. "These look good on you," he whispered, "but I want you naked." His hands moved to zip open your jeans, and you watched as he stripped you.

He stared down at you, a look of pure lust on his face. Your skin flushed at his perusal and you fought the urge to cover yourself.

He kissed over your stomach, his lips moving up to your chest and then to your mouth. "God, baby, you're beautiful," he breathed against your lips before kissing you again.

His hands found their way between your legs and he groaned when he felt how wet you were. His fingers rubbed over your clit through your panties, and you sighed. He leaned back to kiss your inner thigh, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses on your skin.

"All mine," he whispered as he dropped more kisses on your thigh. "Right, baby?" He kissed closer and closer to your pussy, his hands moving to the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers under the fabric and tugged them off.

"I'm all yours," you gasped as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "All yours."

His hand moved between your legs, his finger circling your clit. "yeah, that's right" he breathed. A cry fell from your lips and you dropped your head back, arching up into him. His arms came around your thighs, holding you open as his mouth dropped down to kiss you.

You shuddered at the first touch of his mouth. His tongue was hot, wet, and perfect as it licked over your clit, flicking over the little bundle of nerves. You sighed, dropping your hands into his hair, and he groaned against you. His tongue pressed harder against you, circling faster and you could feel the pressure building inside you already.

"Jude," you gasped, "Oh, god…"

He growled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your legs quiver. He pulled back and you felt his breath on your wet pussy before his tongue was back on your clit.

"Please," you whispered, "Please, Jude…"

He licked faster, his tongue pressing harder against you. You could feel the building pressure rising higher and you gasped.

"Fuck," he muttered, his lips moving back to press kisses against your inner thighs. "Fuck, you taste so fucking good." His mouth dropped back down to your pussy and his tongue stabbed into you, and you felt the first wave of your orgasm roll through you.

You cried out, arching against his mouth as he licked through your orgasm. He didn't stop, his tongue moving over and around your clit, teasing you towards another.

You screamed as the second wave hit you, harder than the first. Your legs jerked, trembling under him. He held you open, his mouth moving over you. He licked and sucked, teasing you through your orgasm.

When you could finally breathe again, your legs trembling under you, he pulled back. He kissed your inner thighs again, smiling as you gasped and shivered under him.

He moved back to his knees, his hands still holding you open. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he said as he looked down at you. His hand moved down between your legs again, his fingers slipping inside you. He pumped slowly, his thumb moving over your clit, and you fell back with a gasp.

"Baby…" You tugged his hair gently, watching as he stared down at your pussy. His mouth dropped open and he groaned. "Such a tight little pussy," he panted, "All for me…" He leaned forward, his tongue dragging over your clit. His hand worked faster, pumping two fingers into you and he sucked your clit between his lips.

You screamed, your entire body shaking as you fell over the edge again. His name fell from your lips as his tongue licked and his fingers thrust into you, teasing the orgasm out of you.

You collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh, feeling boneless and sated. You smiled lazily at him, watching as he pulled his fingers from your pussy and brought them to his mouth.

"Fuck, you taste good," he murmured, sucking his fingers clean. "God, I need you, baby." He tugged his t-shirt off, dropping it on the floor beside your jeans. His eyes stayed on you as he unzipped his pants.

He pulled his boxers and jeans off in one go, kicking them off to join the rest of your clothes. You couldn't help but stare at him. His body was beautiful, all lean muscle and sharp edges. His cock jutted up from between his legs, hard and leaking for you. Your eyes were glued to it and you licked your lips.

Jude groaned and moved over you, his cock brushing against your thigh as he kissed you. You wrapped your arms around him, tugging him closer to you. He dropped his weight onto you, his hips grinding against you. You sighed into the kiss, your tongue tangling with his.

"You got condoms in here?" he mumbled against your lips, "Because I really, really want to fuck you right now."

You gasped, your mouth dropping open in pleasure. "Uh… Yeah?" You shook your head, clearing the lust-induced haze from your mind. "In my dresser…" You nodded towards the dresser and he got up, moving to it.

He came back to you, condom in hand and a smile on his face. "God," he groaned, "You're so sexy…" He tossed the condom on the bed beside you and leaned over you. "Spread your legs for me."

You nod shyly, spreading your legs wide. He dropped down between them, his mouth kissing your inner thighs. You shivered, sighing as he moved closer. His mouth dropped to your pussy, his tongue licking over you and his finger playing with your clit. He looked up at you, grinning as he watched your face.

"God, you're so sensitive," he muttered as you shivered and sighed under him. His tongue dragged over your pussy and he pressed a finger into you, groaning. "Fuck, I need to be inside you now."

He stood, towering over you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his fingers working to tear the condom wrapper open. The sound was sharp, a deliberate break in the tension that hung thick in the air.

Your eyes drifted down, drawn to the sight of his cock—hard, proud, and already slick from his arousal. Your lips parted instinctively, tongue darting out to wet them as you watched him roll the condom down.

Every movement of his hand, every deliberate stroke as he adjusted it, felt like a tease meant solely for your eyes.

He let out a low growl, almost inaudible, as he gave himself one last firm stroke. His gaze locked with yours, dark and full of need, before he shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs.

His hands found your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he spread you wider beneath him. You gasped softly at the sensation, a shiver of anticipation rushing through you when you felt the blunt heat of him pressing against your entrance.

“Jude…” you murmured, his name a breathless plea that you couldn’t hold back.

His head dipped lower, his lips brushing your ear as he let out a strained groan. “You ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice rough, thick with the effort it took to hold himself back.

You nodded, your chest heaving as your heart pounded like a drumbeat. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I’m ready.”

His lips curled into a mischievous grin, though his eyes burned with intensity. “Good,” he rasped, his tone laced with both promise and intent. “Now I’m gonna show you just how much I love you—since words don’t seem to be enough for you.” His grin widened, cocky and devastatingly sexy, as his hands slid beneath your thighs. With a fluid, effortless motion, he lifted you, pulling your hips up to meet him.

You gasped again, louder this time, as he pressed forward. The first inch of him slid inside, the stretch slow and deliberate. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, pausing for a moment to savor the sensation. “Your tight little pussy is gonna squeeze the cum right outta me…”

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to him, the delicious burn and fullness making you shiver. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Jude,” you sighed, his name rolling off your tongue like a prayer, filled with pleasure and longing.

He growled at your response, his hips rocking forward slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breaths coming out in ragged bursts. “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his voice heavy with satisfaction. He began to move, his hips grinding in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Goddamn, your pussy feels so good…”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, the pleasure blooming between your legs as his cock filled you perfectly. Every thrust sent a shockwave of heat through your body, leaving you gasping and moaning beneath him.

It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before—your soul, your body, every part of you was being worshipped and driven higher with each stroke.

His lips traced over your neck, his teeth raking over your skin and sending shivers down your spine. His hands clutched you tighter, holding you firm against him as his body began to move faster. His thrusts lost their slow, deliberate rhythm, his need and hunger taking hold.

“Fuck, baby…” His voice was almost a growl, the words slipping through his lips on gasps of air. “So fucking perfect…” You felt your walls clamp down around him and he groaned louder, his hips slamming into you harder and faster. “Oh god, baby,” he moaned, “Oh fuck, yes…” His hands slid under your ass, tugging you up into his thrusts and sending his cock deeper inside you. “God, fuck, you’re gonna make me come so hard…”

You nodded, unable to form words with the pleasure overwhelming you, but you knew. You felt it too, the heat and pressure building inside you like a storm.

His hips snapped forward faster, pounding into you with a brutal intensity that had your legs shaking and your body trembling. His moans and gasps matched yours, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he fucked you.

"Jude…" you gasped his name, your voice trembling and barely audible as the first wave of pleasure surged through your body. Your nails raked across his back, leaving faint trails as if you were desperately trying to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hips, your breaths coming in shallow, broken sobs. “Oh… oh God…”

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough and ragged, dripping with unrestrained desire. “Fuck yeah, baby…” His thrusts grew more forceful, more insistent, driving you higher and higher until your body felt like it might shatter from the intensity.

His hand slid between your bodies with practiced precision, his thumb finding the swollen bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves of pleasure tearing through you.

When he flicked over your clit, you cried out, your voice raw and filled with pure ecstasy. The sensation raced through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every inch of your skin and leaving you utterly undone.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips pounded into you relentlessly. “I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock… Jesus, you’re so fucking tight… so perfect… oh fuck…”

His rhythm becoming harder, faster, and more erratic as he teetered on the edge. His muscles tightened beneath you, every sinew in his body straining as he chased his release. The throbbing of his cock deep inside you was almost enough to push you over the edge again, and you whimpered, your body still convulsing with the aftershocks of your own climax.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice hoarse and guttural as he surrendered too. His thrusts faltered, each movement now slower but no less intense as he came, filling you with a warmth that made your breath hitch. “Oh… fuck…”

Jude’s weight pressed against you as he collapsed, his body heavy yet comforting as his arms enveloped you. He held you close, his chest rising and falling against yours as his cock pulsed one final time within you.

Your head fell back against the soft pillows, your lips parting as you fought to catch your breath. The room now filled with the warm, intimate haze of the moment, charged with the aftermath of passion. Your heart raced as a satisfied smile ghosted across your lips, your mind a swirling storm of euphoria and peace. Every inch of you felt alive, buzzing with the warmth of his touch.

He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses. The tenderness of his lips sent shivers down your spine.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, the words slipping out like a sacred vow against your ear. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hip, grounding you. “I love you so goddamn much.”

A lump formed in your throat, your heart swelling at his words. No matter how many times he told you, you would never get used to hearing those words. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned your head to meet his gaze. You reached up to press a soft kiss to his forehead, the gesture tender and intimate, a silent reassurance of your feelings. “Thank you for coming over…”

His lips curved into a smile, soft but full of affection. “Anytime, baby,” he promised without hesitation, his voice steady, sincere. “I’ll always be there for you.” The words weren’t just said—they were a declaration, a vow.

He rolled away reluctantly, leaving the warmth of your embrace to take care of the practicalities, disposing of the condom before returning with a warm, damp cloth. His movements were gentle, careful, as he cleaned you up, his touch never wavering in its tenderness. When he was done, he slid back into bed, pulling the covers over both of you as he gathered you into his arms, holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You nestled against him, pressing a lingering kiss to his chest before looking up at him with a small, content smile. “I feel better now,” you murmured, your voice soft and light, carrying an undertone of relief.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and reassuring. “Good,” he whispered, his tone gentle and full of love. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you too,” you replied, snuggling deeper into his embrace as you let your eyes drift shut. His arms wrapped securely around you, his warmth seeping into your skin and calming every frayed nerve. For the first time in a while, you felt truly at peace, safe in the knowledge that he cared for you in a way no one else ever had.

The way he held you, the way he whispered those words, left no room for doubt.

To him, you were perfect—flaws and all—and in his arms, you began to believe it too. You knew, with unshakable certainty, that he would always be there, the love you deserved.

As your breathing slowed and sleep began to claim you, you felt him tighten his hold ever so slightly, a soft hum of contentment escaping his lips. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and you heard the faintest whisper as his voice broke through the quiet stillness.

“I’m so lucky to have you…”

Your lips tipped up into a soft smile. You were so lucky to have him too.

-Bianca🌻