#stop sharing their news with rivals

[adreamthatsworthkeeping]

The Newsreader gun episode is doing amazing work reflecting the issue around gun control.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

MARVEL RIVALS NEW SEASON DROPS ON MY BIRTHDAY LETS FUCKIGN GO????????

[rafedarling]

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

request: open

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: new parents and beloved hollywood couple drew and you take to the jimmy kimmel live stage to discuss your latest movie project together, which releases in may. between balancing new parenthood and demanding film schedules, you two finds yourself sharing a funny, heartfelt stories about life on set with their baby girl, emma starkey. a viral behind-the-scenes video brings laughter to the show, as you discuss how parenting has influenced your lives and careers. based on today drew interview on jimmy kimmel live interview.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, humorous parenting moments, discussions of balancing work and family life.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy

gif: rafedarling

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next guests are not only Hollywood’s favorite power couple but also the stars of the highly anticipated romantic-action film Against All Odds, which hits theaters this May. And if that’s not enough, they’ve recently stepped into the chaotic world of parenthood with their baby girl, Emma. Please welcome Drew Starkey and Y/N!”

You can hear the audience roared with applause as Jimmy Kimmel welcomed his next guests.

You and Drew walked out hand in hand, smiling and waving to the audience. Drew’s free hand rested on your back as he guided you to the guest couch. The applause was deafening, with some cheers and whistles peppered in. You laughed as Jimmy gestured to quiet the audience.

“Wow,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.

“You guys have the crowd in a frenzy. I mean, Hollywood’s hottest couple and now officially parents? Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at the crowd. “It’s been a crazy year.”

“Yeah,” Drew chimed in, “between the movie and the baby, I’m not even sure what sleep feels like anymore.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy leaned forward.

“Okay, we have to start with the most important question: How’s parenthood treating you? You’ve got a baby girl, Emma. How’s life with a newborn?”

Drew chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s… humbling, to say the least. Being a first-time parent is no joke. I don’t think I could survive it without this one,” he said, nodding toward you.

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, stop it. You’re doing great.”

Jimmy smiled. “Okay, Y/N, your turn. How’s life as a mom?”

“It’s amazing,” you said, your voice softening.

“I mean, it’s exhausting, but Emma’s such a sweet baby. Watching her grow and discover the world makes all the sleepless nights worth it.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Sleepless nights? Drew, are you pulling your weight with those 3 a.m. feedings and diaper changes?”

Drew grinned, holding up his hands defensively.

“Absolutely. I’ve mastered the art of the one-handed diaper change. My record is forty-three seconds.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s not lying. But let’s not forget the time you forgot to put the diaper on at all.”

The crowd gasped with laughter as Drew shook his head, groaning.

“Okay, in my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep. And the burp cloth worked just fine… temporarily.”

Jimmy laughed, slapping the desk. “You’re officially a dad now, Drew. Forgetting a diaper is like a rite of passage.”

Drew nodded solemnly. “It’s a learning curve.”

Jimmy turned his attention back to you. “Now, let’s talk about Against All Odds. The trailer has everyone excited. What can you tell us about the movie?”

You leaned forward slightly.

“It’s a romantic-action film about two rival spies played by Drew and me who are forced to work together on a mission to stop a global threat. Of course, things get complicated when they realize they have a shared past.”

“Ah, a little romance, a little action,” Jimmy said. “And a lot of explosions, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely,” Drew said.

“The stunts in this film are insane. We’ve got car chases, hand-to-hand combat, and this one sequence where Y/N literally jumps out of a helicopter.”

The audience gasped, and Jimmy’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me Y/N did her own stunts?”

You shrugged with a smile. “Most of them, yeah. The helicopter scene was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush was worth it.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And how did you feel about your wife jumping out of a helicopter while pregnant?”

“Oh, that scene was filmed before we knew about Emma,” Drew said quickly.

“But I still worried about her constantly. Every time she’d do a stunt, I’d be off to the side like, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’”

You laughed. “He was basically my personal cheerleader-slash-bodyguard.”

Jimmy shook his head, smiling. “And Y/N, how was filming while pregnant? Did the crew make accommodations for you?”

“They were amazing,” you said.

“They adjusted the schedule so that I could rest when I needed to, and they made sure I always had plenty of snacks on set.”

“Snacks were essential,” Drew added. “She had a bag of trail mix with her at all times.”

Jimmy laughed. “It sounds like the two of you had a lot going on behind the scenes. Speaking of which, I have to ask about the viral video. You know the one.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Drew laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh no. You’re not really going to show it, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Jimmy said, grinning.

“For anyone who hasn’t seen it, this is a behind-the-scenes video of Drew and Y/N on set. Drew’s building a baby crib, and Y/N is… well, just watch.”

The screen infront and behind you lit up with the video. The audience howled as they watched Drew hammering away at a crib while you sat on a couch with a breast pump. The rhythmic “whirr, whirr” of the pump provided the perfect comedic soundtrack as Drew worked intently. At one point, you casually scrolled through your phone, looking completely unbothered.

When the video ended, the audience erupted into cheers and laughter. Jimmy was wiping tears from his eyes.

“So my question is… is this what you do on set?”

“Well,” Drew said, still chuckling, “Emma needed a crib, and we didn’t have one on set. So, naturally, I decided to build one during a break.”

“And I,” you added with a grin, “was taking care of my part of the parenting duties. Multitasking at its finest.”

Jimmy shook his head, laughing.

“You two are the epitome of modern parenthood. Drew, do you moonlight as a carpenter now?”

Drew smirked. “Not yet, but give me a few more months of parenting, and I’ll be building treehouses.”

The audience laughed again, and Jimmy leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, last question: How do you balance it all? Filming, parenting, being a couple; what’s the secret?”

You exchanged a glance with Drew before answering.

“Honestly, communication is everything. We make sure to check in with each other and divide responsibilities as evenly as possible.”

“And coffee,” Drew added. “Lots of coffee.”

Jimmy nodded sagely. “Coffee and communication. Words to live by.”

The interview wrapped up with more laughs, and even a clip from Against All Odds. As the applause filled the studio, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life you and Drew had built on and off the screen. together.

[meleeyz]

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader ┊ viktor 𝒙 fem!reader (platonic)

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ I don't know, I just thought it would be a fun dynamic, enjoy!

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

𓆤 Ekko crashing into you on his hoverboard was how it all began. It happened during one of your hurried trips back to Zaun after a grueling week in Piltover’s laboratories. You were distracted, engrossed in your mental checklist of materials Viktor had asked you to bring. You didn't even notice the faint whir of Ekko’s hoverboard until it was too late.

“Hey, watch—” Ekko started, his voice sharp with alarm before cutting off mid-sentence as the two of you collided.

You landed flat on your back with a groan, Viktor's precious schematics flying out of your bag. Ekko was quick to get up and extend a hand to help you up.

“Oh crap, I didn’t mean to—uh, are you okay?” Ekko asked with a sheepish grin.

“You should really watch where you’re going!” you snapped, brushing yourself off. Then your eyes locked. It was hard to stay mad at someone who looks like they actually cared.

From then on, every return trip to Zaun seemed incomplete without bumping into him, either by accident or by his deliberate attempts to "run into" you.

𓆤 Ekko had mixed feelings about your constant back-and-forth trips. He understood why you had to be in Piltover so much—your apprenticeship under Viktor was important—but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“You know, it’s kinda unfair,” he said one evening, as the two of you sat on the rooftop of a crumbling Zaun building. The view of the Undercity's twinkling lights stretched around you, and the new prototype of his hoverboard leaned against the nearby wall. “Piltover gets you all day, and Zaun just gets you at night.”

𓆤 Ekko loved your sharp mind. In fact, he found your involvement with Hextech fascinating, even if he teased you endlessly about being a “Piltover nerd.”

“Look at you, little Miss Zaunite Hextech Genius,” he’d say with a smirk as he watched you tinker with a device. “All fancy with your gears and crystals. Can you make something that doesn’t explode?”

You rolled your eyes.

“This is for science. Not for impressing you.”

“Oh, but you already impress me.” He’d wink, leaning over your shoulder to inspect your work. His genuine curiosity often led to him offering ideas that somehow worked, despite his lack of formal training. You suspected his innate knack for mechanics rivaled even Viktor’s.

𓆤 Ekko would often stop by you house in Undercity unannounced, bringing little gifts—scrap metal he thought you could use or metal flowers that he made with his own hands for you

𓆤 You, in turn, would surprise him with modifications for his hoverboard or gadgets to help the Firelights. His reaction to your gifts was always the same: pure delight.

𓆤 Leaving aside the jokes, he loved watching you work, claiming it was “like seeing genius in action.” You’d laugh and tell him to stop distracting you, but his presence always made the hours fly by.

𓆤 The two of you shared countless late-night conversations on rooftops, swapping dreams and fears.

𓆤 It started subtly. Ekko’s laugh lingered in your mind longer than it should have. His voice, the way he said your name, echoed in your thoughts while you worked. You found yourself doodling in the margins of your notes, spiraling into daydreams that left you blushing.

𓆤 Viktor initially didn’t think much of Ekko—at least not directly. He only knew of him through your constant chatter.

“Ekko said this really clever thing about—” “Ekko helped me figure out how to—” “Ekko...”

Eventually, Viktor sighed and set down his pen.

“I can’t believe you’re getting so worked up about some guy,” he said, exasperation lacing his words.

“This one is different!” you protested, fidgeting with a loose thread on your sleeve. “He’s honest, he’s sweet—”

“Please…”

“He would never do anything to hurt me!”

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“He’s a guy.”

“He’s also... brilliant. And kind... and handsome... and—”

“Oh shit, here we go again…” He exhaled, completely tired.

𓆤 The meeting happened in Piltover, under less-than-ideal circumstances. You’d convinced the Academy to grant you temporary access to the lab for a personal project, ostensibly Hextech-related. In truth, you were helping Ekko repair an broken stabilizer for the Firelights

You thought you were being sneaky. You were wrong.

Viktor appeared in the doorway, cane tapping against the marble floor. His eyes immediately landed on the device in Ekko’s hands and then flicked to you.

“And what,” he asked dryly, “is going on here?”

Ekko froze, looking like a child caught stealing candy. You scrambled to explain, words tumbling out in a panicked mess.

To your surprise, Viktor didn’t explode. Instead, he regarded Ekko with quiet intensity. After a long pause, he nodded.

“You have talent,” he said to Ekko. “Perhaps more than you deserve.”

Ekko grinned, clearly amused. “Thanks? I think?”

From then on, Viktor tolerated Ekko’s presence, though he would often sigh dramatically whenever you brought him up in conversation.

𓆤 The news of Viktor’s declining health hit you like a blow. For all his brilliance, your mentor was mortal, and the idea of losing him felt unbearable. You confided in Ekko, who held you as you cried, his quiet strength grounding you.

“He’s proud of you, you know,” Ekko said softly, stroking your back. “He might not say it, but he is.”

Those words stayed with you, offering comfort during the hardest days.

𓆤 As Viktor’s condition worsened, he grew more reflective. One day, he called you into his office. You found him gazing out the window, his frail frame silhouetted against the light.

“You’ve been a good apprentice,” he said without turning around. “Better than I deserved.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered, your throat tight.

He turned to face you, his expression soft despite the lines of pain etched into his face.

“I’m sorry I won’t be there for your wedding day.”

Your eyes widened.

“What—?”

“I’m not blind,” he said with a faint smile. “Or deaf. That boy... he makes you happy.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“He does.”

“Then go to him,” Viktor said gently. “And live. Live, my dear. Work, yes, but also live. With him.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[gojonanami]

ALL'S FAIR (IN LOVE AND MERGERS) ✩ SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, arranged marriage au, gojo and reader are both heirs to large companies, childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, lots of fluff + banter, gojo is down bad, geto makes an appearance, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, degradation (slut), breeding kink, gojo has a praise kink, semi public sex, office sex, tiny amount of sexting, under the desk oral (m!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby), pregnancy mentions ✴︎ wc: 16,381 (why do i do this to myself?)

“Why do you look so down, Princess?” Your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing your expression to stay disinterested — the one emotion Satoru hated, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your fiancé?” 

“Don’t call yourself that,” you snap, and his lips curl at your reaction, “what are you so smug about? You’re stuck in the same position as me,” 

“And what’s that?” You close your book, glaring daggers at his all too perfect face. 

“Marrying your worst enemy.” 

It wasn’t always like this. 

Satoru Gojo used to be your friend — your best friend in fact. The fact your families’ companies were rivals often meant you ran in the same social circles more often than not. And it meant more than one boring adult party that the two of you were stuck with each other.

The two of you had become inseparable — attending the same prestigious schools with the most pretentious children, though the two of you were no exceptions. But you liked to think you were. 

And you didn’t realize your feelings for Satoru, until someone else had. 

“Do you want to hang out on Friday?” You ask, flipping through the channels as the two of you watched TV, looking for something other than the second half of movies and the reruns of shows you didn’t care for. 

“I can’t, I’m going to the formal,” he replies, not looking up from his phone, and you pause. 

“You’re going to that?” You raise an eyebrow, “we’ve never went,” 

“Well I never had someone ask me who I wanted to go with,” his eyes flicker up from his phone, a smirk on his lips, “you jealous?” 

Your reply leaves your lips like whiplash, “You wish,” you cross your arms, but you can’t help ask the question burning on your lips, “who are you going with?” 

“Akari,” and you scoff, “what?” 

“That girl goes out with a new guy every week,” you shake your head, “you’re better off staying at home with me,” 

“So you are jealous,” he hums, leaning back on the couch, “if you wanted to go with me, all you had to do was ask, Princess,” 

Your cheeks flush, which you make up for in indignancy and sharp words, “Don’t call me that,” the nickname your family affectionately had called you had become Satoru’s favorite thing to call you, “I’m just telling you to be careful — that girl isn’t someone you should trust with your feelings,” 

“I think I’ll use my own judgment instead of someone who hasn’t even been on a single date before,” his tone is far too biting and his accuracy is far too sharp — and you can’t stop your face from dropping, and his lips part - regret flashing across his features, “princess—“ 

“Go home, Satoru,” you rise, brushing past him, “you know the way out,” 

“Princess—“ he tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away. His hand retracts like he’d been burned. 

“Please, go,” you open the door for him, and he does, and little do you know that would be one of the last times you spoke. 

The day of the formal arrives, the two of you hadn’t seen each other outside of class since that day. But Satoru did see you at the dance that night - on the arm of his former best friend, Suguru — the same one he had a falling out with a year ago. He doesn’t say a word to you, but you don’t miss the hurt in his eyes - but you wonder why it was there in the first place - and why he was acting like you put it there. 

It all goes to hell after. 

The Gojo Corporation poaches one of your family’s biggest clients in a shady backroom deal, breaking their truce and your family’s trust. Arguments and stress reach a peak over the phone and lines are drawn and metaphorical guns are drawn. 

And you and Satoru are caught in the crossfire. 

Not that you weren’t firing shots yourself. 

It wasn’t until you pulled Satoru into a secluded classroom, and you shut the door behind the two of you. Even with the sunglasses perched on his nose as always, he flinches in the bright light of the sun setting behind you, dipping the classroom in a blazing orange  — light sensitivity nearly required him to wear his sunglasses out, but he certainly made a statement in them — though what didn’t he make a statement in?  

“What are we going to do about our families?” you chew your lip — you had listened this morning to your father rant about the Gojo family — unkind words to say about them all, even Satoru himself, who your father had treated as a second son — and now he was grilling you about what you had told him about the family business. 

“What can we do?” His arms are crossed and his gaze is upwards, “they are going to do what they want,” 

You stare at him, your heart cracks, blood rushing in your ears, “Satoru, if this gets worse, we won’t be able to be friends,” you refuse to let your voice break. 

“So what? I know the way out, don’t I?” But your heart did break, “I’m sure Suguru could comfort you,” 

Your eyes burn, but you can’t, you can’t let him see you cry, “Why are you so upset? You had a date—“ 

“And mine wasn’t the person who backstabbed me,” he bites back, “what my family did is done, and so are we,” and he doesn’t look back when he leaves. 

And it was good — because he didn’t see you cry. 

And now you sat with him in your living room, trying to process the fact you would be legally married soon enough. 

“Worst enemy? I know you liked to embellish princess, but that seems excessive,” he snorts, “glad to know I haven’t escaped your thoughts these years,” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” and he grins his shit eating grin, and it’s almost as if no time has passed, except the person who sits before you isn’t a seventeen year old with an attitude of a shithead — it’s an adult man (albeit with the same attitude). 

“Don’t need to - you already do that for me, baby,” he winks, and you don’t know whether you want to slap him or strangle him. Either way, you wanted him to shut up, “shouldn’t we at least try to make the best of this?” 

“The best of what?” You scoff, ready for your veins to burst out of your head, if only to spare you the agony of this conversation, “Gojo, we were best friends a million years ago and then we weren’t and now we’re getting married - all on the whims of our families, so how do we make the best of it?” 

He pauses a moment, almost thoughtfully, “I was your best friend?” 

And you rise to your feet, “this is impossible,” you brush past him, but he catches you by your wrist, his thumb grazing your pulse. 

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he says, and you stop, meeting his gaze reluctantly, his lips part, “that you were so annoying in high school—“ 

“Fuck you,” and you storm off as he cackles, but you don’t notice the small smile on his lips that stays as he watches you. 

And nor do you hear him say, “God, I missed you.” 

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, as you place back the millionth dress you looked at, “we’re hardly celebrities but we have to make a public appearance?” 

Your families wanted the marriage to be portrayed as a love marriage in the media - childhood friends falling in love after reconnecting - the thing of love stories. The thing that would circle the drain on social media on cute threads of meetcutes and what ifs. When in fact, you were being forced on a shopping date with an already well paid and positioned paparazzi ready to take pictures of this charade. 

“You may not be, Princess, but I am quite the catch,” Satoru takes the attention in stride, not only of the paparazzi, but the passersby who gawked at the two of you. It was true, Satoru was nearly always listed as an eligible bachelor in far too many of these lists that existed, if not the eligible bachelor, and yet here you were, glued to his side like some taudry accessory. 

“So does that mean if I just toss you away, someone else will catch you?” You grumble, and he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“Like it or not, you caught me,” he flashes you those pearly whites, and you supposed he blinded you as you stumble forward, tripping. But you don’t kiss the pavement — but you almost wish you do. He catches you, his arm around your waist, the other on your shoulder, and his eyes graze over you in a flash of concern, and then amusement, “and I’m not going anywhere this time,” 

And you flush, the clicks of cameras in the distance snapping you back to reality, as you right yourself with a fake smile plastered on your lips. You brush his shirt off as lovingly as you can, “And if I go?” 

His lips only curl into his obnoxiously charming smile, as he gestures for you to walk on, “I’ll follow, Princess,” 

Finally the trip is over, and Satoru is driving the both of you back, “I’m surprised you took a day off for this,” he remarks, “usually you work all week,” 

“Well I wasn’t given much of a choice, now was I?” And then you glance at him, furrowing your brow, “how do you know how often I work?” 

“What’s the phrase? Keep your enemies close, and your lovers closer?” He gives a wry grin as you scowl at him, “you’re not surprised I kept tabs on you, are you?” 

“Well, no,” because you did the exact same. You pinned the blame on late nights and doom scrolling on social media — curiosity killed the cat. 

“And now I know you kept tabs on me,” he looks far too satisfied with himself, “I’m flattered,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, “it’s not like you’re that interesting to begin with,” 

“Sure,” he smirks, and then you glance outside, noticing you were getting further out from home rather than closer. 

“Where are we going?” You sit up, glancing around — you didn’t recognize the area. 

“Oh, you didn’t think our date was over yet, did you?” his lips curl, his eyes still on the road, “we are just going to a more private location,” 

“If you take me to a hotel, I will slap you,” you murmur, and he laughs, a sound that makes your stomach flip. 

“I didn’t know a princess’s mind could be in the gutter,” he remarks, his fingers flexing on the wheel, a small infinity tattoo on his ring finger, and your mind really then all but fled to the gutter as you thought what else he could use those fingers for. 

“Oh my mind goes a lot of places,” this was growing more dangerous — for your tongue and for your heart. 

And he notices your gaze flickering to his hands, and his lips curl, “I think I’d like to familiarize myself with the places your mind goes, Princess,” You flush, “but that’s for a different day.” 

“Where are you taking me anyway?” 

“We’re almost there, just enjoy the ride,” you eventually pull up to a park, and he leaves the car, opening the door for you, “after you, my lady,” 

You slide out of the car, as he shuts the door behind you, and then pulls a basket out of the back, “Is there tape and rope in there?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Didn’t know you were into that,” he winks, as you glare at him, “it’s a picnic basket - this is a nice spot to watch the sunset,” 

“You watch sunsets?” 

“Only with you,” you roll your eyes. 

“Such a dork - are these the lines you use on all your dates? And don’t say only with me,” you add quickly, and he snorts. 

“You catch on quick,” and he takes your hand, leading you along, “come on,” 

His hand envelops yours, his fingers eventually intertwining with yours, his warmth flooding your body, but you can’t urge yourself to pull away. 

A bottle of sparkling cider and a charcuterie board later, the two of you watch the sun begin its descent, blazing colors bleeding into one another. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking over your glass as you sip, “even when we used to hang out, I was the one to bring the snacks,” 

“Well times change,” he replies, “plus you’re the one who always stopped me from buying snacks,” 

“You always bought only sweets — it was always chocolate, sugar, and desserts,” you roll your eyes, “I see you got over that,” 

“Nah, I just decided to buy things I know you like,” and your heart traitorously squeezes, but then he points, “look,” and your gaze falls onto the sunset and you gasp softly. 

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, and you don’t notice Satoru’s gaze on your face, a small smile on his lips. 

“It is,” and you look back at him, his eyes shifting to you again. 

“You never answered my question,” you say, “why are we doing this?” 

“Why wouldn’t we? We’re getting married, Princess, did you forget?” He expertly dodges the question, swiftly leaping over a landmine, but you weren’t one to mince words or hesitate to do a direct assault. 

“We’re getting married, it doesn’t mean we have to date,” you tilt your head, “Gojo, tell me—“

“Call me Satoru,” his words are so soft, hesitant even, as if his words could break apart any second if he had spoken them any quieter. 

It’s a fragility he doesn’t often grace you with - that’s he’s maybe never given to you, and you don’t wish to break it.

But you’re also scared - scared that this will break yours. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, and he smiles — the same smile he’d greet you with when you would meet up after school, the same smile when he’d beat you at whatever game you guys were playing, and the same smile you hadn’t seen in so long, “why are you doing all of this?” 

“Is it not obvious?” He’s leaning closer and you only realize that you’re doing the same when your wrist hurts from leaning on your hand. 

“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you, Satoru,” his lips warm yours with his breath, and the sun has set - there’s no other explanation for the warmth blooming on your skin other than him— 

Ring. Ring. Ring. 

His phone ringing sends both of you flinching apart, but his eyes don’t leave you for a lingering moment, before he picks up. 

“Hello,” his voice is unwavering even after the moment you shared, you barely hear what he says over the blood thundering in your ears, “yes, we’ll be home shortly. Ok. Bye,” 

He turns to look back at you, “My parents were wondering where we went,” and you nod, “we should get back,” and he begins to pack away the things, 

“Satoru—“ you start, but he grabs your hands, tugging you forward. 

“What?” he smiles, “not ready to part with me yet, princess?” 

You scowl, pushing him away, brushing past him to the car, “Forget it,” 

And he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him, your back against his front, “I don’t want to forget it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I—” 

And his phone rings again, and he sighs, showing you that it was your father this time, putting his phone on silent, “Our parents have impeccable timing,” and the moment is broken, as the two of you walk back to the car in relative silence, the sun long sunk below the horizon, and the moment along with it. 

The wedding comes and goes without much ado — it was a private ceremony done with only your families and a few close family friends. And aside from a photo shoot that was to be “leaked” of the two of you looking far too lovey dovey that wound up circulating the media drain and ended up causing you and Satoru to keep a low profile for a week or two, not much of your life changed. The only thing being that you and Satoru slowly start to move in together, each moving your things into separate bedrooms, not that you’re around enough to even notice a shift as the work piled on due to the merger, only accumulates, and as do your late nights. 

You come home again, back to your shared apartment, late at night, shutting the door softly behind you. You slip your shoes off, along with your jacket by the door, before setting your things down. You stretch your sore muscles, your stomach crying for mercy of the deprivation you had put it through today, and you allow it to lead you to the kitchen. 

Satoru was surprisingly neat, aside from his own room that was a disaster zone not worth entering. The living spaces were always clean, as was the kitchen (though you had a sneaking suspicion he had hired a cleaning service to specifically tidy up when you were gone (due to the lingering lemony scent every surface had at times). You rummage through the refrigerator as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough as the lights flick on, and you feel akin to a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“I feel like I’ve seen the mailman more than my own wife this week,” Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door, a small grin on his lips, but a hint of something else in his eyes — concern? You don’t have the time to decipher the feeling, as your mind chooses to replay the phrase “my wife” on repeat. 

“The merger has been killer to deal with — all the diligence requests has buried us,” you grumble, as you grab a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator and the milk from the inside, and he’s holding a bowl and a spoon, “thanks,” as you reach for it, he holds it away from you. 

“You know there’s something called delegating that you should try sometime, princess,” he says, tilting his head, “otherwise, you’re likely to run yourself into the ground,” 

“It sounds like you care,” he puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing the cereal and milk from you, and fixing a bowl for you, as you rub your eyes, sitting on the stool by the island. 

His lips curl, “Who said I didn’t?” 

You lay on the counter, staring up at him, “Didn’t know my husband could be anything but annoying,” and you enjoy the way his eyebrows shoot up, and it may have been your tired eyes, but you swore a small pink flush settled his way onto his cheeks, “cute,” you mumble, the word escaping you before you could stop it. 

“What?” his eyes snap to yours, but he only finds them closed, the soft snores from your lips told him you weren’t pretending, as he stares at you, biting his lip, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “what are you doing to me, princess?” he murmurs. 

And the next morning when you wake, you find yourself tucked into bed, as you roll over, to find your alarms had been turned off, and you were far too late to several meetings you had that morning. 

You jolt up, before you find a note stuck to your shirt, you pause in your panic, to peel it off and read it:

Canceled your meetings for today and had your staff handle the ones they could deal with. You’re taking a break. You need it. - Satoru. 

You wanted to protest, but even as you willed yourself to try and check your email, your body was screaming in agreement with Satoru, and you sighed, lying back down in bed, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, with the note still in your hand. 

~~~~~

“Gojo, get back in bed,” you cross your arms in front of his doorway, “you’re sick,” 

“I’m fine,” he pouts, his normally pale skin flushed with a red tinge that gave away his fever, his eyes bloodshot from a restless night, and yet he still looked as perfect as ever, if not a bit rumpled from his askew hair and ruffled clothes, “I have to—” 

“Rest,” you say, gently pushing him backwards towards his bed, “you need rest. You made me rest, and now it’s your turn,” 

“But—” 

“Satoru,” and the use of his name stops him in his tracks, as his knees buckle as his legs hit the end of his bed, “please?” 

His resistance crumbles, “Princess, I’m fine—” and you press your forehead to his, making his breath catch, your face far too close far too fast. 

“You’re burning up,” you ease him back into bed, as you roll your sleeves up, “will you be okay? I’m going to run out and get some supplies - have you taken any medicine?” 

He shakes his head, “You can send out someone,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you grab it, “Princess-“ 

“I’m texting everyone that you’re sick and that you can’t make it in for the next two days while you recover,” you pocket his phone, putting it on silent, “consider this payback,” and you’re pulling on your jacket, “and I’m going to get you some things. I don’t need to send someone out. Do you want anything? I can’t get anything sweet because it will make your cough worse, but is there anything that you want?” 

He shakes his head, as you snap your fingers and head out of the room, before returning with cold medicine, “I’ll give you this for now, and then I’ll grab some more while I’m out,” 

You pour the medicine into the cup, and he sits up as best he could, reaching for the medicine cup, but you cup his chin, feeding it to him. He feels like his body is burning hotter from your touch than it is the fever,  “I have to make sure you drink all of it, you can’t leave half of it in the cup like you did when we were kids,” 

“You remember that?” he mumbles, as you help him lie down again, your hands gentle as you help lean back, and you tilt your head. 

“I remember every ridiculous thing you did,” you snort, as you check to make sure you got everything — phone, wallet, keys — “just rest here, and call me if you need anything, ok?” his eyes are already starting to droop, heavy with sleep, and he gives a small nod. 

And he catches you by your wrist, “Do you have to go?” he mumbles, pulling your hand close to his face, “I don’t want you to go,” his words slur, and he’s asleep in a moment, his hand still clutching yours to his face, lips brushing against your palm. 

Heat flares up your cheeks, as you stand, motionless, his soft snores filling the room, as you manage to tug your hand away, and you stand over him, his mouth in an adorable pout, as sweat glistened on his forehead, white locks sticking to the damp skin. You leave for a moment to grab a cold compress for his forehead, and you come back, brushing his hair back to place the compress on. He shivers ever so slightly, but you just rub his head slowly, and he drifts back into sleep. 

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, and you wonder, how often has Satoru been cared for by maids or employees rather than his family? How often had they passed the buck of caring for their son to others as if it was more of a chore than a privilege to take care of someone they loved. 

You leave his phone on video call with yours so you can keep an eye on him as he sleeps, even if you were going down the street, you didn’t want to leave him alone completely. Instead of music, you listened to the cacophony of his soft snores and shifting of his sheets. You grabbed the things you needed - medicine, supply for meals, vitamin water, vitamin c supplements, and anything else you could think of. 

You return, door shutting softly behind you as you hang up the call, and set everything down on the counter. You poke your head into Satoru’s room to find him still fast asleep, and you remove the cold compress, going to replace it with a new one, but his hand catches yours as it brushes your forehead, and he mumbles your name. 

And you flush — were you sure you weren’t getting sick at this point? 

You sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re as touchy as you were when we were kids,” and he was — there wasn’t a moment that Satoru wasn’t all over you before the ages of puberty — holding hands, hugging, even laying on top of you — but it was innocent. But even as you got older, it was poking, it was a leg over yours, it was grabbing your wrist instead of your hand. 

And now, your hand was dwarfed by his, consuming your wrist and hand with his own, and it was so warm — though exacerbated by his fever. And you couldn’t help but want to lace your fingers through his. But — you pulled your hand away and replace his cold compress — you couldn’t afford thoughts like that. 

Not now. 

You cooked soup for him, filled with vegetables and nutrients that he clearly did not get enough of, made freshly squeezed orange juice, and put the supplements you wanted him to take on the tray you had found in the kitchen. 

You washed your hands, as you start to clean up, your back to his room, and you hear Satoru say your name. 

You turn and see him in the doorway, “What are you doing?” 

“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “what’s all this?” 

“Lunch,” you walk over, waving him back into bed, “you need to rest,” 

“Did you make me lunch?” he asks slowly, and you help him back into bed, as he frowns, “you didn’t have—” 

“You’re my husband, Satoru,” you say, tilting your head, “I’m going to take care of you and not let you work yourself to the bone while you have a cold,” 

And his lips curl at the words slowly, “Your husband,” he repeats, as if the words were foreign to him, and your cheeks flush as your words that were embarrassing enough to say linger in the air, “thank you,” he mumbles, as you nod, trying to calm your utterly burning cheeks before entering with the tray. 

Satoru sits in bed still, more coherent than a few minutes before, a small smile on his lips as you enter his view, and you place the tray carefully on his bed, “Will you feed me?” And your eyes flit up to his innocent baby blues full of skies that you couldn’t say no to — and he knew that, “please?” 

And now you’re feeding him, your lips carefully blowing on the hot soup as you spoon fed him, and he takes each one, “is it good?” 

He nods, “It is, I didn’t know you could cook. The last thing I remember you making me was a microwave brownie that you burned,” and you rolled your eyes. 

“That was because you told me to microwave it for too long,” you pout, and he laughs, sending him into a coughing fit, “karma,” and he scowls at you, before his lips split into a grin, “what?” 

“Must have been pretty good in my past life,” he says, as you blow on another spoonful, “to end up with a pretty little wife like you, Princess,” 

And you nearly drop the spoon, a few droplets slipping from the utensil, as he makes you flustered for the eighteenth time today — “Satoru,” you chide, and you’re not even sure what you are chiding him for — his word on a loop in your mind, “i think you’re high on cold medicine, or your fever,”

You don’t think he had ever called you pretty before. 

And he leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, “I have no fever right now,” he whispers, his eyes glancing at the tray, “and I haven’t taken my cold medicine yet,” 

Your words catch in your throat, and you’re swallowing thickly, as your eyes drift to his lips and back again, “Toru,” and you can’t lean away from him, he’s pulling you in, like he always did. 

But then he pulls back, his cheeks flushed, “I think I should lie down,” and you blink, as you nod hastily. 

“Of course,” you grab the tray and flee, leaving his medicine and water on the bedside table, heart thumping against your ribs and blood rushing to your cheeks. 

And you don’t hear him grumble, “If only I wasn’t sick.” 

After Satoru gets better, you barely see him. It feels empty in the house without his presence. You had grown accustomed to his loud, obtrusive presence, the clothes half thrown in the laundry basket, his snacks stacked up in the pantry and sometimes on the counters, and his cologne wafting through the halls. It seems all of that has faded with time, as he does his best to spend his time at work, and away from you. 

After the billionth time of this, you get a phone call from his colleague, Nanami, asking for you to come and fetch him. You furrow your brow as he texts you the address of a bar near his work, and you arrive to find him passed out at a table, drink glasses and small plates littered the tabletop, his pale skin flushed, as he snored slightly as he slept. 

His colleague too was flushed, but still sat with drink in hand looking utterly irritated and bemused, “How much did he drink?” 

“Maybe two drinks?” and you raise an eyebrow, “he’s a lightweight, but he likes to pretend he isn’t,” he snorts, shaking his head, “did you two have a fight?” 

You tilt your head, as you check on him, fingers brushing over his skin — he was so warm from the alcohol, “No, why do you ask?” 

And Satoru is mumbling your name, again and again, pouting, “Is that you, my wife?” you flush, and that was your cue to get him out of there. Nanami helps you get him to his work car, luckily that came equipped with a driver, and you slide in beside him, as he dozes, his head drifting to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, as he nestles into the soft skin of your nape, and you can feel his lips move, only catching your name between soft sighs and snores. 

“Satoru,” you mutter, brushing his hair from his eyes, “what did you do?” 

The driver helps you get him inside, and you’re left with him, his body leaning against yours on the couch, as you rouse him, “Satoru, wake up,” your hands cup his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open blearily. 

You can still smell the scent of alcohol on his breath — and you know it’s sweet from the scent that drifts from him. Sometimes you wonder if he would taste sweet with how much sugar he consumes, but you brush that thought to the back of your head, as he finally speaks. 

“Are you a dream?” he murmurs, and you have to suppress your laugh at his puppy dog stare. 

“Don’t think so, Satoru,” you pinch his cheek lightly, “see? I’m real,” 

He smiles, so gentle that it almost takes you aback, “Too real,” his hand slides over yours, flattening it against his cheek, “your hand is so soft, just like when we were kids, and we’d always hold hands anywhere we went,” 

You swallow thickly, wondering if your cheeks were hotter than his were from the alcohol, “Well my family hasn’t sold me into manual labor yet, so they’ll stay that way,” and his eyes widen almost comically. 

“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he says, almost every other word slurred, “can’t do that to my wife,” and your traitorous heart squeezes, despite itself, despite everything telling you that it didn’t mean anything — that he was drunk — and the million other reasons to brush it away, your heart does what it does best — takes it to heart, “I missed you so much,” 

And he’s burying his face in your shoulder, warm breath against your skin making you shiver as you hold him gently, “then why have you been avoiding me?” He’s mumbling into your shoulder now, as you can’t help but laugh, “Stop, you’re tickling me.”

And his stare lifts and settles upon you, stopping your breath in its tracks, “I didn’t want to avoid you, I just was…” he mumbles something incoherent, “I couldn’t face you,” 

“Why?” and it’s objectively cute the way he pouts, his face scrunching up like a child, his brow adorably furrowed, as he mutters under his breath slurred words you can’t make out, “let’s get you to bed — if you promise not to avoid me anymore,” you hold up a finger to his face. 

He nods, lips still in the same pout, “promise,” he murmurs, as you help him into bed, but as you do, he grabs you, tugging you into bed with him with a yelp, his arms trapped you against him, as his face snuggles into your back, “stay,”

Your skin burns at his touch, his face buried into your back, his arms wrapped impossibly around you, “Satoru—” 

“Please?” and the resistance you have crumbles, as you sigh, relaxing as best you could into his touch, “thank you, Princess,” he mumbles something else you can’t make out, before falling asleep. 

And you bite your lip, ignoring how your skin feels under his touch — how were you ever going to sleep now? 

But you do. 

Satoru wakes with a slightly pounding head, a small groan caught in the back of his throat, as he stirs at the bright sunlight streaming in, his eyes fluttering awake to find you. His breath catches, as he stares at you. Your mouth slightly ajar, you softly snore as you sleep, your head resting against his arm, and he swallows thickly, as memories of last night trickle in.

And he nearly groans. He had avoided you to stop himself, to hold himself back from embarrassing himself, and he had gone and pulled you into bed with him after getting drunk. How pathetic was it that it only took you referring to him as your husband for all his walls to come crumbling down? Not that those walls ever stood a chance against you — it was easy for him to pull away from everyone, as if he had a barrier around him, stopping anything from coming near. But you — you were one thing that could penetrate his infinity — and the one thing he wanted to be infinite, if only for him. 

His cheeks burn at his revelations and he can only be thankful you’re still asleep as he stares at you — god, he had almost let it slip twice last night. He had mumbled it twice, but from what he remembered, you hadn’t made out the words. 

His cheeks burned, god he had said the words twice, and you didn’t even hear him, but the words had left his lips. And how many years had he been waiting to say them?

His fingers caress your cheek, making sure you were still asleep before he said them for a third time, “I love you.” 

“How many social events must be inflicted upon us?” you mutter, pressed next to Satoru at the bar, as Satoru sips a soda instead of the alcohol they offered — if only to avoid the disaster that was the last time. But still, the lack of alcohol only makes your touch worse without its dulling effects, “and why did we need to go to this?” 

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s not so bad,” Satoru smiles, his eyes skimming over your new suit that you had donned for the occasion, “I like seeing you all dressed up,” 

“Well I rather be dressed down at home,” and he raises an eyebrow and you flush, “i mean in a t-shirt and shorts, you absolute perv,” 

“Whatever you say, princess,” and you’re too busy elbowing him to notice who's walking over, until you hear your name. 

You spot Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed, as you spot Suguru holding a hand up in greeting, patented grin on his lips, “Yo!” 

“Suguru, it’s good to see you,” you greet, as he sweeps you up in a hug, and you shoot a look at Satoru, nudging him to be polite at the very least. 

“Satoru, long time no see,” Suguru says, and Satoru plasters a fake smile on his lips. 

“It has been,” and the three of you make pleasant small talk about your work — Suguru’s family was in a business adjacent to the work your families did. 

“I heard about the merger your companies are doing, how have preparations been?” you open your mouth to answer, but Satoru gets to it first, his arm curling around your waist. 

“It’s been going well, our marriage was the first step after all, wasn’t it, baby?” and you flush as Satoru does, doing your best not to glare at him. 

“It was,” you smile, as Suguru raises his eyebrows. 

“I hadn’t heard you both had married — congratulations,” 

And then you’re beckoned by your family, and you slip away for a moment, going to speak to them about one thing or another, leaving Satoru and Suguru alone. 

“It’s too bad we lost touch all these years,” Satoru sips at his drink. 

“You don’t have to say that, Satoru,” Suguru replies, his grin melting away, “I know part of the reason was the business with our families companies, but I also know that it was personal,” and Satoru follows his eyes to you, as you laugh at something your mother said, “how has married life been treating you both?” 

And Satoru glares, his grip tight around his glass, “Is your interest personal?” 

“It’s not, but I see that you still haven’t been honest with each other,” he smiles over the lip of his drink, “was this marriage arranged by your families?” and Satoru’s silence was enough to confirm it, “well you should be careful, a marriage is a fragile thing, especially without love,” 

“Is that a threat?” and Suguru’s dark irises meet his, full of mirth. 

“No, just an observation, Satoru,” and you make your re-appearance, looking between the pair, sensing the tension, as your hand curls around Satoru’s, “It was lovely seeing you both. I hope to see more of you.” 

And with that he’s gone, “What was that about?” you ask slowly, and Satoru can’t meet your gaze, only sipping his soda, “Satoru?” 

“It’s nothing, princess, don’t worry about it,” and you tilt your head, your brow furrowed. 

“That’s it,” you sigh, as you glance between the two of them, Suguru’s gaze still lingering on the two of you, “I know what this is about,” you declare, stepping ever closer to Satoru, your fingers brushing at his shoulder, sending his heart into a gallop. 

“Princess—” your hand is sliding up his neck, brushing at his undercut, and your lips curl. 

“I didn’t know you had an undercut,” and he can’t form words to respond to you, as you tug him closer, your lips were so close now, “it’s kind of hot,” and his mouth is so dry, his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your lips again, as you lean forward, pulling his head closer, closer, closer—

And you kiss him, it's barely a brush at first, but then you pull him in again, and he can taste the wine on your lips now, as your lips meet, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand slides to cup your face, the other around your waist. And finally you part, small pants leaving your lips, as your fingers toy with the hair resting on the back of his neck, smiling at him, as if you had done this a million times before. 

And he wanted to do it a million times more. His fingers trace the length of your jaw, delighting in the shiver you give as he touches you, and wondering what other noises he could pull from you. 

“Is he still watching?” you whisper, as you smooth over his collar, and he blinks, his eyes following yours to Suguru, who glances at the two of you before looking away, “think we convinced him?” 

And his heart sinks just as high as it had soared, “what?” he murmurs, confused. 

“He suspected us, right?” you continue with the phony smile on your lips, the heated lust in your gaze, and your soft touches — and it was all enough to break him. 

But he doesn’t. He’s Satoru Gojo — he can’t be allowed to break. 

So he gives a smile instead, “Yeah, I think we convinced him.” 

He can’t help be quiet on the drive home, and he senses your unease, fidgeting in the seat beside him, your attempts to fill the silence falling on deaf ears, and you eventually stop trying, settling to look out of the window instead, until the two of you pull inside your driveway. 

You both head inside, and the door shuts behind you, and he watches you struggle to take off your heels, the buckle not cooperating, as you lift your leg to undo it. 

But then he’s kneeling before you, undoing your heels for you, as you stammer, “No, Gojo, you don’t have to—”

But his touch is gentle as he helps you out of your heels, one by one, his fingers brushing against your ankles, and then he rises, and for a split second, you forgot how tall he really was. 

“No, I want to, because you’re my wife,” and his fingers brush against your jaw. “And I want your thoughts to be of me when I touch you, and not of someone else,” and he tilts your chin up, thumb dragging against your lips before he kisses you. 

It was gentle but insistent — and far, far too fleeting, as he pulls away, “and I’ve told you before — I’m your husband, call me Satoru.” 

And with that he’s gone, leaving you speechless and alone in your entryway. 

You can’t sleep. For several nights. 

You replay the moment over and over, the kiss, his words, and all of it. 

What the fuck. Were you really up all night because of Satoru Gojo? You lay on your stomach, kicking your feet in frustration as you bury your hot face in your pillow. Your husband was going to be the death of you. 

And especially with tomorrow. 

Satoru’s family was hosting an event to announce the merger, and you stood in your bathroom, getting ready. You had opted for a baby blue dress that Satoru had picked for you when he had insisted on taking you shopping. He had winked and said you could wear his gaze this way. And you had only rolled your eyes at the time, but now it felt you could feel his eyes upon you. 

“You look beautiful,” and you whirl around to find him standing in your doorway, a small smile on your lips, and you flush. It doesn’t go unnoticed, “is that all it takes to embarrass you now, Princess? I used to have to work a lot harder,” 

You glare at him, “Shut up,” and your eyes flick to his untied tie, and it’s unspoken, as you walk over to tie his tie for him, “how did you even tie this the day of the formal if you don’t know how to?” 

“I didn’t wear one,” he shrugs, his attention making you mess up the knot twice, “I only went to make you jealous anyway,” 

Your fingers pause, as your eyes meet, “What?” 

“I don’t want to play games anymore, Princess,” the back of his fingers brush against your cheek, “or at least, if I’m going to play, I’m going to play to win,” and you continue tying his tie, if only to distract yourself from your stomach doing flips, “do you know how it feels to want someone for so long only to end up married, but it’s not either of your choice?” And you swallow, not daring to look at him, “because I do.” 

“Satoru,” your hands are shaking now, “I-“

“I don’t expect an answer, I don’t expect anything to change,” he adjusts his tie as you finish, turning his collar down, his blue button up matching your dress perfectly, “but I wanted you to know where I stood, and know wherever you are,” his gaze rakes over your form, the same color as the dress than clung to your skin, “I’ll always be here for you,” 

“Satoru—“ but he gets a call — as always with impeccable timing, his parents were asking when they would be arriving. He hangs up shortly after, offering his arm with a smile. 

“Shall we?” And you take his arm, ignoring the flip your heart does when his arm curls around yours. 

The drive over is uneventful, but not the same can be said for the event itself. The merger event was being held at Satoru’s childhood home — the home Satoru had grown up in and around — and never wanted to be at. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, your arm still curled around Satoru’s arm, as you glance at him, his shoulders tense and lips tight, before your concern makes the tension melt away a moment, rolling off his shoulders like snow on a spring day. 

“I’m fine,” and you’re unconvinced, “just this place is like time has stood still,” he chuckles, his eyes finding the place where the two of you had cracked the chandelier fucking around with a ball inside, “look, still there,” 

You snort, “I’m surprised your mother never noticed,” 

“She did, she gave me hell for it,” he sips his drink, “I just didn’t tell you,” 

“Why?” 

“There was a lot I didn’t tell you,” his eyes snap to yours, his pain almost too visceral as he glances around the room he had grown up in — and you could feel him in this room, the ghost of his past roaming the halls, “why do you think I spent so much time at your house?” 

“Because of my incredible company?” you half-joke, lips forced into a small smile, but he laughs, rolling his eyes. 

“That too,” he hums, his fingers tracing up and down against your wrist sending a wave of heat down your spine. 

“Well, you always have an escape now, don’t you?” you intertwine your fingers, “our home is always graced with the presence of your wife,” 

He grins, the first actual smile you had seen all evening, “How lucky for you that it’s also graced with the presence of your incredibly handsome husband,”

And you open your mouth to respond, before Satoru’s father interrupts, his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, making him stiffen, “Son,” and his icy blue eyes slide to you, “and my daughter, would you mind if I steal my son for a moment?” it always struck you how different his eyes were from Satoru — the coldness as opposed to the warmth. 

You glance at Satoru, and he gives a slight nod, “No, of course not,” you step away, as he pulls Satoru into a side room, and you linger nearby for him, mingling as best you can, when Satoru emerges, eyes downcast and fists clenched, “Satoru-“ 

“I’m okay,” he plasters on an easy smile, “it’s fine—“ 

“We’re leaving,” you grab his hand, “let’s go,” and he’s staring at you, as you drag him from the party, wordless. 

“But your parents, my parents—” 

“Have done enough for us already,” you say, and the two of you walk to the car in silence, “I can drive—” 

“It’s ok, I got it,” and you both shut the doors, as he begins to drive. The ride home is quiet, and you glance at him here and there, but you hold your tongue, “you’re not going to ask?” 

“It’s your dad - do I need to ask?” You scoff, “It may has been years but I know he’s nothing but a bully — especially to you,” 

You may have been young, but you remembered the phone calls Satoru would get, the lectures about his potential and responsibilities as the next heir, the scoldings he’d get for anything less than perfect. And you remembered the look he had the next day — the same one he had when he had come out of that room. 

And you couldn’t protect him then, but you could do it now. 

He sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway, “You don’t deserve that, Toru,” 

“Then what do I deserve?” And he meets your gaze with glassy eyes, and you give a small smile, your fingers reaching for him, brushing along his jaw. 

“Love,” and you lean across the gap of the console, across the line you had drawn, across the misunderstandings you had, and you chose him. Your fingers cup his cheek, drawing him close, as you hear his breathe hitch, “can I—” 

“You don’t need to ask me even once, Princess,” and you kiss him, your lips grazing his again and again, until your lips finally slide against each other, deepening it as he presses himself against you, hand bearing against the armrest between the two of you. And you can taste the sweet taste of the strawberry dessert that he all but inhaled at the party, the hint of the soda he drank instead of wine, and something that tasted utterly and perfectly of him. 

“Toru,” you murmur, but his lips keep finding yours, and you can’t breathe much less think, “I—” 

He silences you with another kiss, his fingers finding purchase on the back of your neck as he tugs you impossibly closer, before his lips are tracing a path down your jaw. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” he smiles against your skin, “you what?” 

“You’re insufferable, you’re endlessly frustrating, and I swear I want to murder you at least twice a day,” and he smiles, as you gasp as his teeth graze your pulse, “but you’re also my best friend, and I—“ you make him meet your eyes, fingers cupping his chin, ocean blue eyes drowning you with their gaze,  “I love you,” 

And he blinks ever so slowly, before his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you had seen, before he’s kissing you again, as you gasp, “Toru—” 

“I’m never going to stop now, Princess,” he grins endlessly, as he presses his forehead to yours, dragging a thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “waited too long for you, but I’d wait a million years to do that again,” 

“So should I make you wait?” you tease, and he’s looking like a kicked puppy, pouting and wide eyed, before he’s pressing butterfly kisses to your face, and you’re laughing, “I’m just kidding, baby—” 

And he pauses, “‘Baby?’” and his grin is a million watt, as he kisses you again, “never thought I’d see the day you’d call me a pet name,” 

Your noses brush as you both laugh, “Well, you are a big baby,” and he pouts again, and you kiss them, “but you’re my baby,” 

And you barely remember how you manage to stumble into your home. Frantic touches and hurried kisses and fumbling keys. As soon as the door slams shut, he has you pressed against it, fingers busy with undoing your buttons, as he grins against your mouth. 

“Know how long I wanted you? How long I dreamt of this?” he bites your bottom lip, “had to call you my wife before i could call you mine — thought about you dating Suguru, about all the times I wanted to lean over during our movie nights as kids and just kiss you — and how much I regretted it,” 

“So you admit you’ve been pining for me,” you gasp as his teeth drag against your neck now, biting and sucking, as your fingers thread through his white locks, “Satoru,” you moan, biting your lip. 

“Judging by that moan, I’m not the only one,” he smiles cheekily, his hands sliding down your back to rest at the back of your thighs, large palms and thick fingers pressing through the all too thin tulle of your dress, “can’t wait to see how fuckin’ wet you are for me, Princess.” 

You gasp at his vulgar words, a rush of heat that leaves your legs shaking under his touch, “Now whose mind is the gutter?” You tease, your fingers tugging at his tie, unfurling the knot. 

“Always has been when it’s come to you, want to make this perfect princess filthy,” he coos, and he’s pulling you up against the door, your hands wrapped around his neck, “wanna make my beautiful little wife scream my name, don’t I?” 

“Toru—“ you gasp as his teeth graze along your chest, tugging the neckline of your dress impossibly low, “you’re going to rip it—“ and he does, pulling the fabric apart with ease, “what the fu—“ and he’s swallowing your swears with his tongue. 

“I’ll buy you another,” he grins, “in fact I’ll buy you any amount you want, as long as you keep letting me do this,” 

And he’s peeling the dress off of you, dress falling to the floor in a shamble of tulle, and your skin flushes at the air hitting your bare skin, and shivers at the feeling of his sharp breath against your neck. 

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing butterfly kisses down your collarbone, “I should get an award for patience — not being able to touch you, to kiss you, but living with you?” 

His fingers are skimming down your underwear now, snapping the waistband against your skin, you gasp, “Fuck, Toru,” you whimper, “thought you’d talk less during this,” your fingers are undoing his shirt now. 

“Oh I can think of a few things that could shut me up,” his lips curl deviously, and you’re slipping his shirt off his shoulders, your lips pressing to his collarbone. 

“I don’t think you’d even shut up from that,” as he shivers when your teeth graze his soft skin, “I think you’ll only whine more,” 

And his gaze is hot as his eyes meet yours again, as he grasps at your thighs and picks you up, “let’s see who’s the one whining at the end of this,” you squeal, grasping into his shoulders, as he carries you into his bedroom, as he settles you down on his bed. His eyes raking over you, panting and disheveled, he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, “can’t believe you’re all mine, Princess,” 

“Satoru,” you’re reaching for him, but he pins your hand to the bed, “wha—“ 

“Patience, baby,” he purrs, as he presses his lips to your wrist, “let me enjoy you,”

He’s so pretty it’s unfair - the way his breath hits your skin steals yours, pretty pink lips parted as he runs his tongue over them, the same ache between your legs longing for that tongue between them. But it leaves you with so little of the patience he asks you to have — especially after over a decade of this in the making. 

And your impatience is evident, you suppose, by the pout on your lips, and he laughs, “Want a kiss, baby?” 

You don’t have the time to say you want much more than a kiss, as he humors you with a kiss, lips teasing you with their sweet taste, and you don’t fail to notice his smile as you lean up into his touch. And suddenly his hands brush down your bare sides, squeezing your hips, and you’re gasping, “Feel good, Princess? We’ve barely started—“ 

“You keep teasing me and I’ll make you regret it,” you grumble, between breathless kisses, the bite of your words dampened by the soft pants that leave your lips, “Toru, I swear—“ 

And his thumb presses against the wet patch on your underwear, flimsy layer of soaked fabric barely doing a thing to hide your arousal, “Not acting like a good little girl for me,” he tuts, as you keen against his touch, gasping as you throw your head back as he grinds his fingers  against your puffy clit, “all it took was one touch to have you so pliant, huh? Should’ve done this a long time ago,” 

“Stop,” you whine, and his grin only grows larger with such self satisfaction, you don’t know if your lust addled brain wants you to strangle his neck or his cock, “please, just—“ 

“Just what?” And his fingers are breaching past your underwear, just barely touching the outer lips of your cunt, “come on, Princess, use your big girl words, or are you already fucked stupid before I’ve barely touched you?” 

“Motherfuck—“ 

“I will be one once I get my needy little wife pregnant, won’t I?” And his long fingers finally tug down your underwear — the wet schlick of the sticky fabric hitting the floor make him drag his teeth over those beautiful lips, “but we got plenty of time for that, after all,” his fingers tease the outer lips of your throbbing pussy, “practice makes perfect,” 

And he sinks a long finger knuckle deep — and a whine crawls its way out of your throat, his fingers were thicker than yours were — and so much better. His thumb teases your clit in tight circles as he begins to tease your walls, reaching deep, deep, deeper, your slick starting to drip onto his palm, “God, you’re soaking me, Princess,” and your hips can’t resist the urge to grind against his touch, “oh, and where’s that mouth now?” you can barely see much less talk, words failing as he begins to stretch you out - his other large palm rested against your thigh, keeping your legs nice and spread for him. 

He’s grinning, he sinks another finger into you, teasing your walls apart, beginning to finger fuck you in earnest, “my mouthy girl just needed to be fucked right? Didn’t she?” And all you can hear are the filthy sounds of your cunt, as his fingers piston in and out, “nothing to say, Princess?” And he spanks your pussy, making you yelp, a whine leaving your throat, “and you thought I’d be whiny, look at you now, baby,” his fingers cup your chin to force your glassy eyes to meet his darkened blues, “such a good fucked out wife for me,” 

And a third finger joining right as he brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars as his thumb bullied your clit, eyes rolling back as he did, and he’s grinning, “my perfect princess and her perfect little pussy,” 

You came with his name on your lips, panting and shaking as he held you steady, his fingers dripping with your release, as he pulled away, watching your cunt twitch around nothing, aching for his fingers. 

You're coming down from your high, chest rising and falling, as you watch him gather your release on his fingers, toying with your cunt, before he sucks them clean, “Fuck,” you whimper, as he licks and cleans himself of your cum, “Toru-“

“Fuck, baby, how’ve I resisted tasting you for so long?” And he’s bending down as he noses your thighs, making your hips jolt, still sensitive from your orgasm as he deeply inhaled, tip of his tongue darting out to lick your release from your thighs, “smell as sweet as you taste,” he hums, your legs trying to close, but his palms keep them spread, “can’t keep a man from his vices, can we baby?” 

And his tongue teases your cum that pooled from your orgasm, the tip hot and wet as it tastes it, “tastes when better coming from this filthy princess cunt,” he grins against your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, making you lurch. 

“T-Toru, please,” fuck you hated how needy you sounded, but you needed more — but he’s leaning away, pressing his cheek against the soft plush of your thigh. 

“Need you to do something me first, sweetheart,” and his fingers are drawing teasing infinities  on your thighs, “tell me how much you want me,” 

“Fuck you,” you groan, “I know what you’re gonna say,” you add, cutting off his snappy retort of “I’m trying to,” “I want you, Satoru, please, I’ve wanted this for too long,” and your voice grows more teasing, “how long is my husband going to keep me waiting?” 

And his eyes darken, the slight flush on his cheeks growing deeper, as his mouth presses a wet kiss to your sopping pussy, “good girl, think you deserve a reward,” and he’s manhandling your thighs, spreading them wide, as he buries his face in your cunt, “such a good little wife deserves to be eaten out,” 

And eating is exactly what he does - you had only seen Satoru eat sweets with the same voracity he devoured you, pressing his thick fingers into your thighs as he splayed you out as his mouth pressed wet kisses to your dripping lips. His hot tongue drags up the length of your cunt, “best fucking thing I’ll ever taste, know what my last meal will be,” he’s murmuring against you, making you twitch, as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and saliva and slick covered lips,  “awww my pretty pussy begging to be filled? Well I can do that for you, baby,” and he’s burying his tongue in your messy hole. 

The moan that leaves your lips leaves his cock harder and hurting, he didn’t know you could make such a lewd noise, and he couldn’t wait to make you make it again and again. He’s making out with your pussy at this mouth, your hips doing their best to grind against him, desperate for more, more, more. 

And your fingers find his shoulders first, before sliding up to his hair, pressing him further against you, “you’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs, as he spreads your folds with his thumbs before tongue fucking you. His tongue teases and abuses your walls, deeper and deeper, before he pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit, making you moan even louder, “neighbors are gonna hear you at this rate, baby,” but he only sucks at your clit, harshly, “oh well, they know we’re newlyweds,” he’s humming as his ears hear your broken whines and pants, body tensed up against his. 

And you’re so wet now, your slick drips down his jaw, mixed with his spit, “you’re all mine now, baby, can’t live without tasting you now—“ and he groans when your hips buck into his mouth again, feeling your walls twitch, “I know you’re close, Princess, tell me how good it feels,” 

“S’good, Toru, I can’t—“ you’re pulling at his soft white locks now, making him grunt, and you fall apart, back arching as you cum as all you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm. 

And you’re twitching under him as he sucks up every bit of your cum, “so fucking good for me,” he’s finally pulling himself from your messy pussy, “can’t wait to feel you around me, should’ve known you have a little princess cunt,” 

And he’s licking his lips and chin clean, as you watch him with half lidded eyes, still panting, as your eyes skim down his body, his jacket had been thrown aside at some point, but his now wrinkled shirt is only messily untucked from his dress pants, and disheveled was too good of a look on him, but you rather see those clothes on the floor of your bedroom, “you’re still annoyingly dressed,” you manage between breaths, still aching from his ministrations, “strip,” 

He’s raising an eyebrow, a wicked grin on his lips, “So demanding for someone who was moaning my name a second ago,” but you pull yourself up, supporting yourself on a shaky arm while you use the other to tug on his tie, smashing his lips to yours. 

You unfurl the very tie you tied, fingers flying to unbutton his shirt, “Made me feel so good, baby,” and now you were kneeling in front of him, your release slipping down your thighs, as you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, heated eyes raking over his bare chest, tongue running over your lips, “only fair if I repay the favor,” 

You’re undoing his belt for him, pulling it free from the loops, as your hand grazes his noticeable bulge in his suit pants, “surprised you haven’t ripped through,” you squeeze lightly, making his hips jerk, as he pouts all too cutely — and now you knew why he always teased you, “didn’t you tell me to have patience, love?” 

“Your husband is running low on that at the moment, never been one to be patient, sweetheart,” he’s gritting his teeth, as you slip his pants off leaving him only in boxers. 

Your eyes are glued to his erection, visible through the damp front of his boxers, wet with his precum, “so fuckin’ big, even better than I thought,” you say almost with reverence, and his lip quivers at the praise, a quiet groan leaving his throat. You raise an eyebrow, “like to be praised, baby boy?” 

And he swallows, adam's apple bobbing, sweat on his forehead from his treatment of you, but a red flush deepens on his skin, “Princess,” it’s half a warning and half a plea—and morphs into a whimper as your fingers tease the head of his cock through his boxers, rubbing his precum into the fabric, “f-fuck, s’good with those hands, sweetheart,” 

“Imagine how much better it’d be with your boxers out of the way,” you say leaning down and licking at the tip through the sticky fabric, as his head falls back with a soft moan, “can’t wait to feel this between my legs,” as you kiss the clothed tip, two fingers slipping in only to snap the waistband of the boxers against his skin, and he’s biting back a moan, a pout on his kiss ruined lips, “god, you’re so pretty,” 

Another noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Princess,” he hissed, as you finally spare him, pulling his boxers off, his erection slapping against his too fucking incredible abs — how was he so unfairly perfect? He was so gorgeous — more long than girthy, but he was so thick still, and flushed red with pearly pre-cum at the tip. Each vein and curve felt as if he was made for you. 

“All this for me, baby?” You tease, as his mouth opens and then closes as your fingers tease the head of his cock, a sharp inhale that keeps echoing in your ears, “all turned on from eating me out, huh?” You move close, nearly straddling him, but you don’t let your cunt brush against his cock — not yet. 

And his dick twitches in your hand, “Sweetheart,” he whimpers, eyes nearly glassy with need, “such a fucking tease,” 

And your lips curl, “Match made in heaven, baby,” you rub your thumb against his flushed tip, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft, “can’t wait to taste you, wonder if you taste as sweet as what you eat,” licking your lips, and he’s biting his lip, “tell me what you want, Toru,” 

“Y’know what I want, Princess,” he’s panting as you lean forward to kiss him, lips sliding against his, just as your palm starts to stroke him, his moan is nearly pornographic, words spilling from his mouth, “want your pretty pussy around my cock, sweetheart, plesse,” 

“Not so fast, baby,” you hum, your other hand moving to tease his balls, achingly full, judging by the gasp that left his throat, “wanna take my time with you, like you did with me, right?” And he breaks your kiss with a whine, “you feel so good in my hands, Toru, been thinking about this cock for too long,” and he’s grunting, lips parted as he pants, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“How good?” he mumbles, and you’re grinning even wider — the great Satoru Gojo fell to pieces with only your touch and some praise, his face beautifully flushed as you tug him by the back of his hair, thumb running over his undercut as you do. 

“So good that I wanna make you fall apart over and over until my name is the only thing on your lips,” you squeeze the base of his dick, making his hips jump, “gonna be a good boy for me and let me do it?” 

And he’s nodding, utterly fucked out even before you’ve even started. And you guide him to the end of the bed, as you get on your knees for him, his gaze darkening as he watches you lean down to press your lips to the tip of his weeping erection, making him groan your name. And you trace his slit with the tip of your tongue, tasting his salty release, “How long you gonna tease me baby? I’m being so good for you,” he’s whining, his baby blues fluttering with lust as he looks down at you, choking as he sees how his precum paints your lips, “please, fuck, just—“ 

And you finally guide his cock into your mouth, and he’s jerking at the sensation and groaning as he watches your pretty little mouth take his length — those same smart lips that always had a reply for everything, the ones he’d jerked off to the thought of this very situation — you on your knees for him, the ones he’d wanted around him for so long — it was too much. 

He almost blew his load all too fast, your warm mouth all too accommodating to his cock, as your wet walls and tongue swirl around him, tasting and sucking, your fingers grasping his thighs. And you bob up and down his length, the weight of his cock making the ache between your legs worse, and your eyes flicker up, and moan as you watch him. 

He’s so fucking gorgeous — panting and so fucked out, as his lips part for you, your name leaving his kissed red lips, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “Fuck, my little wife is so pretty on her knees,” as his hands settle on your head, watching you sink your mouth down on his cock, pleasure running up his spine, as his thick fingers dig into your scalp, “so nasty, baby, fuuuuck, gonna fuck your throat at this rate,” he groans, “how’d you get so good at this baby? Don’t answer that,” he adds, a growl in his words, and you almost giggle around his dick. 

“Learned so I could blow you, husband, after all, this mouth is yours,” you grin, and his lips curl too and then they part as he grunts, as you press teasing kisses along his length before sliding it back into your mouth, beginning to let the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag on him, making him moan, as he helps you deepthroat him, his hips thrusting against you lightly, his white pubes brushing against your face. 

And he’s moaning even louder, as he watches you, drool slipping down your chin as he fucks your mouth, tongue massaging him as he did, “Made just to fuck me, huh? Want my load that bad, Princess?” And his words have your eyes rolling back as he’s moving against you, his cock twitching telling you that he’s close, “shiiit, fuck, my wife’s a slut for me, gonna swallow my cum baby?” 

“Only for you,” you pull away a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick, smiling, before you slip him back into your too eager mouth, and you hollow your cheeks, the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, baby, can I cum in—“ and you make his tip brush your throat again as you suck, looking at him with half lidded, dilated eyes. And he spills into your mouth, hot cum down your throat, as he holds your head gently in place, “shit Princess,” his hips jumping at the sight of you, cum and spit slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pull his cock from you, “s’good for me,” 

He’s still panting, as you climb into his lap properly, his cock sliding against your cunt, making his face twist in pleasure, as you lick your mouth clean of him, wiping your chin, “Taste so good, Toru,” you hum, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, chest still heaving, as he leans back on shaky arms, “you may be my favorite meal, but I think I rather,” you grind on his lap teasingly dragging his tip against your messy cunt, “have you cum inside me,” 

And he gives a delicious gasp, “baby, too sensitive,” but you’re tilting his chin back as you meet his lips, both of you moaning as you taste yourselves on the other’s lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he’s chuckling, as he starts to grab your thighs, putting you properly into his lap, “you gonna ride me like a good little princess? Fuck yourself on my cock?” 

How does he have the upper hand when you’re the one on top? 

As you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and he’s sliding your body back and forth, his cock slapping and sliding against your wrecked cunt, so close to sinking in. His hand bears down on your ass, slapping it, before his fingers squeeze it, making you jump against him, your chest brushing against his, “you like that huh?” he’s grinning, as he kisses you again, his lips sliding against you, swallowing your moans eagerly, “what do you want, baby? Remember to say please,” he adds, and you want to roll your eyes, but his fingers rub your clit, and any protest you had fled your mind. 

“Please,” and you’re using your fingers to part yourself above him, making his eyes roll back, as you grasp his cock, teasing your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, “fuck me,” 

And you sink onto him, inch by inch, as your head looks back, your walls squeezing as he parted your folds, “You’re drenching me, sweetheart, fucking perfect princess cunt is gonna wring me dry,” he grunts, as his fingers splay over your hips, grasping but not pushing, letting you go at your pace, “s’good, might just have to fill you up, again and again,” and your pussy twitches at that thought drawing a laugh from him lips, “you want that? My wife wants to be full of my cum,” he’s groaning when you finally fit all of his cock in you, cunt clamping down on him, “trying to break my cock? Don’t have to go that far to keep me, I’m living in this sweet cunt from now on,” 

You’re a mess — whining and moaning, your chest bouncing as you begin to move against him,  “Toru, so full, s’good,” his own hips jumping against yours, a low growl in his throat, as his hands begin to guide your hips, snapping his own hips as he fucks you onto his own cock, reaching new depths, as your eyes squeeze shut, “fuckfuckfuuuck, Toru,” you’re babbling and moaning his name, again and again — and he just needs more. 

And he’s spanking you, hands coming down on your ass, as he grunts, your warm walls twitching and squeezing him, brushing against sweet spots that have both of you groaning, “such a fucking good girl, taking my cock — I know you can take more, baby, my perfect wife,” and he’s capturing your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing it before he sucks, his hips growing even faster, until his cock finds your special spot. 

“Toru, g’nna cum, I—“ And your orgasm hits you, head thrown back as your lips part in a silent scream, toes curling as you wrap your legs around his waist, and he’s fucking you right through — fucking relentless, almost limitless, with his pace, groaning as he watches his the base of his cock covered in your release, a pool of white that almost has him cumming then and there. 

“S’ fuckinh pretty, Princess, and all mine,” he says, as you moan, as he slows his pace, your face buried in his shoulder, as you come down from your high, and he’s tilting your head. 

But he isn’t done yet. 

In a moment, he’s pulling his cock out — a whine parting your mouth — as he manhandles you so that you’re flat on your back, your ankles thrown over his shoulders, and spread wide for him. You’re the picture of filth — lips in a kiss ruined pout, chest rising and falling as you gaze up at him with needy eyes, and your perfect cunt leaking and drenched for him — he could see everything — all of you, the way your cum slid down your hole, the way it clenched around nothing, the pretty pink insides he was desperate to make his.  

He licks his lips, “soaking my lap and sheets with your cum, baby, such a dirty girl,” and he’s spreading your lips, letting your release trickle out. 

“Satoru,” you whine as he runs a finger over your still twitching pussy, as if begging for his cock back, “please, too sensitive,”

“Please what, sweetheart? Because your cunt seems to disagree,” his chuckle is a deep noise that reverberates through his chest as he leans down to press your lips to yours in a languid kiss, “such a nerdy princess, imagine how’d your family would feel — seeing you beg for my cock, huh? Not the chaste little princess anymore? Nah, you’re my filthy baby,” and you’re whimpering, “tell me baby, I know you’re not nearly fucked dumb yet, you’re too smart for that,” he coos, a grin on his lips as he stares with that damn crystalline gaze.

And finally he’s sinking into you again, cock sliding back into your soaked cunt, “God, I love you,” he murmurs, as he’s somehow deeper inside you, pussy pressed against all of him, “so fucking perfect, baby, better than I imagined,” he’s pussydrunk now as he rails into you, and you’re grasping at him, the only sound in your ears is the squelch of him as he filled you again and again as his chest presses against yours, fucking you long and hard, “you’re all mine now, baby. My wife, my body, my love, my soul — all of it,” he growls his last words, grunting as his hips begin to stutter as he kisses your sweet spot again and again, “you want me to cum in this sweet princess pussy, baby? Wanna make me a daddy?” 

Your cunt twitches at that, and he laughs, “did you just get wetter, baby? Didn’t think you could do that,” 

But you’re only moaning, you’re so fuckin’ close but you want him to cum with you - wanna feel him sink into as he does. And so you’re meeting his lips in a searing kiss, his hips thrusting harder and longer, “give me your baby, Toru, breed me,” you whisper, words slurring as you pant and stutter, all sense had left your mind - and all you wanted was him. 

“Fuck, Princess,” he’s grunting as he pistons in and out of you, bed groaning under his thrusts,  until your walls clamp down again and again on him as you cum, throbbing and needy as you moan his name, back arching, “g’nna cum,” 

And he does, his cock hitting the deepest part of you as he does, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips continue to fuck it deeper into you, making you whimper, as he just keeps on cumming ropes, “oh, f-fuck, Princess,” he rasps as he kisses you, sloppy and wet, as he pants, watching your face come down him your high, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him, “so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he rubs his thumb down your lips. 

He pulls out slowly, groaning as he watches your mixed releases leak out of you, dragging the tip of his weeping erection down your cunt, a whine leaving your throat again, “So fucking filthy, baby,” he hums, a shiteating grin on his lips, as he collects his cum on his fingers, and pushes it back inside of you, as you jump, a small pout on your lips making him laugh, “gotta make good on my promise, baby,” and he’s kissing you silly again, “gotta get you pregnant and full for me,” 

His body is sticky with sweat, as he eases your aching legs down, as he kisses up your body, nosing your neck, “So perfect for me, Princess, I love you,” he says so earnestly that it makes you melt, as you pull him into a kiss, “suppose we consummated our marriage now, does this mean we get to have a honeymoon now?” he’s grinning, as you roll your eyes, “come on, don’t you want to travel?” 

And you laugh, “I don’t think we would even leave the hotel room if you had your way,” and he’s pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and dragging down, before kissing you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to taste you. 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” And your breath catches a moment, before you sigh, and he grins again, “so?” 

You roll over to grab your phone, kissing his lips, pulling up possible destinations, “where are we going?” 

“Satoru, we’re at the office, uhmph—“ Satoru’s kissing you even before the elevator doors shut, and you can’t help but not care if anyone saw either of you making out, his talented tongue stealing your logic from under you, before he’s pulling away, your lipstick nearly smeared all over his face. You bite back a laugh, before using your thumb to wipe away the evidence of your kiss, “we’ve been here less than a minute, and you’re already making a mess,” 

And his lips catch your thumb between them, kissing it sweetly, “What do I do better than make a mess of you, princess?” and he’s pressing sweet kisses to your fingertips, before you’re pulling him back for another kiss, right before you hear the elevator ding, and you scramble apart. 

Your cheeks flushed, as you stepped onto the floor of the newly merged company that was formerly your families’ individual companies, now united as one — just as you and Satoru were now — which was why he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. The two of you had come into the office to finalize the transition for your staff, each of you dealing with formalities on either side, but Satoru did little to help your focus on the process with his blatant stares and sneaky touches. 

Twice already he had pulled you into his office, only to have you either pressed against his door, or bent over his desk. And god, you sat in your office, biting your lip as you thought about paying him another visit — and fuck, this is what he wanted. 

You pull your phone out and text him: You suck. 

And his reply is instant. If I recall from last night, you’re the one who sucks ;) 

You’ve left me high and dry, Satoru, and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking you in the office. Especially with both of our parents around in meetings all day. 

He replies, Nah, that’s exactly why you should be thinking about it. 

And then another text. 

Imagine our parents walking in while you’re under my desk doing what you do best, you’d be quiet for me, Princess? Wouldn’t let us get caught when I fuck your pretty mouth? 

You’re biting your lip — Fucker, I hate you. 

Nah, you love me, a little too much, Princess. Another text — especially the way you were moaning my name last night. 

And there’s a knock at your door in that moment — “Come in,” you intone, and you were ninety-nine percent sure that was Satoru — ready to make good on his promise — and then white hair visible as the door swings open, “Father,” 

It was a Gojo, but not the one you expected — your father in law, instead of his son. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, lips curling in a smile that was all too the same as his son — but missing the same charm, the distinct softness that made you adore Satoru was not present in his father — nor was his father very present at all — except to chastise his son on how he thought his son should live his life. 

And he was interrupting — interrupting you about to sext his son and your husband from the confines of your office, but you only offered a smile, “Not at all, can I help you with something, Father?” 

He’s shutting the door behind him, before taking a seat across from you, “I just wanted to have a chat with you — it’s been so long since we’ve been able to see the two of you — we still haven’t had you over since you’ve returned from your honeymoon,” 

“It’s been very busy,” and it had been, but not too busy to see Satoru’s family. Since the launch party, you and Satoru had agreed to steer clear of his father for some time, until Satoru could develop some more healthy boundaries with him. And so you could get through a conversation without strangling him (although Satoru wasn’t opposed to seeing that), “with the merger and Satoru and I trying to spend time to get know each other again,” 

“Of course,” but his smile told you he was unconvinced, “I wanted to talk to you about something important, I’ve seen how close you and Satoru have gotten since the engagement and the wedding, and I was happy to see you pushing him in the right direction,” 

“”Pushing him?’” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. 

“With the merger, I haven’t seen him so focused, so determined, and I knew my suggestion to my wife to have you marry him was the right choice,” and you stare at him, mouth agape, as anger slowly melts from your stomach into every vein of his body, fingers curling into fists. 

“Excuse me?” 

He leans back in his chair, “When the idea of the merger was floated by me, I knew I wanted a condition to be your marriage to Satoru,” his eyes glance over the things on your desk — the stacked folders, the paperwork, and the pictures of your family and of Satoru, “you’re driven, you’re focused, you’re perfect — I knew you could change him, and I was right,” his lips curl, and you can’t hold your tongue anymore. 

“Maybe what your son needed was someone to support him,” your words are even, but your body is tense, “he needed someone not to scold him, to put him down, to whisper doubts in his ear when he needed help,” you rise from your chair slowly, “I respect you as my father-in-law and as my family’s old friend and co-owner of this company, but,” you glare at him, “no one insults my husband’s capabilities, and makes me takes credit for his achievements,” 

The old man’s teeth grit, and he opens to respond, when there’s a curt knock at the door, and Satoru enters, “Old man, how about you go chat with the other old farts in the room? Pretty sure you’re bleeding investors by the second the longer you talk with my wife,” he slides a small smile to you that tells you he heard everything. 

Satoru’s father shoots a glare at both of you, before leaving the room in a huff, door shutting behind him, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, “I’m sorry if I made things worse—” 

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against him, “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs into your ear, making you tense, “oh you like that, huh?” and you roll your eyes, laughing. 

“Even in a moment like this, huh?” you lean up and whisper in his ear, “I don’t just like it, I love it,” and it’s his turn to shiver, his cheeks burning, “you’re so cute,” you grin, before leaning up and kissing him. He melts into the kiss, his fingers cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, pulling your waist against his, and you feel his arousal pressed against your thigh. 

You pull away, tilting your head, you snort, “Already?” 

And he bites his lip, “Take some responsibility, baby, it’s your fault,” and he leans down and grazes your ear with his teeth, “not my fault my hot wife defended my honor and then decided to whisper sweet nothings in my ear,” 

You hum, guiding his lips to yours, your teeth graze over his bottom lip, “And how should I take responsibility, baby?” and he shudders, crystalline eyes glazed over with lust, “we’re in the office, not very professional,” his fingers unbutton your blouse, so he can lean down and kiss your collarbone. 

“I was never very professional to begin with,” he smirks, his teeth grazing over the soft skin, sucking and biting, making you gasp, “don’t be so loud, someone will hear us, what will they think?” he murmurs, with a grin against your skin, as he continues to undo your blouse, as he turns you around so your back is against your chest, he tilts your head to look at your door, “look it’s unlocked, anyone could walk in,” and his fingers sneak down the front of your skirt, fingers teasing your panties, “fuuuck, princess, you’re soaked through — are you more turned on by the idea of getting caught?” and you whimper, only making him grin wickedly against your neck, “my filthy girl, imagine your father walking in, seeing your husband’s fingers down your skirt, legs spread wide like a slut,” 

“Satoru,” you’re biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised it would bleed, your knees buckling, as his fingers part your dripping folds, “we can’t—” 

“We can,” he shushes you, guiding your lips to his, fingers cupping your throat, but he leans back to get confirmation that you were okay, and you lean in again to kiss him, “such a good girl,” You whimper, and he laughs, “gotta break in the new office don’t we?”

And his fingers slip your panties aside, two fingers parting your folds, and you gasp, as he stuffs two fingers into your mouth as well, “Not so loud, Princess, can’t give the office gossip mill something really juicy, now can we?” And his digits start to really fuck you, in and out, the wet squelch ringing in your ears, as his fingers bully and stretch your walls, until they find what they are looking for — your g-spot. 

You fall apart, but it’s gushing all over his hand, soaking his hand, as your hand grasps at the fingers in his mouth trying to stifle your noises, “Fuck, Princess, did you just squirt for me?” He’s grinning, “such a sloppy little Princess, look you’re staining the carpet with your cum,” he guides your head to look, seeing the spot on the carpet, as you lean against him, “gotta do this again,” 

He kisses you as you moan. Tangled limbs and eager touches, as you guide him over to the desk, as you settle him into the chair, lips still parting as your tongue slips in, “Your turn,” and before he can even react, you’re slipping down to your knees, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, slipping his aching dick out, nearly slapping your face with it, you drag it along your lips, “Like you said, I’m the one who sucks right?” you wink, before you finally lick the length of his cock, tracing the veins to the slit, “you always taste so good, Toru,” and he’s hissing now. 

“Fuck, baby, you always so pretty on your knees for me,” and you have to disagree — he’s the one who looks pretty — shirt disheveled, chest rising and falling far too fast, as he looked down at you with his snowy white eyelashes half lidded with a lust ridden gaze — “your pretty mouth is s’fucking perfect, can’t wait to cum down that lovely throat,” he hisses, as his fingers dig into your scalp, urging his cock deeper, his tip brushing against your throat, making you gag. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, but you only shake your head, as you do it again, making his hips buck against you, tip hitting your throat again, his composure quickly falling to shreds, as he’s fucking your throat now, biting his lip so hard to keep his groans in, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding afterwards. 

“I-I’m close,” he’s gritting his teeth, but you only redouble your efforts, “so fuckin’ perfect, made to suck this dick—” 

And that’s when there’s a knock on the door, making you both freeze. You panic silently — before Satoru is shepherding you under your desk, while he adjusts himself, scooting your chair in more, so his weeping cock is hidden along with you. 

“Come in,” Satoru says, as even toned as someone who was just fucking their wife’s throat can manage, “Dad—what a nice surprise,” 

And you cover your mouth — fuck it was your dad — Satoru called his dad, “old man” — what the fuck. 

“I should be saying that to you son,” you bite your lip, listening to their conversation, “where’s my daughter? And why are you in her office?” and you covered your mouth, shit — you were hiding under your own desk, while Satoru sat in your chair. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

“I was just waiting for her to come back with lunch,” he manages, and you can almost see the dependable smile on his lips, “she volunteered to get us lunch and she told me to wait here so we could eat together,”

Your father was seemingly convinced after that, but to both of your dismay, sat down to speak with Satoru about business matters. You crouched, utterly bored as you listened to them talk, his erection beginning to wane, and you got an idea in your pretty little head — you grinned — well, Satoru should be careful what he wishes for, or he might just get you blowing him in front of your father. 

You start slow — teasing the head with a brush of your fingers, easily could have been an accident, but it nearly makes him jump, as he gives a warning nudge with his foot gently. But then your hand begins to rub him in earnest, fingers using your spit as lube, as you heard your husband stammer over his words to your father. But it was nothing compared to when you closed your mouth over his cock, and began to deepthroat him again. 

“Satoru, are you okay?’ you hear your father ask, as you discreetly suck your husband’s cock under his desk, and you can only imagine the delightful shade of red your Toru is turning. 

“Sorry, I’m not feeling like myself,” he mumbles, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to moan, and you can feel his thighs tense as he forces himself not to fuck your mouth as he wants to right now. He’s so close — as much as you like the idea of getting caught, you think Satoru likes it as much or maybe even more — his cock is twitching in your mouth as you suck and swirl your tongue around it, as your fingers dig into your thighs, “I apologize, I’m getting a call. Could you excuse me?” 

And your father is oblivious, and excuses himself from the room, door shutting behind him, and Satoru groans, “Fuck, princess, you almost made me cum in front of your dad in this nasty fucking mouth,” and you suck harder, fingers fondling his balls, as his fingers find your locks again, and his hips jerk into your mouth, his white pubes tickling your nose, “thaaat’s it, fuck, so fuckin’ good, i’m close, sweetheart,” he groans, “you want me to cum—“ and you bury his cock deeper into your mouth as an answer, your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, until he cums down your throat. 

You meet his half lidded gaze, swallowing his cum, as you ease off his cock, a mix of cum and saliva connected your lips, “You taste so good,” you lick your lips, as you push the chair a little back and climb out, as you tug his boxers and pants back up, tucking his cock back in, “my favorite treat,” 

He smiles, chest still rising and falling fast, “I love you, princess,” so genuinely as he pulls you into a deep kiss. 

You giggle, humming against his lips, “So heartfelt after getting your soul sucked out of your dick,” you glance at the door, “do you think anyone heard us?” 

He shrugs, as he pulls you into his lap, “I hope they did,” he grins against your neck, as you roll your eyes. 

“You’re terrible,” and his lips curl. 

“And you love me,” you kiss those same lips you would each day. 

“I do.”

~~~~

“What do you wanna do today?” Satoru asks, your legs thrown over his lap, as you read a book you had picked up the other day out on a date with him, and he eats the kikufuku he had insisted on picking up the same day. 

“Hmm, I have some ideas,” you hum, hiding your smile with a book, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning. 

“And what’s that, Princess?” he leans forward, plucking the book from your fingers, as you tut at his sugar covered fingers, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your husband?” And his lips brush against your neck, nose brushing against the soft skin of your nape, inhaling your scent. 

“Well I have a surprise for you,” you weren’t planning on giving it to him now, but you pulled a wrapped box from behind the couch cushions, “should I make you wait?” 

He’s reaching for the box already, as you laugh, and he’s snatching it from your fingers before you can tease him, “can I open it?” He was so eager, as always. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips. 

He lifts the lid of the wrapped box off, and the first thing his eyes flit across is the word “positive.” 

His mouth parts, as he stares at the pregnancy test carefully nestled into the box, “is this—“ his cerulean eyes meet yours, a soft gaze with wonder, “are we—“ 

“We’re having a baby, Toru,” you nod, and he’s sweeping you into his arms, as you squeak, his body sweeping you up in his, as he buries his face in your neck, “Toru—“ 

“Is this real?” He murmurs, into your skin, all soft words and soft kisses, “I feel like I’m dreaming,” 

“Well I am your dream girl, so maybe don’t be surprised when I pinch you and you wake up,” you pinch his cheek lightly, making his pale skin cutely flushed, pink dusting his cheeks, “no dream here, all real — so I guess you’re just lucky,” 

“The luckiest,” he hums, a quiet noise that soothes you, “a beautiful wife, and now,” his fingers graze over your stomach, before lifting the hem of your shirt, to press his lips to it, “and now we’re going to be a family,”

Your lips curl, tilting his chin up so his watery gaze meets your own, thumb rubbing the length of his cheek, “We already were a family,

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I thought we were mortal enemies,” and you laugh, before shrugging. 

“That too,” and he pulls you into his lap, smiling, “but you’re actually pretty cute,” 

He gasps mockingly, “Princess, do you have a crush on me? A mere commoner?” 

You roll your eyes, pressing a languid kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of the kikufuku, “I hate you,” you say, when he knows you mean quite the opposite. 

And he only smiles the same way he always did — and the same way he always would — “love you too, Princess."

✩ a/n: so this was also inspired by a character AI made by @/fairybaby that has been living in my mind rent free for far too long. thank you to @/laneymusings for being the best emotional support from writing to formatting to everything in between

✩ tag list: @ryliobrow, @getosho3cakes, @delaneyyyy, @soukokufan, @purplscnerie, @solarlunarsstuff, @growingupnrealizing, @forest-fruits-jam, @achipstea1ingseagull, @fruitscall, @starplasma-cujoh, @crashing-a-jeep, @mwah-chia, @vorschlaghannah, @xrysakts, @emonaculate

[lyrefromthesea]

Hello 💙 Please could I request hashira x hashira!reader where the hashira find out their rival/friend hashira is also secretly pining for the reader 💙💙

Male hashira x reader - Love is a game and I'll win.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none, reader is completely clueless of their feelings towards them

Tengen and Obanai:

who would've thought that polar opposites could fall in love with the same person? certainly not them.

it should've went well. he should've been able to talk to you, slowly make you feel comfortable around him, make your feelings change until you fall for him too.

however, when Tengen wanted to go see the fireworks with you, you had declined, saying that Obanai had already invited you.

and when Obanai asked you to go eat with him on another day, you had declined, saying Tengen had already invited you.

it was clear that you weren't at fault, so they weren't mad at you. but at each other? how come you nearly always had something to do with his seemingly biggest rival?

today had probably been their worst encounter yet. you sat under a tree, enjoying the wind carry the scent of sweet flowers. that's when Tengen came.

"hey, beautiful! have you ever thought of-" he stopped before he could finish, looking past you when he finally reached the tree you were under.

he hadn't seen from far away, but Obanai was sitting right next to you, now glancing up at the other man.

"yes, Uzui?" you asked, wondering what he wanted to say. he eventually started talking again, realizing that this could be a great moment to teach Obanai who held more of your affection.

"i was wondering if you'd like to visit the new onsen with me?" he continued, only for Obanai to clear his throat and steal your attention.

"actually, i wanted to invite you visit the onsen with me." Obanai countered. you looked at the two man, who seemingly carried some tension between them.

"how about we all go together?" you asked.

long story short, you could only book a bath for one person, forcing everyone to go to separate areas. both of them should've payed more attention, but hey, at least you enjoyed it.

Gyomei and Rengoku:

"excuse me, i'll go get some more tea. if i knew they both of you would come today, i would've surely made more." you laughed, standing up and leaving Gyomei and Rengoku alone.

the silence between them felt thick, heavy with the truth they'd put together.

Rengoku noticed the way Gyomei smiled at you, thanking you as he got another cup of tea. Gyomei picked up on the slight difference in Rengoku's tone that seemingly only a blind man could notice.

"Himejima, do not understand me wrong with this, but could it be.." the male with the vibrant hair stopped, glancing at the other for a moment. "do you like [name]?"

Gyomei went silent, slowly rubbing the beads in his hand, as if he was pondering on an answer. he put them down when he came to a decision.

"i ought to believe that we share the same feelings." he answered, waiting for the other's answer. Rengoku nodded, eventually answering with a small "yes".

both of them knew how problematic this situation could turn out to be. what if you chose the other one? or worse, what if you chose neither of them?

in the end, they couldn't decide who you'd fall in love with, nor did they think they could decide for you.

a silent nod on both sides ensured their agreement. they wouldn't interfere with the other's attempts to grow close to you, but they'd do their best to win you over.

may the best win.

Sanemi and Giyuu:

what the hell? what the absolute hell?

did he just see Tomioka smile at you, giving you the sweets everybody knew you loved. Sanemi gritted his teeth in anger, he wasn't a blind man.

every person with eyes in their head could see that Giyuu had taken a liking to you - the hashira Sanemi came to love and appreciate.

slamming his hand against the wall, Sanemi trapped Giyuu right in front of him. "what the hell do you think you're doing, Tomioka?"

"what do you mean?" he asked, blue eyes narrowing at the way Sanemi spat his words out. it wasn't hard to guess that the male was mad. again.

"do you think we're stupid? you just handed over [name]'s favourite food." he said - accused him. Giyuu thought for a moment, staring at Sanemi.

"i'm.. are you.." Giyuu's mouth went dry, glancing at Sanemi once more. "do you like [name]?"

Sanemi's eyes widened a fraction, his gaze hardening after a moment. "who cares?"

"you're acting all high and mighty and yet here you are, trying to become [name]'s loyal lap dog, Tomioka."

Giyuu put on a colder facade in return, his eyes growing hard and icy. "i envy you for believing this would solve your problems. perhaps [name] would talk to you some more if you'd grow some guts, Shinazugawa."

Sanemi's hand flew up and grabbed Giyuu's collar, face coming closer in a threatening manner. "why you-"

he stopped talking when he saw the other man's eyes widen, but he wasn't looking at Sanemi. Sanemi turned around, his own eyes widening in disbelief when he saw you standing there.

your cheeks were flushed, hand covering your mouth. "i.. i didn't mean to disturb the two of you. i'll go, sorry!"

it was clear that you couldn't have heard them, otherwise Giyuu would've seen you earlier. this lead the two of them with only one possible outcome: you had only seen the compromising position they were in, bodies nearly pressed together.

they watched you run away, disappearing behind the next corner. Sanemi let go of Giyuu, not taking his eyes off the place you had just stood in.

great, now they had a ton of explaining to do, otherwise neither of them would be able to grow close to you.

[yanderefarm]

Can I request Emil catching one of his maids flirting with us

yandere king emil

cw;; violence, stalking, yandere stuff, manipulation

im gonna post this bc i don't think its bad per-say but i don't know if it fits exactly what you wanted. if you're not satisfied feel free to send your request again!!

i don't really imagine this as the reader being oblivious but more like looking past all the obvious red flags because they thought they had a friend who could understand them better than the other people around them including emil.

also im a whore for rofan manhwa bullshit. please check off "cartoonishly evil maid/noble woman minor love rival" on your bingo cards.

usually emil wouldn't feel threatened by the lower class, obviously you wouldn't be interested in them. except you are.

he notices it first when she comes into your shared bedroom in the morning. she's not the usual maid and the way she goes about pouring the morning tea is atrocious, probably because her eyes are glued to your half dressed body. you smile at her and thank her even though she spilled some of your tea with her gawking. when emil mentions dismissing her for her unacceptable behavior you just brush it off saying she was just nervous.

apparently that day the normal maid was sick. and she's still sick a week later. you're currently in the garden trying your hand at some embroidery but you're not very good at it. emil watches from his office window as that maid comes up and offers to help you. you are too excited to accept her help, can't you see she just wants something from you? he finds himself hoping she accidentally pricks you with the needle so he can have a good excuse to kill her. she didn't.

then there's the bath incident. usually he likes taking baths together but you wanted to be alone. that would be fine if he hadn't just watched that annoying maid slip into the bath room. he finds himself following her. the bath room is full of steam as you soak in the hot water making it hard for emil to see anything exactly. but he'd recognize your relaxed form anywhere. the maid steps through the thick steam and asks if you want her to apply some new oils to your hair. its something she found at a market and its supposed to be relaxing lavender. its technically her job to do these tasks so emil can only watch in frustrated silence as she gets to run her fingers through your hair. you smell like her for the rest of the night and god it makes him angry.

every time he sees you with her his stomach twists in anger. he can't be angry with you, you're a kind person and you've proven it time and time again. but this maid. she doesn't deserve your kindness, she doesn't deserve to gently touch your arm, she doesn't deserve to laugh with you. he's asked you what you think of her and you tell him it's so nice to have a friend and how apparently she was born in your home kingdom before moving here. it makes him want to kill her even more. but he holds back because you're just so happy.

finally she goes too far. you're outside excitedly talking to her about a new book you read. you showed him that one too but he didn't share your excitement for the story. not like she was. he wanted to run over there, to run her through with his sword. but he couldn't stop it. he watched helplessly as she touched your arm again and with a blushing face she shyly confessed her feelings. he watched her try to kiss you. he watched the way your face changed from shock to horror. your eyes darted around until they landed on him, you always knew he was nearby if you needed him.

apparently she'd lied about being from your home country to get closer to you. apparently she'd learned your native tongue at another job and used it to manipulate you. apparently she heard a rumor that you would take concubines and she saw it as her chance to climb the ranks. emil was standing behind her, his blade through her chest and his eyes dark with anger. you stood there with tears in your eyes looking at him with so much hurt.

emil isn't lenient with maids that flirt with you anymore. they get a warning from the head maid and if they continue the behavior then emil reserves the right to punish as he sees fit. its not always violent, sometimes he just sentences them to jail for 10 years.

[katszumi]

silence immersed the room as the door clicked shut behind you. the ticking clock a reminder of how little time you have.

“you’re such an asshole, you know that?” you spewed to the male in front of you, your features displaying a look of anger.

katsuki rolled his eyes. “well, it’s not like i get called a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. what else did you honestly expect?” he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a seat atop of the long metal table.

“not much, yet you still seem to subceed my expectations.”

“subceed? seriously?” katsuki paused to let a scoff escape his lips. “you’re upset because i’m actually selling this story? the only one, might i add. this was your shitty grand idea!”

unknowingly, you took a step forward.

“the idea was to make it known we disliked each other. not for you to publicly shame and insult me!”

you, katsuki and a few other heroes were invited to attend a press conference. while the original topic was to discuss about the mission you all completed the day before, the topic began to stray away and focus on the relationship between you and katsuki.

japan knows of the hatred you and katsuki shared between each other, that was no unknown fact. the media described you two as fiery rivals considering both of your quirks contained fuel.

you two despised each other. or at least that’s the lie you fooled everyone with.

you were unsure when katsuki started to look appealing to the eye, how attractive he was when he was drowned in sweat, how you began to long for the small but noticeable glances he sent you in public. you couldn’t tell when it happened. but before you knew it, a small pool of desire that had katsuki’s name printed on it began to fill every minute of the day.

“which is no different than what we used to do. you want them to believe it? then don’t take my shit. suck it up and be a bigger asshole than i already am.” he was right. you know he was right. but it was so difficult to pretend as if you hated him.

even if you called him a bitch, or a cunt, maybe even call him out for having a small dick—which you know is far from the truth—that still wouldn’t deny the peace you felt whenever you were with katsuki. how the world seemed to stop still on its axis. how there were no rain, wind or time. just pure bliss.

fuck.

out of everyone, it just had to be him? his captivating, intense ruby irises. his brash, abrasive demeanor. only his words that could seem to sway you. the man the world deemed you to abhor.

instead of admitting the truth, you twist his words. “well, i’m pleased to know it’s so easy for you to do.”

“jesus fuck, y/n.” now, katsuki rose from his position, never once breaking eye contact with you. “you think this is easy for me? you think i like getting up there and lying through my teeth? doing this is the one of the hardest things i’ve ever done.”

he walks closer and even closer to you, minimizing the distance you established for good reasons. this is how it always happens; one of you forgets about the space you two have to maintain until words don’t seem to work anymore. instead, your lips weave together, forming a new way to communicate.

but you don’t move. you don’t want to.

“is it? all those insults feels like it comes pretty smooth to you.”

katsuki pauses as he takes a second to analyze you. his eyes scan your body then leading right up to your face.

“because those are the words i wish i could mean. every time, it burns me to say those things about you when i’d rather be up there claiming every single part about you.” he lowered to a whisper, but his voice maintained a fervent tone.

his hand raises, slow and steady. he cups your cheek, gently swiping his thumb across your cheek. instinctively, you lean into his palm, your eyes softening as you gaze into his eyes.

“you think i enjoy this?” you watch his jaw tighten, his hand dropping to your hip. “think i like watching you talk with those eager men? it takes everything in me to not beat them shitless for daring to come across you. do you know how hard it is to fight the urge to pull you in and show them that you’re not available?”

too captivated by his words, you didn’t notice how katsuki lowered his head. you could feel the heat of his body from how he gave you no room to breathe. he placed his lips on your soft skin, slowly kissing the side of your neck.

no. resist him. your mind was screaming. this couldn’t go on forever. at some point, you guys had to stop.

“what will make them back off? if i mark you up? think they’ll understand then?” he proposed the question, but to you, it seemed more like he was asking for permission.

you didn’t know what effect katsuki placed on you to have you like this. but in this moment, you didn’t care about the rumors, the consequences, your image. it was all pushed back in the back of your head. so, you slightly tilted your head upwards, giving him more leeway to continue.

katsuki gripped your hips. not too strong to leave a mark but strong enough to squeeze a small moan out of you.

“don’t you fuckin’ understand, y/n?” he leans away to look in your eye.

“what?” you meekly responded.

“i go insane when it comes to you. i’m not the kind of guy that drools over any woman’s attention. but, you… fuck.” he stops himself, from what you can only assume was to control himself with whatever he was about to say. “not being able to have you only makes me crave you more.”

you stay quiet.

“you know how many times i’ve tried to resist you?”

“how many?” finally, you spoke.

“too many fuckin’ times. i’m done fighting it, y/n.”

confusion struck your face. “what do you mean?”

“be mine. forget the press, forget our pr managers. be with me.” katsuki brings you closer with the hand placed on your hip, the action drawing you to one conclusion.

he leans in and interlocks his lips with yours. immediately, you drown in the feeling of his soft but chapped lips that you couldn’t seem to push away. somehow, you find the strength to pull back from him.

“not here. not in pub-”

“yes here.”

with his tone, you could mistake him to be aggressive in this moment. but over the months, you managed to be able to read his eyes from the forbidden glances he’s sent your way; how he really felt through the way he wore his eyes.

katsuki’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his soft ruby eyes shifted from your lips to your e/c irises.

there was a look behind his eyes. there were more watchful, more tender than usual. almost as if he was pleading with his eyes. like he was begging.

so, how could you say no to him in this state? him being so vulnerable with you?

but that was always the problem.

you could never say no to katsuki bakugou, no matter what.

your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him in with your eyes. he inclined his head and laid his lips on your mouth. the silence that did wrap the room ten minutes ago was replaced with the noise of sloppy kisses, your mouths powering over each other.

you can feel your heart rate increase from the action, even more noticeably so when he entangles a fist in the back of your shirt. he needs you closer, maybe within his skin if possible.

following his action, you guide your fingers through his ash blonde strands, sending a shiver down his spine. he nibbles on the bottom of your lip, pulling it just slightly.

“we really shouldn’t be doing this.” your murmur, yet his ears catches it. “this would be the hottest topic for the media.”

a snicker parted his lips. “we just can’t be caught. but the day you stop being scared, i’m ready.” his words vague and simple, yet still holding so much promise.

“i hate you.”

and you did. you hated that he was too enticing. too irresistible.

“thought it was hard for you to say things you don’t mean?” he referred from earlier. of course, that was just like him. the same him you mistakenly fell for.

“just shut up.” was all you replied with before leaning back in to connect his lips with yours, choosing to help him with your statement.

this was supposed to be like a forbidden love trope but i think i just revealed how thirsty i am😔

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanon

The Crew Found Your "Emergency Snacks"

Captain Curly

Received a month’s worth of scolding, probably set a new record, until you broke out the puppy eyes. The man folded like a lawn chair

Your ego kinda hurt, tho

Confiscated the stash for “safety purposes,” of course

But later, as you were searching for him, you heard that unmistakable crinkle

Turning the corner, you locked eyes with Curly mid-sweetener-binge, guilt written all over his face

You? Yeah, if murder was a look, it'd be yours. His spine shivered, rethinking how you rivalled his mama's look

"Look, I can expla--"

"Wow, cap, just wow"

Let’s just say… compromises were made that day to keep his “responsible captain” reputation intact

Co-pilot Jimmy

Stoic. Cold. Unforgiving. That’s all you saw in Jimmy’s eyes when he caught you

When you asked for him to keep his mouth shut, the co-pilot tilted his head, unimpressed

“Please don’t tell Curly!”

“Beg.”

“Wh—what?”

The audacity to turn his back on you and started walking away

“You had your chance.”

Next thing you knew, you were on your knees, clutching his pant leg like your life depended on it

“Please, Jimmy! Please, please!”

“Captain.”

“Wha—?”

“Say please, Captain.”

You left with your dignity in tatters, but hey, at least the stash was safe

Silently questioned his mental stability after that

Mechanic Swansea

You expected a lecture when he caught you: bulky, log-like arms crossed, face unreadable

Disappointed? Angry? Thinking about dinner? Who knows

You know you only had one way out:

“I’ll share.”

“Deal.”

Seemed easy enough until dinner rolled around, and Swansea casually claimed your entire portion of food

You tried to stand your ground, sticking your tongue out like a defiant kid, but he just smirked

“Cap, about that stock that disappeared last mont—”

He didn’t even finish before you scraped your plate into his. His smirk got bigger

“Easy there, Y/N. Dint know yer so eager to feed an old dog like me.”

Nurse Anya

Caught you mid-sneak with a mouthful of granola. Lucky for you, she’s a nurse. Unlucky for you, she had to Heimlich the oats out of your throat

You coughed up half a granola bar, wheezing your thanks while she doubled over laughing

“You can thank me with some of that stash,” she teased

You were so mortified that you actually stopped hoarding snacks… for about a week. After that, you couldn’t even look her in the eye without turning red

One dinner, the meal was oats. You looked like death warmed over just sitting there, your bowl untouched

Curly frowned. “You okay, Y/N?”

Anya, with the save: “Oh, Cap. Y/N has an oat allergy.”

You gave her a grateful smile. She winked. Meanwhile, Daisuke inhaled your bowl. Unfazed cause his second bowl is a gift

Intern Daisuke

The deal was simple: split the stash 50-50. But Daisuke never knew about your extra stash

When he found out? Heart. Shattered. The man had literal tears in his eyes

“Y/N, how could you?”

He stormed off like the lead in a romcom breakup scene, leaving you grumbling to yourself. But guilt eventually got you, and you chased him down

He whipped around so fast it was like a soap opera in real-time: one hand clutching his (Hawaiian-shirt) heart, the other thrown over his forehead like he was aboutta faint

“Dai, I’m sorry!”

“Words can’t heal this wound.”

“Fine, 75% of next week’s stash is yours.”

“…Aight, cool.”

All of this happened while the entire crew watched from the sidelines, legit done with both your antics (except a certain giggling nurse, who was very entertained)

Swandad claimed 10% of the share after his intern accidentally got caught. Y'all had another breakup scene, this time with you starring it

a/n: happy new year to y'all! hoping for this year to be kind to us ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

[hemmingsleclerc]

Welcome Back ┃Sebastian Vettel

Pairing: sebastianvettel x wife!

summary: sebastian and his wife give a surprise visit to the drivers

The sun was setting over the prestigious circuit, casting a warm golden glow over the bustling F1 paddock. The air was filled with the heady aroma of fuel and excitement, as fans and teams prepared for the next race. Unbeknownst to the drivers, a surprise awaited them in the form of a familiar face.

Sebastian Vettel, four-time Formula 1 world champion, was near the paddock entrance with his wife Y/N. After a brief hiatus, they returned to the racing world, not as competitors, but as spectators and supporters. As they walked through the meadow, whispers of excitement and surprise followed them.

Sebastian and Y/N decided to visit the drivers, many of whom had considered Vettel as a role model and mentor throughout their careers, and Y/N as a second mother, having always been there for them since their beginnings. Their first stop was the Scuderia Ferrari garage, where Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz were engrossed in pre-race conversations with their engineers.

The moment they entered, the atmosphere changed. Leclerc and Sainz turned to see the iconic duo standing there with warm smiles. The garage buzzed with excitement as the younger drivers embraced Sebastian like a long-lost friend and Y/N, with her gentle lover, radiated warmth, making the meadow feel like a homecoming.

"It's amazing to have you both here," Charles exclaimed, his eyes shining with admiration. "We've missed having both around!"

Carlos nodded in agreement, "Yeah, it's like having our racing parents back. How's life outside the cockpit treating you?"

Sebastian chuckled, "It's different, but we're enjoying the change. And we couldn't resist coming back to witness the thrill of F1 and catch up with all of you."

The surprise visit continued as the couple toured the paddock. Each meeting was marked by genuine enthusiasm and candid conversations. Max Verstappen, who upon seeing them from afar, ran towards them and hugged them tightly, excited to tell them all of his achievements that he had managed to achieve thanks to their help and support. Lando Norris, who almost fainted from excitement when he saw them in front of him, grabbed them both by the arms and took them to the McLaren garage, eager to introduce them to his new partner, Oscar, and the other drivers enthusiastically shared stories of their trips in the mountains. races and asked the experienced couple for advice.

As Sebastian and Y/N approached Lewis Hamilton's Mercedes garage, the air was filled with anticipation. Hamilton, Y/N's old friend, rival and former teammate, greeted them both with a warm hug along with a big smile on his face.

"Seb, Y/N, it's been too long!" Hamilton exclaimed. "This paddock hasn't been the same without you. We need your wisdom and humor back in the game."

Sebastian grinned, "Well, we're here to bring some of that back, at least for today. But remember, you're doing just fine without us. Keep pushing, and the wins will come."

''It's good to see that I left the Mercedes seat in good hands, George has been fantastic in this new season!'' Y/N exclaimed with a touch of emotion and nostalgia when remembering the boy's first season.

The surprise visit of the Vettel's became the highlight of the racing weekend. The drivers, in the midst of their high-risk world, appreciated the moments with them and the peace of mind of knowing that even if they were no longer there every race weekend, they would always be with them. As the day of the race went on, the echoes of their visit persisted, inspiring the drivers to try harder, not only for victory, but also to make their grid parents proud, who watched them grow up, gave them advices, helped them get up when people started to turn their backs on them, who told them to never give up their dream, and who had given them a new meaning of ''family''.

[cottonlemonade]

First Kiss

word count: 2292 || avg. reading time: 10 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Ushijima x chubby manager!Reader (feat. Jackals and Adlers)

genre: fluff with spice

warnings: lots of spoilers, mdni

request: medium papaya lemonade with a slice of starfruit for Ushijima || fluffy-spicy first kiss with Ushijima, as manager

Ushijima knew he was in trouble when Hinata proudly sent him a message with a picture attached, bragging about MSBY’s new manager. In the team photo, you were hard to overlook, being much much shorter than most of the players (even Hinata) and flanked by a beaming Bokuto and a smugly grinning Atsumu, both having a hand slung over your shoulder. The official Black Jackals jacket was half-zipped on your rounded hips, and with an excited smile on your face, you held up a glossy team banner announcing a new social media hashtag. Mindlessly typing, Ushijima somehow landed on the team’s page and scrolled through the posts. The jackals certainly looked like worthy opponents - and unserious goofballs - but his snooping stopped at a short clip with the new assistant manager. He pressed play.

You were introducing yourself in charmingly accented Japanese, laughing whenever Bokuto, who was obviously the one filming, gave you a thumbs up after every sentence. With a little difficulty, you told the invisible audience to look forward to the next game. At the end of the video, the camera turned and Bokuto‘s grin filled the screen, calling in that booming voice of his how great their team was especially with their new addition. Ushijima couldn‘t disagree. The concept of falling at first sight, especially for someone he had never met before was absurd, but he couldn‘t stop staring at you. He played the clip a few more times, completely enamored by your voice and laughter. Rolling over in his bed so he lay on his stomach, Ushijima opened the chat with his old rival back up.

Hinata Shouyou, I have a proposition.

“Just like old times, hey?!“, Bokuto slapped Kageyama hard on the shoulder. The setter rolled his neck but nodded politely. It had taken little to no persuasion to invite the MSBY team to a long weekend of friendly training matches in Tokyo. Ushijima bowed when he saw Hinata jump out of the large taxi, shoulders significantly broadened, freckle-faced from his time in Brazil playing for hours in the sun, and just as excited as ever.

“Ushijima-san.“, he grinned and bowed deeply, “I look forward to winning against you - again.“

The former captain graced him with a small smile and was about to launch into a short speech he prepared when you wiggled out of your seat and stepped onto the asphalt. He had a clear view over Hinata‘s head and didn‘t hide his blatant staring in the slightest. The camera didn‘t do you justice, he thought. You were even lovelier in person.

You called the team to order and they all assembled into a neat row Ushijima wouldn‘t have expected them to be capable of. The coaches both went to greet each other like old friends and you stepped forward with a large box in hand that looked heavy. You held it out with a smile, thanking them for the invitation and Ushijima cut into Hirugami‘s way to accept the gift.

His captain eyed him for a moment, then smirked knowingly and welcomed you before leading everyone inside.

“That‘s an awful lot of staring you‘re doing.“, Hoshiumi plopped down on the bench next to him, taking a few deep gulps from his water bottle.

“What?“

“Yeah, why don‘t you go talk to her?“, Hirugami joined him on his other side, retying his shoes.

“We‘re in the middle of a game.“, Ushijima noted and Hoshiumi shared a look with the captain. Obviously, neither of them had expected that he would so readily admit to his crush.

Apart from that one time when Ushijima was too busy watching you take notes for analysis and let Bokuto serve an ace right next to him, the match went off without further incidents.

Afterward, the teams went out for dinner and he listened to a long discussion between you and Hinata about your favorite movies. Ushijima was grateful when the wing spiker invited him into the conversation. He kept talking to you long after the majority of the others became sleepy from good food and drink. As you excused yourself to the bathroom, Atsumu took your spot across from him, leaned over the table with long steepled fingers, and said conspiratorially, “Little birdie told me, yer crushin‘ hard on our new manager.“

“Are you referring to Hoshiumi this way because his old school‘s mascot is a seagull?“, Ushijima asked genuinely.

Atsumu shook his head, taken aback by this unforeseen display of logic.

“I- no… no! Yer not being very sleek about it.“, the opposing setter‘s cockiness returned, “It was real easy to figure out.“

“After Hinata told you.“, Bokuto added, turning a neighboring chair 180 degrees and resting his arms on the back.

“Bokkun! I was havin‘ a moment here.“

“Sorry. - So, are you gonna ask her out? She isn‘t seeing anyone. I asked.“

Ushijima blinked.

When they met for the next day’s training, Ushijima should have known the others were up to something when they kept dragging you over to him for no apparent reason other than to brag about his accomplishments.

“Did you know he is one of the top 5 aces in the country?”

“He’s left-handed. Diddya notice? Makes him extra dangerous.”

“Do you remember the allrounder setter we told you about? The one who was so good he went to play for Argentina right out of high school? Yeah. He never managed to beat Ushijima.”

“He is so tall, he is like 1.90m! Y/n, look!”

You frowned as Hinata did a little jump to show their height difference.

Despite having gotten used to your team’s antics very quickly, this was a new peak of weirdness. You wished desperately for them to simmer down. At this rate, they’d make it too obvious how much you were crushing on their stoic opponent. Ever since you’d seen him play for the first time in his debut game for the Adlers you couldn’t help but admire his calm determination and ferocity on the court while his clumsy non-existent eloquence during interviews had you squealing with cute aggression into any nearby pillow. You had hoped you were playing it cool enough that the others didn’t catch on, but judging by their parading him in front of you like a juicy socially awkward apple waiting for your first bite, you weren’t too sure.

“How about we make some bets!”, Bokuto suggested, “Whichever team wins the most sets gets treated to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, I like that. How about, whichever spiker makes the most points gets to order extra dessert.”, Hoshiumi said confidently with his arms crossed.

“Oooh!”, Atsumu called, “How about if Omi-omi-“

“Leave me out of it.”, Sakusa grumbled from behind him.

“Fine then.”, the setter looked around, locked eyes with you and Ushijima and a grin that suggested pure evil intent grew on his face, “If Ushijima-san gets five spikes past our defenses, Y/n-kun’s gonna give him a little smooch riiiight on the cheek.”

“Now hold on a moment…”, you began nervously.

“Deal.”, Ushijima said and turned on his heel to join his team in the warmups. You only looked after him, crumpling from embarrassment.

“Oh no!”, Atsumu called dramatically, “That was the fourth spike he got past us.”

Bokuto joined him, laying the back of his hand across his forehead in his best rendition of any over-acted theater play ever, “Whatever shall we do, Tsum-Tsum?”

“How about you play the freaking game?”, Sakusa pressed out through gritted teeth. He couldn’t believe that these idiots seriously tackled him aside whenever he went to block one of Ushijima’s monster spikes.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport.”, Bokuto went to pat him on the back but Sakusa turned away like a pouty germaphobic child, “As soon as the five spikes are through you, Meian and Tomas can block him as much as you want, hm?”

Sakusa raised an unamused brow and turned to the team’s middle blockers who nodded and gave him two thumbs-up each. He scoffed and focused back on the game.

“That makes five.”, Hinata sighed.

Your face was hot enough to fry an egg. If they’d at least pretended to block the spikes any better! Ushijima probably thought you were some chubby dork too inept to get her own lovers.

And now, even worse, you were forced to sit on the sidelines, taking valuable notes with the knowledge that once the game ended, you would have to pay up.

The teams thanked each other for the first match and separated to their respective coaches for water and a game summary. But Bokuto didn‘t let Coach Foster get very far before grabbing your wrist and together with Atsumu and Hinata shepherded you across the court like some kind of offering.

Ushijima lowered his water bottle and looked at you, matching your blush with his own.

“Here.“, Kageyama held up a clean towel to his friend.

When the spiker looked at him imploringly, Kageyama added, “To wipe the sweat off your face first.“

The whole thing was made so much worse with everyone just smirking and staring at you two. You were very grateful when Hirugami pushed his teammate into a bow so you could reach him more easily. Gathering your scattered pieces of courage you stepped forward and gave him a quick featherlike kiss on the cheek. Your lips began to burn and the rest of your face threatened to melt.

Ushijima held your gaze and said, “Thank you.“, watching as you walked back to your bench under the hollering of the chaotic trio.

To cool off while the teams dug into their lunch orders, you offered to fill up all the water bottles. That would keep you busy and out of mischief range for a little while.

You absently filled bottle after bottle, feeling your lips tingle at the memory of how surprisingly soft his skin had been. As the water steadily reached the brim your eyes wandered over the many brochures on the long table next to you. They offered classes for children and seniors, even training camps with the Adlers themselves. You smiled at the thought of Ushijima trying to explain to a grandfather how to spike. And it wasn‘t difficult to imagine a flock of grandmothers swarming around him, all talking up their granddaughters as excellent marriage candidates.

“Y/n-san.“ You almost dropped your current bottle when you spun around.

“Oh hey, what are you doing here? Shouldn‘t you eat with the others?“

Ushijima shook his head, pulled a small plastic box from his jacket and held it out to you. It was a slice of strawberry roll cake. You looked from the cake to him in confusion.

“They accidentally sent an extra dessert with our order. I saved it before the others could get to it.“ He stretched his long arm if possible even further towards you.

“Thank you. That‘s very sweet of you.“ And there you went again, blushing like an idiot. You took the cake and waited in the hopes he would continue the conversation. When he didn‘t, you said, “I‘m sorry about earlier.“

“What do you mean?“

“The-the kiss.“

“Why would you be sorry? I should be the one apologizing. I didn‘t mean to make you uncomfortable.“

“You didn‘t!“, you said quickly, “I mean, who would be uncomfortable being kissed by someone as handsome as you.“

“But I didn‘t kiss you.“, he observed with a frown.

“Oh, right…“ You resisted the ever growing urge to facepalm and instead went to hide your cringing face by turning off the water and screwing shut the last bottle.

When you turned back to him, he still stood there, seemingly trying to think of something to say. Your heart sputtered when he asked, “May I?“

“May you…?“

“May I kiss you?“

“I… you… yes. Please.“

He stepped forward and took the cake from you to place it on the corner of the water fountain, then lay both large hands on your hips and with a surprised gasp from you, lifted you easily onto the table. You saw the appeal, you thought with a silly inner chuckle, not much backbending on his end involved now. His dark eyes searched yours for any protest before he leaned in. The first kiss was gentle, lips curiously brushing each other. He broke away, again waiting for a moment for any sign from you that he should stop but when none came he got bolder. One hand on the table next to your temptingly plush thigh, the other pressed against the wall behind you to steady himself, Ushijima‘s kiss became open mouthed. You grabbed the collar of his jacket and slipped your tongue between his lips. He pushed closer when he felt your legs part and let his hand wander from the table to your waist, to pull you into him. His strong arm wrapped around you, the kiss was needy and urgent, like if you were to end it, the world would stop spinning. You felt him throb against your thigh when your hand went up to grab his sweat soaked hair. Greedy fingers slid under his shirt, tracing his toned stomach and teased the edge of his waistband.

“Y/n-san…“, he groaned against your lips and tightened the grip on your hip, never having known this desperate need for someone‘s touch. You kissed your way down to his neck and God, if you weren‘t doing this in a corridor-

“Do you- hah… do you want to go on a date with me?“

You came back up for air, leaving a faint pink spot on his skin behind. It was safe to assume that he was serious in his question so instead of laughing at the absurdity of even considering a different answer, you simply replied, “Yes, I‘d love to.“

a/n: this officially marks the end of my summer lemonade stand. I am so sorry that this took two months to finish! The next event I have had lurking since May but I won’t take as many requests that time because otherwise we’ll be here til Christmas xD

Thank you so much to the anon who requested this prompt, I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time 🌟

[sleepiexx]

more james x reader PLSSS so good.

maybe even james x fem Slytherin reader

<3

Concussions ‘n Confessions

James Potter x fem!Slytherin Reader

Note: no Voldemort au so you’re besties with the skittles :)

Summary: James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.

Warnings: Barty beats someone up, mild swearing, corny “hurt her and you die,” line lol

Word count: 2914

Were it any other chaser from any other team, James would have been jumping for joy that a bludger he’d dodged had flew straight past him, nailing an offending chaser right in the head and leaving a rival quidditch team down one player. Hell, it was Slytherin who was down one, bloody Slytherin! But James couldn’t bring himself to be happy, not when that ‘offending chaser’ was none other than poor, sweet you.

You and James met at precisely six o’clock in the morning on the first day of your sixth year, you just tried out and made the Slytherin team after finally succumbing to years of your friends begging you to join and put your flying skills to good use. Despite your initial hesitance towards the sport, you were on the team now, and with your overachieving nature, you had no choice but to practice hard and impress at your first game.

James was on the pitch at that time because he always was. No one else came at six in the morning, so he had the entire arena to himself to practice flying and shooting the quaffle. That was, of course, until the day you came along.

He’d groaned internally when he spotted a green robe in the sky, the last thing he wanted was to have to fight with a Slytherin over the use of the quidditch pitch when all he wanted to do was practice. He mounted his broom and flew towards the figure.

“Hey!” He yelled, startling you. You turned around with a shocked face but smiled once you realized it was just another student come to practice. “How long are you planning on using the pitch?” He asked, a little off-put by the smile you still had on your face despite his red and gold garb.

“I’m planning on staying till lunch, but there’s an extra quaffle down there so we can share the pitch if you’re up for it!”

James had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. You were so nice. What about house rivalry? What happened to the sentiment that all Slytherins were evil?

Maybe you just wanted to watch him practice to steal Gryffindor strategies. Yeah, that was it. No other possible way, Slytherin found out that James Potter practices early and sent out pretty little you to gather information. They had to have known a girl with a face as sweet as yours and an attitude to match was his ultimate weakness.

Regardless, he came out here to practice. He flew down to where you had pointed, where there was, in fact, an extra quaffle. Slytherin had prepared well.

He supposed pace would need to be the main focus of his practice today, you couldn’t watch his strategies if he was moving too fast for you to see. So he whizzed around on his broomstick, shooting goal after goal, curiously looking over his shoulder every once in a while. To his surprise, your focus remained on your own goal post. He sat mesmerized, watching you rehearse.

You weren’t bad, having a talent for the sport that James could tell was natural. You were new, that was clear, not just because James hadn’t seen you on the Slytherin team before, but also because of your lack of confidence. You were hesitating, and if you could just get past that barrier, he knew you would do great.

Screw it. What’s the harm in helping your rival team? If they’re not any good then there’s no glory in beating them at all.

Before he knew it, James found himself flying towards you, stopping a short distance behind you.

“What’s your name?” He asked, half expecting you to startle, as you had before.

You turned your broom gracefully this time, “I’m y/n l/n, you?”

“James Potter. You’re new to the team?”

“You could tell?” Your shoulders sunk, a frustrated pout made its way to your lips.

James' heart dropped, he hadn’t meant to call you out, “no, no it’s not like that. It’s just, well I’m Gryffindor’s captain so I know everyone on every team and I haven’t seen you before.”

You half believed him, still feeling a little insecure but nodding regardless, “yeah, I uhm, haven’t played since I was a kid but I like flying so my friends kinda peer pressured me into joining. I’m trying really hard not to let them down.”

James scoffed, “from what I’ve seen, I doubt you could let them down. But I could give you a pointer or two if you’d like.”

“Would you?”

He nodded in response and you smiled wide.

So began James Potter’s mentorship over you. He’d helped you and even practiced alongside you most mornings. The day of your first game, James was in the stands cheering you on. He had never watched a school quidditch game from the stands, but he found himself giddy watching you absolutely destroy Ravenclaw.

For the first time in his life, he cheered for Slytherin at every game— save for his own against you. Even those, he found, were rather enjoyable because the conclusion he’d originally come to was right, having a harder opponent is much more fun. The stakes were higher and James loved a good thrill.

He loved this arrangement, and he was having so much fun playing against you. Right up until the moment he dodged that stupid bloody bludger that Avery sent hurtling towards him, the lack of interruption leaving it right in the course of your head.

The crack of the ball hitting your head followed by the thud of you falling to the ground was deafening. He sprung into action instantly, shooting towards you and assessing your injuries. You were still half conscious, blinking up at him in pain.

“James?” You asked, voice strained.

“I’m here, love, I’m here. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment to fix you up.” He held your hand, knowing how badly your head must hurt from taking one of Avery’s notoriously hard bludgers and then free falling from high enough in the sky that muggle medicine likely couldn’t fix the damage to. The whole school was lucky they weren’t resigned to muggle medicine, for Madame Pomfrey’s skills surpassed them leaps and bounds. “Squeeze my hand.”

And you did, a weak grasp that felt so strong to you. James panicked as it loosened even more and your eyes fluttered shut. Madame Pomfrey and some other professors came around with a stretcher, taking you away and leaving James pale in the face. That was the last he had seen of you in a while.

James had tried, on numerous occasions, to visit you in the infirmary with flowers, but he soon found out that your bubbly personality had earned you many friends— many overprotective and scary friends, to specify. Each time he was met with a different one of your Slytherin friends guarding the door as though you had an army of enemies on their way to get you. More realistically, they kept the noise in the hallway down. Protecting you not from armies, but from boisterous students whose loud noise would only worsen your ongoing headaches.

Many first years found out first hand how dedicated they were to protecting the peace, being hexed green after multiple warnings to quiet down. James couldn’t blame them, of course, he would likely do the same were you his to claim, alas, he’d yet to confess his recently realized love for you.

This meant that to your friends, he was nothing more than a threat to the silence you needed. So every time he visited, he was immediately shot down and threatened until he would eventually leave.

He thought he would outsmart your friends, sneak to the infirmary well after visiting hours, hidden under his invisibility cloak. Still, your prefect friend Evan Rosier was sat up against the door, asleep but propped up in a way that anyone entering the room would have to wake him before doing so. Dejected, James turned around and marched back to his dorm room.

The next evening as Remus and Lily rested on the common room couch, quietly reading next to one another whilst Peter laid on the floor, James barged into the common room and disrupted their peace.

James’ eyes met Remus’s and he instantly set his course toward the brunette, stepping over their other friend in the process. “Where is Sirius?” He demanded.

Remus scoffed, “what, no hello? How are you?”

“Or an ‘excuse me Wormtail’?” Peter chimed in.

James shook his head, “no, there’s no time, where is Sirius?”

Remus saw no point in arguing, sighing, “I believe he’s upstairs, combing his hair 152 times on either side.”

James had darted away the moment Remus said Sirius was upstairs, missing the joke and making Remus sigh once more.

“I thought the joke was funny.” Peter comforted.

“Thanks Wormy.”

Much akin to his grand entrance in the common room, James slammed the door to their dorm open. “Padfoot!” He exclaimed.

Sirius, who was seated on the floor— in fact brushing his hair— smiled and turned to his curly headed friend, “what is it you need my dear Prongsy?”

James only met his enthusiasm with desperation. He fell to his knees and placed his palms on either of Sirius’s shoulders, “Regulus is guarding the infirmary right now, you have to convince him to let me in.”

Sirius tried to talk but James cut him off, “Please, mate, I really need to see her and this is my one chance seeing as your brother is guarding her rather than the usual blokes who don’t care at all about my rapport with y/n. We could actually convince him! And before you say no, I’m prepared to do all your charms homework for the next two weeks, just do this one thing for me please, I beg.”

Sirius cracked a grin as James shook his shoulders, “I was going to say yes from the moment you asked, but now that I know there’s charms homework involved, I’ll hold you to it.”

James matched his expression, springing to his feet, pulling Sirius with him. “Alright, I have no idea how long he’ll be the one there so we have to hurry.”

Sirius nodded and they scurried down past the common room, through the portrait hole, and down the halls towards the infirmary.

They stopped at the turn to the infirmary, peeking around the corner to scope it out. Regulus was still there, conjuring silent illusions of rabbits hopping down the hall to fight his readily apparent boredom.

Sirius turned to James, “alright, here’s what’s going to happen: I don’t know for sure if I can convince good ol’ Reggie to let you in, but I do know that I can distract him, so while I do that, you’re going to conjure up some flowers, and when the coast looks clear you are going to rush on in there and you are going to charm the socks off this girl with your devilishly good looks and amazing personality and then you will ask her to be your girlfriend like you’ve always wanted. Got that?”

James nodded solemnly, so Sirius turned and walked casually over to his little brother. The last thing James heard was a “hello sweet, sweet brother of mine” before he focused on getting himself ready.

He conjured some flowers as Sirius had suggested; daisies, he remembered to be your favorite. As the sound of Sirius and Regulus faded down the hall, James took it as his chance to make his break towards you.

Even in the dimmed infirmary, dazed and sore, in a concussed state, you still managed to make James Potter stumble. He forgot where he was and what he was doing the moment your beautiful eyes met his.

“James?” You called out, breaking the boy out of his trance.

“Oh, yes. Hi.” He smiled and waved.

You smiled back, glancing at the flowers in his hands. The action reminded him very suddenly of the task at hand. He rushed to your bedside and held them out toward you, “these are for you.”

You took them, leaning down and smelling the sweet scent. “Thank you, daisies are-”

“Your favorite,” James interjected, “I remember, I knew I couldn’t give you any less than the best since you’re in here because of me.”

You scoffed, “you didn’t put me here.”

He shook his head, “had I not dodged that bludger, you would be fine.”

“I’d say that I don’t blame you but I know you’d just think I was being nice so let me explain it like this: if anyone believed that it was your fault I got hurt, Barty would’ve beaten the shit out of you instead of Avery.”

James’ eyes widened, “that’s what happened to him? Bloody hell, I thought a stray badger had wandered into the castle and attacked him the way he looks.”

“That bad?” You asked, “I only saw Barty’s bloody knuckles from the aftermath, now I’m not so sure that was entirely his blood.”

The two of you laughed softly, smiling when you caught each other’s eyes.

“The flowers aren’t the only reason I’m in here, though.” James said, brushing some hair out of your face.

“Oh?” You prompted him to continue.

He’s clear with his words, “I’ve had this thing for you for a while now, I just haven’t known it. I suppose watching you get hurt like that made me come to that realization, and now that I know, I can’t stand the idea that you don’t know so I guess this is me confessing.”

“You’re into me?” You asked.

James nodded.

Your lips quirked up into a large grin, “holy shit, I should get hit in the head more often this is the best news,” you quietly exclaimed.

James’ expression mirrored your own, “so you feel the same?”

You nodded.

“Well, then I’d like to take you out. And to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

You nodded once more, “I would.”

Everything felt right, you’d both finally aired out your feelings, and you were still all alone in the room so what else would you do but begin leaning in. Your lips nearly touched before the door to the infirmary burst open, James’ long haired friend running towards the both of you in desperation.

“Help me, you have to help me!” He called out.

You winced at the noise, turning to look at James to see if he knew what was going on, he was just as clueless. That is until one Mister Barty Crouch Junior came in, wand raised and ready for use.

“I’ll show you to distract our lookout!” He screamed, a murderous look in his eyes.

Your head throbbed.

Regulus sauntered in soon after, seemingly unbothered. You looked at him confusedly but he merely shrugged.

“Barty.” You said, trying and failing to get his attention as he continued to chase Sirius around the room, “Barty!”

He turned to you.

“Please don’t make me raise my voice again, it hurts.” You whined.

Barty’s face dropped, a guilty look overtaking him.

With that out of the way, you spoke again, “I think Sirius was just trying to help Jamie bring me some flowers.”

“Jamie?” Barty murmured, looking to Regulus to find that he was just as confused.

You wince as you hear Barty’s heavy boots stomping towards you. “Oh dear,” you mutter, “he’s, uhm-“ you try to explain, but you were cut off.

“Your boyfriend?” It’s Regulus who asks, voice impossibly quiet.

You would nod, but moving your head feels like a hazard so you psych yourself up just to say “yeah.”

Barty’s eyes burn with an anger you’ve seen before many times, of all of your overprotective friends, Barty is the worst. It couldn’t possibly help that James is a Gryffindor, not when Barty believes in house rivalry like it’s the Bible.

Barty grabs James by the collar, “I do not like this, nor do I condone it, however, y/n makes her own decisions and I cannot make them for her— regardless of whether or not they are stupid decisions. That being said, you hurt her and you will find your face in worse condition than a bloody troll, understand me?”

James nodded and Barty released his collar, straightening it up, and huffing off elsewhere, taking Regulus with him. Sirius follows suit, if only to give the two of you some much needed privacy.

“Salazar, I thought he was going to kill you,” you breathed out, finally exhaling the breath you were holding the entire time.

James chuckles, taking hold of your hand once more, “just to be clear, love, I would treat you right regardless of there being a threat in place.”

“Well that’s good to hear because you have such a handsome face, I couldn’t bear seeing it bloodied up.” You raised your hand to caress his cheek in emphasis.

An impulsive thought led you to ignore the pounding in your head that came with quick movements, taking your chance to touch your lips to his. You were glad that your friends had left, because the kiss was so nice, you didn’t want it to end. You knew their childish groans would ruin it. But with no interruption, you stayed in the moment for what felt like forever, allowing yourself to bask in the simple joy that was the captain of your rival quidditch team’s lips against your own.

[tyunniez]

2... bttm male reader

a/n,, this fic was inspired by this fanfic that u shuld totes check out!! i wrote this a long time ago so,,,, pls give some feedback cs idk how to feel abt this one

You hated the number two. 

To other people, it was just your everyday number but to you, it reminded you of your failures. Of how you always ended up number two no matter what.

Always second to him.

Aone Kashimoto. Someone you considered your ultimate rival.

 Back in middle school you were the number one in your class. Number one in the whole school. Yet when the new kid came, everything just started falling apart.

 Now instead of you, he was always at the top. 

 No matter how hard you tried. The countless nights of you studying your ass off, pulling all nighters after all nighters. Only to end up as second.

 Even when you tried to run for the student council president in your final year of highschool you still somehow ended up second. As the vice-president for Aone.

 And what was more frustrating was that he knew. He knew how pathetic you felt when you first saw your name dropped down one spot. He knew how hard you have been trying to beat him. Yet, he knows you will never ever surpass him.

 Why? Because he's better than you. In every aspect. Be it academics, sports, or even popularity. Where you lacked he made up for it times a hundred.

 And oh, he loves seeing that look of despair wash over you. The feeling of superiority he has over you. God, he always checks your reaction first before even looking at his own score on the scoreboard just to see the disappointment on your face.

⊹₊⋆

 Students gather around the scoreboard, excitement and dread filling the corridor. 

 "Hey, who do you think is first this semester?" a distant voice whispered. "Are you dumb? Of course it's Aone! And then y/n will come second like he usually does." The two voices snickered as they searched for their own name on the board.

 The murmurs of the crowd got louder as the two most popular names finally arrived. One seemed relaxed whilst the other not so much.

 Your jaw was tight. You could feel your fingers digging into your own palm. Beside you was Aone with his arm behind his back. He was the complete opposite of you. 

 Deep down you knew that Aone was number one like usual but you can't deny that little sliver of hope, the slim chance that you might have beat him, even by one point. 

 You've poured your all into studying like you usually did. Surely this time you can finally beat him, right..?

 The crowd parted for the two of you as you took a shaky breath to see who secured the top stop. And to no one's surprise, the name Y/N L/N was written with the number two next to it. 

You stared at the name above you, rightfully towering over everyone else's names.

 A soft chuckle broke you out of your despair. "Oh y/n, looks like i won again. Better luck next time, hm?" with a simple pat on your head, you were left alone to stare at the board, gritting your teeth while holding your tears.

 You held back the urge to punch him square in the face.

 Evenings rolled by as you finally returned to your dorm. All extra classes and after-school activities were halted to give the students a break and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

 You silently prayed that he wasn't home as you slowly opened the door to your shared dorm. Yes, out of all the other students inside this school you shared a dorm with your rival Aone. Lady Luck truly hates you.

 You were glad to see that he was not at home so you finally have some alone time.

 You immediately jumped onto your bed, leaving your door a crack open. You grabbed whatever pillow was near you and cuddled it, finally letting the hot tears stream down your face.

 Soon enough, dreamland called upon you as your vision slowly darkened.

 "Hmm, y/n.. How come you're such a mess when I barely touched you?" Aone's fingertips ghosted over your cheeks.

 You whined as tried to grind your ass  over to his dick, trying to get any type of friction going. "Puh-pleasee.. just put it in!" your voice came out squakier than you remembered.

 Aone's low chuckled only made your dick mor erect, your tip blushing madly as you tried ti look back at him. "Say my name then. Come on, yell it out if you want it so bad." His teasing teal eyes stared at you.

 You, cock drunk, of course, obeyed, "Aone! Please just stick it in! I-I need your cock in me!"

 A whistle suddenly woke you up. Your vision still blurry as you tried to focus on who was in front of you.

 "Real good dream you had there." Aone's familiar voice suddenly spoke up. You, still drowsy only tilted your head to the side, failing to notice the hard-on you were sporting.

 You propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring at Aone. "What are you talking about? Why are you even in my room, creep!"

 He only chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets while looking down at you. "How cute.. but don't act so innocent. You were moaning my name like a bitch in heat earlier."

 A flush of red washed over you. Yeah, you did have that weird dream over him but no way you were actually moaning his name out loud, right?

 "W-what! I don't know what you're talking about, shit head." 

 Aone rolled his eyes as he finally approached you, you frozen in place. He placed his feet on top of your clothes dick, rutting it in place. You choked out a moan, flabbergasted as to what he was doing.

 "Don't play dumb, y/n. You know I hate dumb people." 

 You shook your head trying your best to deny whatever he was accusing, yet low moans kept escaping your mouth from how he was rubbing you using his feet. 

 Just when you were about to reach your climax, he suddenly retreated his foot. You whined out loud over the loss of sensation. "Ugh.."

 He crouched down to your level, his head tilted to the side with that signature smirk on his face.

"Beg for it."

"Go on, I know you can." 

 You were left dumbfounded as to what to do. But a decision was quickly made. You were pent up from just studying that you never took the time for yourself. Who knows when will something like this ever happen again.

 "Aone, please give me your cock.. I-I want it so bad so please fuck me real good..."

 Something snapped inside Aone as he suddenly crawled between you. He immediately held onto both of your wrists with one hand and pinned it on top of you. "Attaboy, never thought there'd come a day where you would beg for me but here we are."

 His lips clashed themselves with your own, his tongue slithering inside your wet mouth to explore. You moaned against him, grinding on him.

He pulled away, leaving a string of saliva connecting the both of you. "Dirty boy, bet you were waiting to get dicked down like this, hm?" 

 "N-no! I-" You tried to defend yourself, only for him to shush you. "Mmh I know you so well y/n. Inside and out. So there's no use lying."

taglist,, @cheriecosmos, @lukaijah, @gay4letti, @kamote-kuneho, @mooncarvers-world

[skipper1331]

Red and Blue // Leah Williamson

a/n: might be back or not, idk :)

Long distance.

You hated that word.

It reminded you that you wouldn‘t wake up next to your lover,

that you wouldn’t get a good night kiss or cuddles either,

that you couldn't get any affection except over the phone - which wasn't a long-term solution.

Each day that passed it was harder to deny the desire to go back home, back home to Leah.

To be fair, it wasn’t the first time that you‘d been long distance but ever since Leah had put a ring to your finger, the 'fiancé' and 'soon to be wife' rolling of her tongue made your heart ache.

Home was calling.

-

When you shared your thoughts on transferring back to the English league, Leah was excited and so happy - she’s been missing you like crazy. The blonde more than obsessed with you and still so in love with you. The thought of playing side by side with you in red was everything she could wish for. Every time you wore her Arsenal jersey - 'Williamson' on your back - she fell more and more in love with you. Sometimes she thought there was no way that she could love you even more yet you surprised her each time. Sometimes it was the way you smiled or other times it was the way her family loved you, endless possibilities. She would never stop falling deeper in love with you.

Though, what didn’t occur to her was that you hadn’t gotten any offers by Arsenal.

Brighton had offered one, Liverpool too, as did Chelsea.

Chelsea

London… Leah… Leah. London. London. Leah. Leah. London.

you couldn’t say no to that, could you?

Many thoughts ran through your mind.

should you or should you not?

do you want to or do you not?

Would Leah still love you or not?

Normally, you immediately would talk to her, thinking about the pros and the cons, what your heart was telling you to do.

But this time your heart was torn apart into two pieces. On piece was blue: with the opportunities you had at Chelsea - Champions League, winning titles, fellow English teammates, amazing staff,… The other piece was red: yelling, fighting and begging to wait, maybe Arsenal would offer something, some day. Would Leah be mad at you? She‘s been a gunner since she was little.

-

After many sleepless nights, you did the only right thing.

You signed with the Blues.

Leah wouldn’t be mad at you, would she? Your career is important to her too. She just couldn’t be mad. She loved you and you loved her.

Sun and moon.

Salt and pepper.

day and night.

black and white.

red and blue.

It would be fine, right?

-

Leaving the airport was a relief. You were finally back in England.

The great news was that Leah happily agreed to pick you up from the airport, still fully convinced that you had signed with the gunners.

The bad news was that you didn‘t and you still needed to tell her that you signed with the blue rival.

You were tense, nervous even. The defender not sensing any of that as she was in such a bliss of your presence and touch, her hand holding yours tightly as she drove to her apartment - her mind racing about moving in together.

-

The first hour in Leah’s apartment was spent with kisses and cuddling on the couch, trying to catch up the time you spent apart.

"Do you want something to eat, my love? I could make you something. I‘m sure you‘re hungry from the flight" she smiled, her fingers tracing patterns on your back.

"Yes please, but no ham sandwich" you giggled, the blonde gasping before pressing an gentle kiss to your forehead.

As you sat alone on the couch for a few minutes, you realized that you had to tell her now. Or wouldn’t ever tell her - too afraid of her reaction.

Standing up, you grabbed something, wrapped in wrapping paper, out of your backpack.

Please don’t kill me

Please don’t break up with me

"Love, dinner is almost ready." the girl smiled, proudly stating that nothing‘s burned.

"Leah, could we talk about something first?" you fidgeted with your fingers.

"Yes, of course. I actually wanted to talk to you about something too! Do you want to move in with me?" She was so excited, her smile wider than it was in a long time. Your heart fluttered.

"I‘d love that, but maybe you‘d like to open this first" you stated, your voice low as you tried to be cool, calm and collected.

Skeptically, she looked at you - you‘re nervous, "What‘s this?" she asked, already opening the gift.

"What the fuck ist that!" the gunner growled, seeing the Chelsea jersey, "are you trying to be funny!" she questioned, a scowl on her face as she stared at the 'Williamson' on the back.

"No" you whispered - now or never.. "I signed with Chelsea, Leah. And I‘d like to play with your- soon also my name on the back"

"WHAT!" She shouted, outraged by the thought of you in blue, hurt by thought of you not being in red.

"Arsenal didn’t offer me a contract and that‘s okay because I’m still here, back with you" you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Failing miserably.

"I‘d rather not see you at all than seeing you in blue!" she yelled, her fists clenching at her sides. How could you do that? How could play for the one club the despised the most.

Was her loyalty a joke to you? Was her childhood club a joke to you?

"You don’t mean that" you said, trying to convince yourself more than any other person.

"Oh, I absolutely do! Fly to wherever, I don’t care. And the audacity to think-" she laughed, "to think that you‘d play with the name Williamson on the back of a Chelsea shirt some day" turning off the stove, she walked around the counter, her face now serious as she glared at you like you had killed someone.

"Leave" she pointed at the door, "and just so you know, the invitation to move in has been rescinded"

your own anger started to bubble up now. You get it, she‘s mad, you expected her to be but to throw insults like at you? That wasn‘t okay. Angrily, you grabbed your bagpack, your suitcases still in Leah‘s car, something you‘d worry about later as you put on your shoes while the blonde still grumbled to herself about how reckless you were, that you didn‘t use your brain, questioning if you even had functional brain cells.

"You know what Leah, you‘re right. I wasn‘t using my brain. But not when I signed the contract but when I said yes to your proposal!" yanking down the engagement ring, you shoved it against her chest.

And as soon as you had slammed the door, the tears were spilling out of your eyes.

This was not the way you expected everything to happen nor did you want it that way.

In short: Leah Williamson was obviously furios but actually it was just a facade that she became aware of as soon as you had left the house. She was deeply hurt.

Deeply hurt by the fact that you had let her think she‘d be finally playing side by side with the love of her life. Because she was so excited, she had already planned everything through. This was everything she had ever wanted.. and now, it‘s gone.

You were gone.

Added to that, your last comment ripped her heart out, smashed it to the ground and stomped on it.

Fuck! Did you really just broke up with her?

Why was she stupid?! Why couldn’t she react normal, like every other person would have! Her stupid pride was in the way, once again.

She wanted to run after you. She really wanted to, but her legs wouldn’t move. It was too late.

You were gone.

she couldn't have caught up to you even if she wanted to.

Panic.

Panic, panic, panic.

Tears.

More tears.

Everything was too much.

She tried to call you.

No answer.

She texted.

Not even delivered.

Fuck.

"Mum, I-" she hiccuped in the speaker, "I fucked up and" her sobs were getting louder and louder, she didn‘t want to say it out loud, "and I think she broke up with me"

-

Within a few minutes Amanda let herself in in her daughters home.

She found Leah crying on the couch, sobbing violently while she typed something on her phone.

"Y/n-" her head snapped up, disappointed when she saw her mum instead of you, "oh, it‘s you" she whispered, wiping away the tears which didn’t help much as new tears streamed down.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Amanda asked as she took a seat beside her daughter, arms wrapping around.

As soon as her mother hugged her the defender broke down once again, clinging onto her mother. Her heart was broken. She had broken your heart, so you broke hers in return. She deserved this. She‘s been nothing but an arse.

Once Leah had calmed down, she started to tell the story, every detail, every snarky comment she had left. She wasn‘t proud of her behavior. "I don‘t know what I was thinking. it just happened. I‘m so sorry. I love her"

"You need to apologize to her, not to me"

"I don’t know where she is! If she‘s safe or- I don‘t know, mum" she was desperate. The tears started to get less and less yet the broken heart very much felt.

"I‘ve been dreaming of this wedding since I’m 16! Do you know how often I imagined her being a Williamson? Every day, mum, every fucking day."

-

Around midnight her mum left, Leah promising her that she would call if she needed anything.

The only thing she needed was you, though.

She had to make things right, she couldn’t throw an over a decade going relationship away. Not when it was a relationship with you. The girl she loved more than anything in this world. The girl she would quit football for if she had to. She would walk to Antarctica if that would bring you back to her, back home.

Unknown to her, you weren‘t far away, just around the corner of her house actually.

When you left the house, you didn‘t know where to go. You didn‘t want to call any of your friends because you would have had to explain the situation and in that moment, you didn’t have the strength to do so.

In that moment, you needed to be alone. Your thoughts were running in every direction, trying to escape reality. Did you really broke up with Leah? Or had she broken up with you? You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that your heart hurt and felt empty. You waited ages for this day, to finally see Leah and it ended like this. One hour of bliss, more hours of horror. This couldn’t be the end, could it?

It was Leah and you.

There‘s never been You without Leah or Leah without You.

The picture of Leah‘s face haunted you. It seemed like her world collapsed when you gave her the ring. Were you overreacting? Your feelings were valid. She couldn’t just go crazy, tell you to fuck off and then expect to be happily ever after.

But even though, you‘re feelings were hurt in one of the worst ways possible, you couldn’t just give up. This was Leah. You knew Leah. You knew that it had to be deeper.

And when you saw her mum‘s car pulling up in the driveway, you knew that Leah was a wreck. The blonde was tough on the outside but on the inside, she was this sweet charming sensitive girl who adored to love and to be loved. And the fact that it hadn’t even been 20min before Amanda was at her apartment, surely meant something.

-

Standing at the front door, you thought about leaving again. Amanda had only left like 5 minutes ago, but you didn’t want to be outside any longer. It was dark and cold. And all you wanted was to be with Leah. You couldn’t just leave the things at where they were, that wasn’t like you.

So here you were, still fighting an inner battle if to knock on the door or not.

Yet you did.

Your love for the blonde defender was stronger than any pride right now.

A little spot in your mind hoped that she wouldn’t open the door, afraid to be confronted.

The gunner was shocked when she saw you standing there. Her eyes wide, the tear stains visible, cat caught her tongue.

Her next reaction was hugging you like her life depended on it and you did just the same. "I love you, I love you, I love you" you heard her whisper, not making any attempt of letting you go any time soon. She needed this.

You both needed it.

After what felt like forever, she pulled back, her hands cupping your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks, "you’re safe" her eyes checked for any sign of injury or discomfort, "I‘m okay" you confirmed.

"Let us talk, okay? I love you. I promise not to explode like that again. I love you so much" a single tear escaped her eye. You were quick to gently wipe it away, the blonde relaxing under your touch.

"Do you think I could get something from the dinner you made earlier?" you shyly smiled, your stomach growling. The lioness let out a breathy relieved laugh, nodding, "anything you want, my love." Without thinking she pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you into the kitchen.

There was an awkward silence while she re-heated up the dinner yet happily doing so. This was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Once finished, she placed the plate of food in front of you, "Do you want to be left alone while you eat? I‘ll be in the bedroom, you can call me whenever you‘re ready" she was already turning, ready to give you some space when you grabbed her wrist, "please stay"

-

"Thank you for dinner, it tasted great" you smiled. Leah returned your smile shyly, cheeks turning red.

"Um, and I guess we should talk, yes?"

she nodded slowly, "yes. I think it‘s really important that we share all of our thoughts and listen to each other before reacting to something said, is that okay with you? I know it‘s my fault it blew up earlier but I’d really like to apologize and let you understand what was going through me. And I want to understand your side of the story too and not cut you off in the middle of the sentence. I know my behavior earlier was very childish, I won’t let that happen again." gently she squeezed your hand, reassuring as well as promising you that she was ready to behave like a grown woman, like the woman you fell in love with.

"Would you like to start?"

"Yes, that would be very nice"

-

After hours of conversation, apologizing and exchanging thoughts, feelings and insecurities, you both came to a conclusion that worked for the both of you:

1. Leah promised to never ever treat you like that again. She respected you, she really did and she would forever try to show you that

2. always listen to each other before speaking! Communication is key.

3. Leah promised to cook dinner for two whole months as a sign of her remorse, also she offered a thousand kisses and more.

4. You promised Leah to never let her in the dark.

5. Moving in together seemed perfect.

Later that night, or rather in the early morning hours, you laid in bed together, you were snuggled up in Leah‘s side, your head resting on her chest as she played with your hair.

"I can hear your brain working, my love, what‘s the matter?" you asked gently, resting your chin on your hand, so could look at her - your finger seemed so empty.

With a quick motion, you sat on her lap, the blonde now sitting up as well, "I love you" gently, she took your hand in her own, holding it a way that had your hand facing her.

She didn‘t say anything, but pressing a feather light kiss on your ring finger. You got the silent message, plead even.

"yeah, I’d love to have my ring back" you smiled, the lionesses already reaching for it on her nightstand.

"I can’t wait for you to be a Williamson" she admired as she put the ring on its original place.

"Me neither"

Ps. Leah Williamson still didn‘t like Chelsea and she never would but she learned to love the colour blue - because it was you - even more when the name Williamson was displayed on the back.

No matter the colour, Leah Williamson would always loved you.

Though learning to love the colour blue was a process, she still begged you wear her red Arsenal jersey every now and then.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Come Back Knockin'

Benny Cross x reader (the bikeriders fic)

Summary: When Benny finds out you're pregnant, he panics and takes off. You don't think he's ever going to come back to you, so you start trying to figure out your future without your husband by your side. And then one day, there's a knock at your door.

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, lots of cursing, mentions of abandonment, angst but not forever, mention of pregnancy, probably typos.

Words: 2900

Part 2: Come Back Together Benny Cross Masterlist 

“Benny, where are you going!” you cry, watching in disbelief as he turns away from you and exits your shared bedroom. “Benny!”

He doesn’t stop at your call. Doesn’t even flinch. Your voice is a pathetic grasp around his wrist that he shakes off like a pesky mosquito. He’s leaving, you realize, and when your body finally catches up with that understanding, you rush after him. 

His strides are long, double the length of yours, and he’s already got his jacket off the hook and is pulling it over his shoulders by the time you’re able to close in on him.

“Benny, don’t go!” you wail in a desperate plea, but it’s still useless, and a moment later you’re chasing him out the front door into the rain. “Please!”

You’re both drenched in an instant, hair stuck to your heads like a pair of drowned alley cats. Your nipples pebble through your thin, white nightgown that now shows every curve of your figure. The denim on his body deepens a few shades of blue from absorbing every drop of the downpour. 

“Benny!” you try once more. 

He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder as he crosses the street toward his bike, so you stop your chase before your bare feet leave the last step of your front porch. All you can do is watch. Watch his long leg swing over the seat of the bike. Watch him kick the beast to life. Watch how he glows angelic-like under the intense ray of the streetlight; a spotlight on the man you love who is running away from you. 

You don’t bother calling for him again. Your voice would only be muffled by the relentless drumming of heavy rain on pavement. Benny leans forward, and without checking for other vehicles, pulls into the street and drives until the darkness of night claims every speck of light from his bike. 

He’s gone. 

And you’re alone. 

—

You hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed by the news—it’s why you waited nearly three weeks to tell him—but you didn’t foresee such anger over the actuality of being a father. When you told him you were pregnant, his face had darkened in a manner you’ve only witnessed right before his fist meets the jaw of a rival biker. And, in some respect, he'd treated you the same. Like you were a pest, a nuisance, an object put in his path solely for the sake of pissing him off; the difference being that Benny would never lay a hand on you. So instead, he'd left.

On day three of your husband’s absence, Johnny had stopped by to ‘see if the kid was still alive,’ and you were left with the burden and embarrassment of telling him that Benny had skipped town. Johnny had asked why, of course, so you told him, and by the way his features twisted from surprise to desolation, you knew he also saw little hope in your husband returning to you. 

Benny has had his reasons for not wanting to be a father, failure a prominent knot in the back of his mind, but it’s not as if you planned this. It was an accident. An accident that you can’t just wish away because he doesn’t know how to handle being what you and this baby need him to be. 

“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” Johnny had said. You’d done your best to hold in the tears while long beats of melancholy silence passed between you. “Listen, you ever need anythin’, you know Betty and me, we love ya, so…”

You’d nodded, wrapping your arms around your middle to stave off a sudden chill. “Thanks, Johnny.” 

He nodded as well, then he'd sighed and glanced around your quiet street as if expecting to see Benny ride up any second. “Well,” he said once it was clear neither of you would be finding that relief, “don’t be a stranger.”

He’d left after that and you haven’t seen him since. Not because you don’t appreciate him, but because he reminds you too much of Benny. Betty had called a few times—she’s as much a mother figure to you as Johnny was to Benny—but you weren’t very forthcoming with enthusiasm at talking baby plans and motherhood. At one point, in an effort to lift your spirits, she’d even mentioned throwing a shower, which immediately made you drop the phone and rush to the bathroom to lose your breakfast. 

When you’d returned, the phone was dangling by the coiled cord, Betty’s concerned voice coming through the speaker. You’d put it up to your ear, told her you'd call her back, and hung up the damn thing. You didn’t call her back. You think she got the message. 

In the weeks that have passed, many of the guys have come by to check on you, and in the beginning, you were somewhat receptive, but it was solely to abstain from hurting feelings and severing ties so harshly. You’re positive the relationships won’t last. You were in the biker lifestyle because of Benny. He brought you into a pre-established family unit, and without him, you don’t belong. 

You know the day may come when you regret letting the club go. Its members are the only people who have reached out their hands to you, but for now, you’re too numb to care, and with that numbness comes self-destruction. And with your particular brand of self-destruction comes isolation. Solitude. Loneliness. You’ve put yourself in place to navigate the future alone. Finding a job to support your child, hoping you’ll make enough so you don’t lose your house—that’s your priority now, and you have no choice but to step up and figure it out. 

—

As it turns out, no one wants to hire a pregnant woman. Well, no one you’ve contacted wants to hire a pregnant woman, but you’re willing to bet they’re a decent indicator of most companies' future rejection. 

It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be telling them of your condition, but your bones are built of honesty and when they ask if you’ll be able to work long-term, you don’t hesitate to reveal the truth. In fact, the truth is out of your mouth before the thought to lie slithers into your head. 

You’re going to have to toughen up, be someone you’re not used to being, if you intend to survive. And that’s all you let yourself think about anymore. When Benny slips into your thoughts, you work tirelessly to shove him aside. It’s taken practice, self-discipline, but you’ve made some progress. Just yesterday you were finally able to overcome your urge to run to the window at hearing the grumble of a motor passing by your house. 

The next goal is to bag up his clothes and stow them away in the attic, but you’ve yet to face his side of the closet without breaking down. And to make it all the more agonizing, the fabrics still smell like him. You could wash them five times over and it would do nothing to remove his scent.

Sometimes, at the peak of your pathetic impulses, you want to sneak inside and bury yourself amongst the cheap and tattered clothes. Turn them into a blanket. Forget everything. But you’ve managed to resist.

Baby steps, you internally repeat as you bring a spoonful of cereal to your lips. You like the sugary stuff now. The stuff that kids gobble down before school. Bad for an expectant mother, yes, but you’re not about to scold yourself for what little enjoyment you find in this life. 

Suddenly, a knock taps on the door. Your head shoots up and your heartbeat stutters at the sound, but you don’t move to answer it. These days, it’s rare you answer it at all. The guys know not to bother you, as do Betty and Gail and Kathy. If they see you’re home, they leave their tupperware-filled home-cooked meals at your doorstep, knowing you’ll grab them once they leave. Anyone else—salesmen or mailmen or whomever—always gives up after a few minutes. 

However, this knocking has yet to cease. It must be a salesman, you think with a groan, and he must not have gotten the memo from other neglected salesmen that you’re a house to avoid. You can’t afford the latest vacuum model, you don’t care to own a stack of encyclopedias, and for the love of god, if you have to tell one more well-dressed man that your missing-in-action biker husband is not in need of a new shaving brush you’re gonna start keeping Benny’s handgun on the entryway table. 

The tapping turns into full-fledged banging that shakes the house, and now you’re irritated, offended on the weathered structure’s behalf. Your chair scrapes across the floor as you stand sharply and round the corner into the hall. A curse is on your lips as you wrap your hand around the knob, twist, and pull, but it dies. More than dies, it’s sucked right out of your lungs along with your breath. 

You want to slap him, split his puffy lips and watch the blood run down his chin. You want to shove him back so he’ll fall down the stairs and land on his ass. You want to get your breath back because that curse is clawing for freedom and you desperately want to let it out. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

He looks like shit. Well, as much as Benny Cross can look like shit, which is quite unimpressive compared to other men, but at least he doesn’t look well-rested. There’s some satisfaction in that, limited as it may be. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. The low tone shudders your spine. If he’s happy to see you he doesn’t show it, but you know that even if he is, he wouldn’t dare smile after what he did. 

Your swallow is hard, painful, and as the ease with which he spoke those two words sinks in, every emotion you’ve felt since he vanished bubbles over the edge of your resolve.

“‘Hi, baby’?” you echo. “Are you serious? That’s the best you’ve got, you asshole?” Your hand smacks against his chest and the unexpectedness of it forces him to stumble back a foot. You follow his stumble, stepping out onto the porch. “It’s been six weeks, Benny!”

He sighs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I know.”

“Six fucking weeks!” With your second smack, his fingers latch around your wrist, but he doesn’t push your hand away, he keeps it planted above his heart, refusing to let you go. 

Dipping his head, he stares directly into your eyes. The intensity momentarily stuns you. “I know,” he repeats.

“Oh, you know,” you say, trying to jerk out of his grasp. “You abandon your pregnant wife and you think knowing that you’ve done it means a damn thing to me? Fuck off!”

“No,” he calmly replies.

“Yes!” you bark.

“No.”

Tears begin to cloud your vision. He disappeared and broke your heart at the worst possible time and now that you don’t want him here, he refuses to leave. And how horrible, how fucking humiliating to have your husband dismiss your desires so flippantly. 

“I hate you!” you snap.

“I love you.”

“You left!”

“I panicked.” His free hand lands on your shoulder and slides up your neck to cup your cheek. “I panicked, baby,” he says softly.

That gentle tone pierces your skin against your will and seeps into your veins, spreading throughout your body a sedating sensation. Just enough of the drug to slow your violent pulse without knocking you out completely. And in the absence of such potent rage, sorrow takes over. 

Your bottom lip quivers. Salty drops create lines down your cheeks and drip off your chin onto the rotting floorboards beneath your feet. He was supposed to replace those. It was going to be a summer project but a month and a half has already been carved out of the season and the floorboards still bow under your weight.

“Why were you allowed to panic?” you whimper. “I didn’t get to panic, so how come you got to?”

He sighs, his calloused thumb stroking your cheek. He doesn’t have a response but you didn’t expect one, at least not one with any substance, so you continue. “You know what I’ve been doing while you were out panicking? Trying to find a job so I can afford this house and provide for our child the way a parent should. But no one’s been willing to hire me.”

Benny’s brow pinches and his grip on your hand tightens. Broad shoulders fall forward as if you've just placed a few hefty boulders upon them. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I shoulda been protecting you from those kinds of worries. I shoulda been here.”

“Well, you weren't.”

“I'm gonna be,” he tells you, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe that you believe him. “I am.”

You wish you could trust his word. You wish it was that simple. You wish you were more forgiving, but a situation conflicting enough to require this level of forgiveness is not something you’ve dealt with before. You’ve experienced loss in your life, and you know it well—your father left and your mother disengaged from motherhood, but neither were so rude as to put you in a place to contemplate forgiveness for their betrayal. Neither came back to request it. 

“Will you wait here?” he asks, “and not lock me out when my back is turned? Please?”

You’re severely tempted to do just that because, frankly, he’s made you wait for him long enough. But for some reason, you don't. You cast your gaze aside, cross your arms, and after a couple of seconds, nod your head. 

In your peripherals, you detect his light smile. Then he turns, walks back to his bike, and wrestles a brown paper-wrapped package out of the pack attached to his seat.   

“What is this?” you ask as he returns to the porch and offers it to you. 

“If I was just going to tell you then why would I have wrapped it?”

You almost roll your eyes at the image of Benny taking the time to wrap anything for anyone, as normally he’d enlist someone else (you) to do it, but looking at it, it really is a poorly packaged mess. Wrinkled and ripped in one spot, with a lop-sided bow tied from the string that’s holding the parcel together. Definitely Benny-quality work for this sort of task.

As you tear through the wrapping, Benny collects your scraps, balling the shredded paper together and setting that ball down on the porch railing. The small blanket in your hands is made of bright green fabric with fringed trim, and when you unfold it, hanging it high to get a look at the full thing, you see a white duckling embroidered into one of the corners. 

You lower the blanket so you can meet Benny's eyes. “Why a duck?”

He sticks his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “They didn't have any with little Harley’s,” he teases.

To your great internal shame, you have to choke down a chuckle. His innocent joke instantly reminds you that he’s the one man who can make you laugh, the one who won you over because of his subtle wittiness and his less subtle charm. And now you fucking miss him, damn it. You’d convinced yourself you’d gotten over that, but even as he stands within touching distance, holding distance, kissing distance, you miss him.  

He clears his throat. “Um…if you don't like it I can–”

“No,” you stop him, shaking your head. “I don't particularly like you at the moment, but…” You exhale and give the gift another glance. “I like the blanket.”

Benny nods. His adam’s apple bobs harshly in his throat as you refold the blanket and clutch it to your chest. 

“You think you could like me again one day?” he asks. “You know, if I prove myself real well.”

Your eyes narrow as they flick up to his ocean blues. “Prove yourself as what?”

“A husband,” he says. “A father.”

A husband. A father. One of which he’s been good at in the past—prior to the disappearing act, of course—and one of which you used to believe he’d be good at in the future if that was where fate led you, which it has. But…you don't know. 

You have two options. That’s it. Yes or no. Can you risk it or not? It’s a lot to take in but the reality is, there’s a question you must answer before you can answer any others—did the bomb he threw at your lives shatter your heart to an unmendable state? 

You chew on your cheek, your jaw ticks, and then with a huff, you straighten your spine. 

“You can never do this again,” you declare firmly, poking your index finger into the center of his chest. “I mean it, Benny. If you do, we won't be here when you come back.”

The ropes of rigidness unravel from his body. “Baby, this is where I wanna be,” he says, stepping into your space once more. “I promise.”

You can feel your heartbeat jackrabbiting from his closeness now that your overwhelming emotions have somewhat subsided.

“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you tell him.

Benny grins. “That's fair.”

---

maybe a part 2? Let me know :)

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[ellecdc]

Running Late

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who is visually impaired

CW: reader has a degenerative eye disease that has left her with little sight, boys are obsessed with her, Marlene and Regulus read Sirius like a book

A/N: another fic no one really asked for but, after my post with our sweet wheelchair user!reader, our resident pink heart emoji felt courageous enough to share their own experience with visual impairment and I was inspired by her to write this - so, I hope you enjoy it 🩷 (and everyone else who might need it 🫶)

There was a time that you and Sirius rivalled one another for who took the longest to get ready, but lately it seemed that you usually won in that regard. 

Remus didn’t mind, however; he’d wait on you for the rest of his life if you’d let him. 

He had a certain amount of patience for you that he, admittedly, did not have for Sirius; seeing as you had your degenerative eye disease to blame on your tardiness whereas Sirius was just a slow and lazy sod who lived to drive Remus mad. 

He and Sirius had been dressed in their best in the living room as they waited for you to finish getting ready before heading to Regulus’ birthday party that Lily and James were throwing for him, when Sirius couldn’t take it any longer.

“I’m just going to go see what is taking so long.” He explained before he disappeared down the hall.

But that was almost 14 minutes ago and now Remus had lost two of his partners in his own flat.

He slowly made his way down the hall to the bedroom door that was currently propped open, allowing him to watch Sirius who was perched on the vanity table as he hovered over you with a stick of eyeliner in his hands. 

You used to be quite adventurous with makeup; always watching new tutorials and trying out different styles. But as your eyesight deteriorated, you opted to remain more natural in your looks, working primarily off of memory than visuals when having to hold a mirror so close to your face no longer allowed you the dexterity to work as you were used to. 

And Remus knew for certain you hadn’t touched that stick of eyeliner in what had to be months. 

“Don’t you trust my abilities?” Sirius asked teasingly; his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he focused on getting the wing just right.

“‘Course I trust you, Siri. I just-”

“-don’t want to look silly, I know, doll.” Sirius finished for you softly as he leaned back to consider his work. “I’d never let you leave looking silly.”

“When has she ever looked silly, Pads?” Remus asked then, alerting the two of you to his presence. 

“Not once; never.” He answered readily, causing you to scoff.

“See, this is why I don’t trust you; you’re not objective.”

“I am too objective!” Sirius quickly denied.

“Sirius, you think I look sexy with my retainer and flannel pyjamas.” You deadpanned in return. 

“But… you are sexy with your retainer and flannel pyjamas? You just look so cosy which makes me think about bed, which makes me think about going to bed with you, which makes me think about what we do in said bed and-” 

“Alright, alright.” Remus interrupted with a hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he inspected Sirius’ handiwork. 

“How does she look?” Sirius asked him, leaning into Remus’ side as they both watched you flush under their attention. 

“Breathtaking.” Remus offered. 

“You’re not objective, either.” You murmured, pulling the small mirror close to your face in order to scrutinise Sirius’ application. 

“Fine, you want objective, gorgeous?” Sirius quipped as he pulled his phone out.

“What are you doing?” You asked warily as you heard Sirius’ phone begin to ring. 

“Calling the most objective people I know.” He answered just as the ringing stopped.

“What the fuck do you want? And also, where the fuck are you?” Regulus asked his brother.

“Hey Reg, you’re on speaker phone and I need a favour.” 

“On my birthday? You’re asking me for a favour on my birthday?” Regulus asked incredulously. 

“Relax you git, I just need you to find Marlene and put your camera on so you can answer a question for me.” Sirius called back.

You grumbled in protest at Sirius’ theatrics but acquiesced at Remus’ kiss to your temple and thumb rubbing along your shoulder where his hand rested. 

“The fuck does he want!?” You all heard Marlene ask Regulus, causing the two of you to snort and Sirius to scoff in offence. 

“You guys are fuckin’ horrid, listen; how do I look?”

Marlene went first. “Slutty.”

“Like you tried too hard.” Regulus continued.

“Like you’re still trying to piss off your parents even though you don’t talk to them anymore.” 

“Like you were lost at a Paramore concert back in 2007 and still haven’t been picked up from the venue.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Sirius sighed before repositioning himself. “And how does Moony look?”

“Better, I guess.” Regulus offered. 

“If I had to pick a man.” Marlene continued.

“Great.” Sirius said sarcastically. “And what about Y/N?” He asked as he pointed the phone to you. 

Remus could tell you were trying your hardest not to completely turn in on yourself, which he himself was selfishly grateful for as he got to enjoy the view.

“God, she’s such a doll.” Marlene breathed out. 

“You look stunning, love.” Regulus called out.

“Great, you guys are both wankers, love you, see you soon.” Sirius responded before abruptly ending the call.  “Was that objective enough for you?” 

You let out a sigh of faux exasperation and threw your head back. “Okay! Okay.” You relented, allowing Remus to pull you up by your hands and kiss your forehead.

“Oi! Watch the makeup Rem!” Sirius admonished him with a pat to his arse. “We worked hard on that, don’t you know?”

And Remus did know, though he didn’t think you had to. 

Because you were beautiful - always had been - and the way you carried yourself with grace and determination even when you felt as though your body was failing you left you, somehow, even more beautiful. 

Remus had known you before your eyesight started to deteriorate, and he was lucky to have been able to love both versions of you.

Though, selfishly, he thought perhaps he loved this version of you more, simply because it was his.

Simply because it was you; here, now. 

And judging by the lovesick look adorning his boyfriend’s face as he watched you stand and give him a twirl, Sirius felt just the same.