#they don’t linger on the past if they can help it

[mssalo]

fixation

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, oral fixation (f!reader), oral (male receiving), finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, established relationship, consensual dynamic, playful possessiveness, casual intimacy, semi-public setting, reader can’t keep her mouth off of Joel’s cock (I get it) 6k.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It had been about 11 months since you and Joel started seeing each other, and every day with him felt like a quiet discovery, learning things about each other that made each moment feel richer.

But there was something you hadn’t quite figured out how to bring up yet—a part of you that you weren’t sure how he’d respond to. Yet, in his presence, the need always seemed to flare up, subtle but persistent, tugging at you like a habit you couldn’t quite ignore.

One evening, you were curled up together on his couch, the night warm and quiet, and you’d been a little fidgety, your mind distracted, wondering if he’d picked up on your subtle hints.

His hand rested easily on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded circles over your jeans, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, breaking the comfortable silence as he glanced over at you, his eyes soft but observant.

“You’ve been a little… antsy tonight.” He tilted his head, watching you carefully with that warm, reassuring smile of his. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as you avoided his gaze, feeling that familiar warmth creeping in, making you both nervous and a little thrilled.

His hand squeezed your thigh just slightly, his fingers gentle, urging you to look up.

“Baby,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and curiosity, “you know you can tell me anything, right? If there’s somethin’ you want, or… need?”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering on your mouth, a knowing smile beginning to form.

You swallowed, feeling the warmth in your face intensify as his words sank in, and finally, you gave him a small nod, glancing up at him shyly.

Your lips parted slightly, but the words felt stuck, tangled up in the way he was looking at you, his gaze warm and inviting.

A quiet laugh slipped past his lips as he brushed a thumb over your bottom lip, his voice dropping to that rough, soft tone that always seemed to send a shiver through you.

“Got a feeling I know what’s been on your mind,” he murmured, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek as he leaned in closer.

“You got a little fixation, don’t ya?” he whispered, his tone playful but warm, his eyes glinting with quiet confidence.

Your heart raced, and you gave a small, embarrassed nod, your gaze dropping to his chest as you felt the words tumble out in a near whisper.

“I… I just like having… something to keep me busy,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost shy.

Still brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes sparking with that familiar glint.

“Need somethin’ to keep that pretty mouth busy, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft and rough as his thumb lingered, his hand steady on your face.

“Should’ve known,” he said with a grin, his gaze dropping down to your mouth. “Come here.”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle yet confident touch.

As you leaned in, you saw the soft amusement in his eyes, the way his expression held a subtle, reassuring warmth.

You parted your lips, shy but eager, letting his thumb slip between them, and he watched, his gaze intense but filled with that easy confidence that always seemed to make you feel safe with him.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your tongue as he watched, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"Didn’t need to be shy about it… any time you need this, you just come to me, alright?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as his thumb brushed your lower lip, his other hand steady on your waist.

It felt like a quiet promise, a comfortable acceptance that brought you even closer, and you felt your lingering hesitation melting away as he held you there, happy to give you exactly what you’d been craving.

“I don’t mind one bit,” he whispered, his thumb still in your mouth, feeling your soft, tentative sucking as he gently pulled you closer.

Joel’s eyes softened, his voice was low, roughened with curiosity and a touch of arousement as he asked, “Is this what’s been on your mind, babygirl? Just my fingers?”

His question lingered in the air, his tone hinting at more as he kept his gaze steady on yours, letting the words sink in.

He watched the way your cheeks flushed deeper, and he let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he murmured, “Or was it somethin’ else you were thinkin’ about?”

Your heart raced, his hint unmistakable, but there was something about the warmth in his gaze and the steady grip of his hand that put you completely at ease.

The words felt caught in your throat, but Joel waited, letting his thumb slip out of your mouth, his hand settling under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. “I can make sure you get exactly what you need… all you have to do is ask.”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice softened, a quiet encouragement. “Whatever you want, I’m here, sweet bug.”

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip again, encouraging as he kept his gaze steady, patient, letting you find the words.

Your cheeks warmed, but the way he was looking at you—reassuring, warm, without a hint of judgment—made it easier to open up.

“I just… feel calmer when I’m, you know, sucking on something,” you began, your voice quiet, a little shy.

“Something solid. It’s like… I like the weight of it in my mouth.” You paused, catching your breath, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief as you finally said it out loud. “I don’t know why, but it’s… comforting.”

Joel listened closely, nodding as his thumb traced a gentle line along your jaw. His smile softened, and he murmured, “I figured, pretty one… I could see it.”

He tilted his head, watching you with a look of gentle understanding that helped ease the lingering embarrassment. “Were you embarrassed to tell me?”

You hesitated, giving him a small, shy nod. He chuckled softly, a low, comforting sound that settled any lingering nerves.

“Can’t say I haven’t noticed,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, as he looked down at you. “The way you linger, like you can’t let go of my cock once you’ve got your mouth on it… like you’re not quite done with me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and quiet laughs slipped out of the both of you.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze softening, still playful but carrying a deeper warmth. “You like the weight of it, hm?” he asked gently, a thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “Feels good for you, yeah?”

You gave a small, shy nod, meeting his gaze as your pulse quickened.

He leaned closer, his tone a gentle murmur as he continued, “Darlin’, anytime you need that—anytime you want me, you come to me. I’ll be more than happy to help you calm down.”

With that, he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cradling your face, his words sinking in as he held you there, his touch reassuring, making it clear he was there for you, always.

· · ───𖥸

It had become a quiet ritual between you and Joel ever since that night—one where he was more than happy to help you find comfort whenever you needed it.

At first, it was just his fingers. When you’d feel the day’s tension creeping up, he’d let you settle close, slipping his fingers between your lips as he watched you, warm and intent.

The gentle weight, the grounding feel of his hand against your jaw as he let you draw his fingers in, helped you feel calm in a way that words couldn’t quite reach.

Joel noticed it too, the way you’d relax under his touch, how you’d quietly seek him out and never let go until you were completely at ease.

Tonight, though, you found yourself wanting more. It had been a long and hard day, one that left you feeling edgy, and his fingers alone weren’t enough.

As you walked into the living room, you found him on the couch, relaxed with his arm draped across the back, his other hand resting on his thigh.

The sight of him there, so grounded and steady, instantly soothed something in you.

He noticed you right away, his gaze softening as you approached, catching the fidgeting in your hands.

“Hello there, pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice warm, with that touch of curiosity he always had when he knew you needed him. “Need anything?”

You didn’t say anything, instead sinking to your knees in front of him, your gaze falling to his lap before meeting his eyes again.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, his expression soft but knowing, his lips curling into a small smile as he reached down, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“Had a rough day, huh?” he murmured, his tone low, patient as his hand moved to cradle your jaw.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, holding you there gently, his eyes darkening with quiet understanding.

“Is this what you’ve been needing?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble, letting his fingers linger at your lips, already familiar with the comfort it brought you.

But you shook your head slightly, looking up at him with that same shy glance, your gaze flickering down as you hesitated, unsure how to ask for what you really needed.

Joel’s gaze held steady, his thumb brushing over your lip as he read your expression, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Or maybe… you want a little more than that?”

You felt your cheeks flush, but the look in his eyes made the words come easier. You glanced up, giving him a small nod as your hands settled on his knees, silently asking for permission, for more.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip, and he chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to meet yours. “Is that what you’ve been needing?” he murmured, his voice low, rich with amusement. “My cock… to make you calm?”

The words sent a thrill through you, and he watched as you nodded, barely able to meet his gaze, your cheeks warm. ”Yes... please,“ you whispered quietly.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his hand guiding your chin so you couldn’t look away.

“No need to be shy with me, darlin’,” he continued, his voice a quiet, steady invitation. “If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. Always.”

Joel leaned back slightly, the soft lighting casting shadows across his strong features, highlighting the rugged lines of his face and the warm, steady gleam in his dark eyes.

He watched you closely, his gaze never faltering as you settled in closer, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, grounding you with his steady presence.

A subtle smile played at the corner of his mouth as his hand settled over yours, guiding you with a gentle but firm touch.

His fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him as he murmured, “Go ahead, sweetheart… take what you need.”

Your fingers brushed over the outline of his cock, feeling him hardening beneath your touch, his quiet, restrained breaths signaling his anticipation.

His gaze darkened, his eyes holding a mix of warmth and intensity as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as you felt his cock pulse beneath your hand.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice deep, a touch of approval in his tone as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soft, grounding circles there.

His touch, his steady gaze, everything about him filled you with a quiet confidence as he murmured, “You’re doin’ perfect, darlin’… don’t stop.”

His voice, low and calming, was a quiet invitation, full of the easy confidence that you found so comforting.

“Go on, pretty girl,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours.

You tugged his jeans down just enough, freeing him from the fabric, and your breath hitched as you took him in.

His cock was thick and slightly curved, already hard and flushed with arousal, the tip a deep, needy pink that glistened faintly, inviting. Dark, neatly kept curls surrounded his base, a subtle, masculine scent rising from him, earthy and undeniably him.

His hand moved at the back of your neck, thumb grazing lightly against your skin, steadying you as you leaned in.

His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver through you as he murmured, “My sweet girl... Lookin’ so good with your mouth just inches from me. Can see you want it… don’t hold back.”

His words dripped with quiet command, tinged with that deep warmth that made you feel secure yet set your nerves alight with anticipation.

You opened your mouth, your tongue trailing along the underside of his length, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him.

The heat, the weight of his cock, filled you with a heady calm, grounding you in the sensation. Joel’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your neck, his other hand resting on his thigh, fingers curling as he watched you take him inch by inch.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice dark and warm, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you.

“Look at you, takin’ all of me like that, slow and easy. Your lips… they look so damn good wrapped around me, sweet one.” His tone was full of approval, deep and rich, letting you know how much he was enjoying this, letting you settle into the moment.

You began to move your mouth over him, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, savoring every ridge and vein.

The faint sheen of your saliva coated him, catching the light, and his cock looked even more inviting, glistening and hard, throbbing slightly in response to your touch.

Joel let out a low, pleased hum, his hand stroking your cheek, encouraging you as you took him deeper.

“God, baby, good job,” he murmured, his tone thick with admiration. “So sweet and focused… like you were made for this.”

His fingers trailed through your hair, gentle but firm, guiding you without any hint of impatience. “Gettin’ every inch, nice and slow… takin’ your time just like I like.”

Your mouth tightened around him, feeling his cock twitch as you took him deeper, letting the weight of him press down on your tongue, grounding you, calming you in a way that nothing else could.

His scent, his warmth, his quiet, filthy praise—everything about this moment soothed you, made you feel safe, yet utterly alive.

“You love how it feels, yeah, baby?” Joel’s voice was a low rasp, and his words spurred you on, made you feel bolder. “The weight of me, how thick I am in that pretty mouth of yours. Tellin’ you, sweetheart… there’s nothin’ I like more than watchin’ you get lost right here.”

You could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through his cock, and it made you shiver.

His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over the corner of your mouth as he watched you, eyes dark, lips parted in quiet approval.

He tilted his head, studying you with that intense, appreciative gaze that always made you feel seen, adored.

“You keep that mouth workin’ as long as you need, baby,” he murmured, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Long as you want, it’s all yours. Just… fuck, yeah, just like that.”

The praise made you feel a rush of warmth, and you took him deeper, letting him feel your eagerness, your need.

His cock pulsed against your tongue, and you savored the feel of him as his fingers stayed steady at your neck, grounding you with his warmth and strength.

“Feelin’ better already?” he asked, his voice gentle, his tone rough with desire.

His hand traced down your jaw, thumb pressing lightly at your lip, pulling it down so he could see himself disappear into your mouth. “Look at that, darlin’... look at you, takin’ me so well. Such a good girl, lettin’ me calm you down just like this.”

You hummed softly around him, the vibration making his fingers tighten slightly on the back of your neck.

His breathing grew deeper, more ragged, but he kept his touch soft, steady, letting you take the lead, letting you have what you needed. “That’s it, baby… don’t rush, just keep me right there. Slow and steady,” he whispered, his voice low and dark, every word soothing yet making your pulse quicken.

His hand stayed firm as he leaned back slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably as you continued to savor him, tasting, exploring, letting his words and his touch fill you with warmth and calm.

Every brush of his thumb, every murmur of approval, grounded you deeper, letting you lose yourself completely in him, in the simple, comforting weight of him on your tongue, a connection that was yours and his alone.

You relaxed deeper, each slow movement of your mouth deliberate, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his thick, flushed cock filling you, grounding you.

Joel’s hand stayed steady at the back of your neck, fingers pressing just enough to let you know he was there, a solid presence holding you close.

“Babygirl, look at you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that made your pulse quicken, each filthy word dripping with pride.

“My perfect little thing, workin’ so hard… always giving it your all. Just needed somethin’ to fill that pretty mouth, didn’t ya?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, a gentle but possessive touch that sent a thrill through you. “That’s what I’m here for, baby. You look so damn good like this, takin’ me slow.”

Your cheeks flushed, feeling yourself sink into his words, every filthy murmur making you crave more, making you want to show him just how much you needed this.

You let your tongue swirl around the head of his cock, tasting him, savoring the salty heat, feeling him twitch under your attention.

He let out a low groan, his other hand moving to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watched you, dark eyes heavy with desire.

“God, baby, you’re too good at this,” he muttered, voice dipping lower, dripping with arousal.

“So focused, takin’ me so good, like you were made for it. Seein’ those lips stretchin’ around me, so damn eager. Look at you… got me hard as a rock, and you’re takin’ your time, just workin’ every inch.”

His hips shifted, barely a nudge forward, just enough to let you feel his need, but he held back, letting you control the pace.

“Bet you’d stay right here all night if possible,” he chuckled, the sound rich and dirty. “You’d just keep suckin’, hm? Letting that pretty mouth of yours get all messy for me.”

You felt his cock pulse, a heavy, throbbing weight on your tongue as he watched you, his breathing roughening as he sank further into the sensation.

His grip on your neck tightened just slightly, his control slipping as he saw how lost you were, how you kept at it with such gentle, focused attention.

“Love how you’re suckin’ my cock for me, baby… so fuckin’ devoted. Just lettin’ me fill that mouth, takin’ me all the way. It’s like you can’t get enough, huh? Just keepin’ me right there, like you’d never let go.”

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and he bit his lip, feeling his own need taking over as he tried to hold back, not wanting to pull you from the calm, submissive state you’d found.

But with each slow, wet stroke of your mouth, each deliberate pull of your lips around him, he felt himself teetering closer to the edge, and a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him as he leaned down, his hand cradling your face.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with both regret and need, “but you’re too damn good… I can’t hold back any longer. I’m gonna cum.”

His thumb pressed against your cheek, feeling the fullness of his cock in your mouth as he whispered, “Hate to take this from you, but I want you to swallow every drop, every bit of me… you’ve earned it, good job.”

He let out a deep, guttural groan as he came, his cock twitching in slow, heavy pulses against your tongue, spilling into your mouth as he held you close, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, keep you steady as he filled you.

His other hand brushed over your cheek, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, watching with dark, hooded eyes as you swallowed everything he gave, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur.

“God, look at you, darlin’… swallowin’ every fuckin’ drop like the good girl you are. So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect. Just lettin’ me use that sweet mouth, keepin’ me close.” His thumb lingered at your lips, his voice warm, affectionate as he whispered, “You’re exactly where you belong, sweetheart… right here, with me.”

He stayed there, holding you, his voice softening as he praised you, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your cheek, grounding you as you both came down, feeling safe, cherished, and completely at peace in the warmth of his touch.

As you eased back, Joel’s hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gentle, soothing circles, and he looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the calm, relaxed look on your face.

You were utterly at peace, your eyes heavy-lidded, a faint, satisfied smile on your lips as you looked up at him, the tension you’d been carrying all day melting away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rich with warmth and pride, his hand steady as he helped you rise.

“My perfect girl, you did so well,” he whispered, pulling you up to settle you against his chest, cradling you close as his hands drifted to rub soft circles on your back.

He could feel how completely at ease you were, the deep calm radiating off you as you leaned into him, feeling safe, cherished, like you’d found exactly what you needed.

You let out a quiet, sleepy murmur, snuggling into his warmth, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of gratitude, the words barely audible as you let yourself sink into his embrace.

Joel’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle as he held you, one hand moving up to brush through your hair, his fingers gentle, comforting.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“So calm now… my sweet girl, lettin’ herself relax.” He could see the sleepiness in your eyes, the way your breathing had slowed, your body completely soft in his arms.

He tucked you closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand never stopping its gentle, grounding strokes along your back.

“You can rest now, baby,” he whispered, his tone full of care as he continued to hold you, letting you know he was right there. “You’re safe with me… just close those eyes. I’ve got you.”

You melted further against him, your body fully relaxed, your breathing deep and even, your face tucked against his neck, perfectly content and utterly calm in his embrace.

He felt you drift closer to sleep, your soft breaths warm against his skin, and he tightened his hold, letting you find that final bit of peace, held close and cherished in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

· · ───𖥸

Over time, it became second nature, a quiet ritual between you and Joel.

The comfort you found in each other had only deepened, making those moments when you had him in your mouth feel easy, almost instinctual.

There were mornings when he'd sit on the edge of the bed, tousled hair and a sleepy smirk, and you’d settle between his thighs, taking him slowly as the sun crept through the blinds, warming the room as he murmured sleepy praise, his hand steady in your hair.

Or lazy afternoons, when you'd both wind down on the couch, and he'd reach over, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he was there, that he understood what you needed.

Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, he'd feel you shift closer, your warm breath against his skin, and he’d know exactly what you needed without a single word exchanged.

He’d guide you under the sheets, his voice a low, sleepy rumble as he whispered, “Go on, darlin’, take what you need,” his tone gentle, reassuring as he let you lose yourself, knowing how much it helped you relax, how much you needed him in those quiet hours.

And then, there were moments just like now—calm and casual, like you were simply sharing another part of your day together.

Joel stood at the stove, his back turned slightly as he tended to a simmering pan, cooking up something simple for dinner before a friend came over.

His shoulders were broad and relaxed, his stance easy, completely at home in his space.

You were on your knees - his hard cock in your mouth, your lips wrapped around him, taking him slowly, almost like an afterthought, as if this were as natural as holding his hand or sharing a quiet drink together.

The kitchen filled with familiar sounds—the soft sizzle of the pan, the clink of the spatula, Joel’s steady breaths mingling with yours.

His free hand occasionally drifted to your hair, brushing over it with gentle fingers, not guiding but simply acknowledging you there.

Every now and then, his hand would graze over your cheek, tracing a soft line along your jaw as he continued to stir the food, keeping his focus on both you and the task in front of him with that calm confidence that made you feel secure.

He glanced down at you with a smirk, his eyes warm with that casual affection, the amusement clear on his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Look at you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and playful.

“Can’t keep away, even while I’m tryin’ to get dinner on the stove.” He chuckled, running a thumb along your jawline, his tone casual and amused. “But hell, can’t say I mind one bit.”

His hand returned to the pan, stirring with a practiced ease, completely unfazed as you continued to take him deeper, your lips sliding over his length with a slow, familiar rhythm that felt grounding, comforting.

You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, but his breath remained steady, his voice calm as he casually carried on.

He kept stirring the pan, flipping the food, but you noticed how his fingers tightened on the spatula, his calm demeanor wavering ever so slightly as his eyes lingered on you a moment longer.

His hand drifted back to your hair, gripping a little firmer this time, letting his thumb brush over your cheek as he took in the sight of you, your cheeks hollowing as you pulled him in deeper.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

“Always so eager to get me in that pretty mouth of yours, no matter what we’re doin’. you just can’t get enough.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in admiration as he went back to the stove, still casual, as if it were perfectly natural for you to be on your knees, sucking him off while he cooked.

You felt your own excitement building, a warmth settling over you as his words sank in, his easy praise making you feel cherished and bold.

As Joel continued cooking, your pace grew a little faster, your mouth working over him with that same familiar, comforting rhythm, but now you could feel his cock twitching, thick and heavy against your tongue.

He glanced down with a small smirk, clearly enjoying the way you seemed to lose yourself, the casual intimacy of it making him feel grounded, completely at ease.

Just then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the quiet kitchen.

Joel paused, casting a quick glance at the door before looking down at you with that calm, teasing expression, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“Well, guess Paul’s here,” he murmured, his voice low and amused, as if the idea of his friend arriving right now only added to his pleasure. “Mind hurryin’ it up, darlin’?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, feeling a surge of need as his gaze held steady on yours.

The doorbell rang again, and you gripped his thighs tighter, pressing in, whispering in a low, urgent tone, “Please, baby… fuck my mouth. I need you to cum. right now.”

A low groan escaped him, his amusement giving way to a darker need as he held your head in place, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nice, baby,” he murmured, his tone dropping, filled with pride and pleasure as he looked down at you. “Guess I can’t keep you waiting, can I?”

With a steady hand, he guided your head, his hips beginning to rock gently, then harder, each slow thrust filling your mouth with a deep, satisfying pressure that made you feel grounded, completely in tune with him.

His hips rocked forward, his hand guiding your head to take him as deep as possible, his voice breaking into low, filthy groans.

“That’s it… just like that. God, you’re a perfect little thing… lettin’ me use you, lettin’ me fill that pretty mouth like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His breaths grew more ragged, his cock pulsing with each movement as he picked up the pace, letting himself go, his fingers digging into your hair as he held you steady.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice thick with need, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper. “You want my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? Just need to feel me fillin’ that pretty mouth of yours.”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him gasp, his cock throbbing. Joel’s breaths grew heavy, his control slipping, and you could feel him getting closer, his words now a strained murmur.

“Almost there, sweetheart… just a bit more. Need you to swallow every bit for me.”

With one final thrust, he let go, his cock pulsing as he spilled into your mouth, warm and thick, his groans deep and satisfied as he watched you take everything he gave.

His thumb brushed over your jaw as you swallowed, his gaze filled with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough as he held you close.

Just as you both caught your breath, the doorbell rang again. Joel smirked, helping you up and wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pulling you into a quick, reassuring kiss.

He glanced at the door, chuckling. “Better let Paul in. Don’t want him thinkin’ we forgot about him.”

He straightened up, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he went back to the stove, leaving you flushed, fulfilled, and feeling like you were exactly where you needed to be.

You straightened up, catching your reflection in the hallway mirror and smoothing your hair, feeling both satisfied and a little flushed.

You opened the door to see Paul standing there

“Hey, Paul,” you greeted, trying to keep your tone light and casual, though you could feel Joel’s gaze burning into you from behind, clearly amused.

Paul stepped inside, glancing between the two of you with a smile. “Took you both long enough—I almost left again.”

Joel strolled over, leaning casually with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his eyes glinting as they met yours, “guess I finished up just in time.”

Your cheeks flushed as Joel’s smirk lingered, a private joke hanging thick in the air, while Paul remained blissfully oblivious.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I really liked this…. a bit too much. 🫎

Just a little reminder that your comments, and reposts with reactions, mean the world to me. They’re the only “thank you” I get for these stories, and truly the reason I stay motivated to keep writing and sharing.

Knowing you’re enjoying the journey and hearing your thoughts keeps this all alive.

So please, keep those comments and reposts coming—they’re what make it all worth it. Thank you so much for being here and for all your support!!!! ��️🗣️🗣️😭😭😭‼️‼️

[mrmeowski]

˚✧𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈…?✧˚

Synopsis: Curiosity often pushes us to seek answers to the unknown, but sometimes, those simple questions lead you down unexpected paths. What seems innocent at first can stir deeper emotions, and what’s shared may reveal more than anticipated. The question is, are you ready for them?

CW: Slight angst [Boothill], slight 2.5 spoilers [Jiaoqiu], suggestive

Word Count: 5.5k

Characters: 🧡༻✧ Blade [668] 💜༻✧ Boothill [627] 🧡༻✧ Dan Heng • IL [628] 💜༻✧ Dr. Ratio [880] 🧡༻✧ Jiaoqiu [776] 💜༻✧ Jing Yuan [993] 🧡༻✧ Sunday [935]

⋇⊰BLADE⊱⋇

"Can I… help you with the bandages, Yingxing?" His eyes shift toward you, a flicker of irritation crossing his gaze as he starts unwinding the bindings on his arm.

You stand in the doorway, watching him. He sits silently on the edge of the bed, half-turned toward the wall, his top discarded. Shadows play across his scarred skin, deep lines from past battles marring his form, history of his trials and rebirths.

To anyone else, this sight of him unguarded would be fleeting, barely a moment before he'd forcefully shut them out. But you aren't just anyone, and for you, he’s left the door ajar, though he denies it.

"I’ve told you not to call me that." His words are gruff, but they lack the bite he'd have with anyone else.

Ignoring his protest, you step inside, letting the door slide shut behind you as you settle beside him on the bed. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and he tenses, though he doesn’t move away.

"So I take that as a yes?" A playful smile tugging at your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He huffs but doesn’t pull his arm back.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters.

Feigning a pout, you slipped your arms around his waist, feeling the subtle hitch in his breath as your hands brushed over his skin.

"Oh, come on," you teased, nudging him gently. "Can't I care for my dear husband?" For a moment, he was silent, his jaw clenched as he stared at his hands, as if trying to decide whether to give in.

With a reluctant sigh, he handed you the bandages, though his voice still held a touch of exasperation.

"Fine. But make it quick." With a smile, you took the roll from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment longer than necessary.

His warmth radiated under your touch, and as you began to carefully wrap the bandages over his scars, your movements were gentle, almost reverent, tracing the lines of his past with a tenderness only you could offer him.

"You know," you murmured, "You don't have to do everything alone." He tensed, his gaze flicking to you.

"I don't need help," he said, but his tone had softened significantly.

You only smiled, pressing lightly on his shoulder to make him hold still.

"Maybe not," you replied, "But that doesn’t mean you can’t let me help anyway." A rare softness flickered in his eyes, and for a brief moment, he let himself lean into your touch.

Silence settled between you, a comfortable, unspoken understanding. And as you continued your work, you could feel his heartbeat—a steady rhythm beneath layers of pain, guarded by walls he let no one else cross.

When the last bandage was secure, you paused, fingers lingering on his skin.

"See?" You grinned proudly. "Not so hard to let someone in every now and then., hm?"

He huffed, turning his gaze away to hide the faint blush that crept onto his cheeks. But he couldn't deny his heart any longer, nor the warmth that had stirred within him since you'd come into his life.

Taking a breath, he lifted his hand, the wedding ring that decorated his finger gleamed faintly in the soft light of his room—a reminder of the promise you’d both made, binding him to you more deeply than any scars ever could.

His hand found its way to your cheek, rough and calloused from battle, yet gentle as it cupped your face. You leaned into his touch. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that is only known to you. Slowly, he leaned closer, his lips capturing yours in a tender, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could.

You melted into his embrace, responding to the quiet passion he’d held back for so long.

Between breaths, his lips hovered close to yours, and in a whisper that trembled with sincerity, he said, “Thank you… for staying by my side all this time.”

⋇⊰BOOTHILL⊱⋇

"Can I... wear your hat?" You asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice.

You knew what they said, curiosity killed the cat, but really, it was just a cowboy hat, right?

You’d seen him without it on a few rare occasions, but never anyone else wearing it. Boothill was... particular about that hat—almost as if it was an extension of himself.

So when you found yourself sitting close to him on the old, worn sofa, his metal arm resting around your shoulders and pulling you in just a bit closer, the question slipped out before you could stop yourself.

For a moment, he was silent. You could see the faintest trace of color rise to his cheeks, darkening his usual calm expression with a blush you’d never quite seen before.

He chuckled, his hand reaching over to tousle your hair playfully, “Well now, darlin’,” he drawled, an easy grin spreading across his face, sharp teeth glistening, “What’s got ya so interested in this ol’ thing, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and developed a taste for a dusty cowboy hat...” You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Oh, come on, I just want to see what all the fuss is about. It’s not like it’ll bite.” He tilted his head, watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, almost hesitant.

“Ain't no ordinary hat, ya know," he muttered, that faint blush deepening as he looked away for a moment, “But if ya really wanna wear it... who am I to say no to a pretty thing like you?”

You watched as his hand came up slowly, taking the hat from his head. He held it for a moment, as though second-guessing himself, then handed it to you with an almost reverent care. The weight of it settled in your hands, and as you gingerly placed it on your head, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening.

“There,” he murmured, his tone lower, “Looks like you’re all set to join the rodeo now.” You laughed, adjusting the brim so it sat just right, feeling a rush of warmth at the way he was looking at you, like you’d just stepped right into his heart.

He shook his head, grinning as he leaned back, his arm still around your shoulders. “Enjoy every second now, sugar—ain’t every day I let someone else wear that ol’ hat of mine.” You turned to face him, feeling bold, your gaze meeting his.

“Guess that means you trust me, huh?” He chuckled again, that easy, lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked back at you with a glint in his eye.

“Trust, interest… somethin’ like that.” Pulling you in a little closer. His fingers trailed down your cheek, slow and lingering, as he let his thumb trace along your jaw. “Just means you might be in for a bit of trouble now,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, his gaze flickering to your lips.

The brim of his hat dipped, casting a shadow over your faces, and you felt his lips brush against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, but quickly deepened as his sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, pulling at it in a way that made your heart race.

Deep within something weighed heavy in his chest—a deep, unspoken grief that seemed to tug at the very core of him. The moment you wore that hat of his... it reminded him of her, of a time long ago, when he was still human, when he had something to protect—someone to care for. His daughter. The one he had lost, the one he would never get back.

His heart, once broken, was mended only by one thing: you. He pulled away slightly, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath ragged.

"I ain't the man I once was... but I’ll protect you, darlin'. With my life, even if it goes against everythin' I ever knew. As long as it's you... I'll do it."

⋇⊰DAN HENG • IL⊱⋇

“Can I… touch your horns?" Your voice barely above a whisper.

The very moment Dan Heng shed his human form to reveal the graceful, imposing figure of Imbibitor Lunae, an undeniable curiosity had settled within you. Those glowing horns, the soft fur trailing along his tail—they all seemed to call to you, sparking a fascination that you just couldn't ignore.

He glanced up from his book, his calm demeanor briefly faltering as a faint blush colored his pale cheeks.

“Excuse me?” His tone was guarded, but you could see the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes.

It was as if he needed you to repeat it, to confirm you’d actually asked what he thought you did.

You had always urged him to embrace his true Vidyadhara form. At first, he resisted, but your persistence wore down his resolve. Eventually, he relented, but only within the privacy of his quarters or the quiet of an empty Astral Express.

“You heard me,” you said, inching a little closer, fingers itching to reach out. “I just… wonder what they feel like.” Your gaze drifted to his horns, mesmerized by the gentle glow that radiated from them, casting a warm light across his features.

For a moment, he looked away, his shoulders tense. “It’s not... something I’m accustomed to,” he murmured, his voice low. His gaze returned to you, a quiet understanding in his eyes. "But… I-I suppose I can allow it."

He leaned down, bringing his face closer to yours, giving you an unspoken invitation.

With a him, you raised your hand, reaching out to trace the gleaming, curved horns that adorned his head. The moment your fingertips brushed against their smooth surface, he inhaled sharply, and a low, involuntary growl escaped his lips.

His book snapped shut in his hand, and his whole body seemed to shiver from the contact, the sensation reverberating through him. Surprised, you flinched, your fingers halting as you pulled back.

“A-Are you alri—”

He let out a strained sigh, his hand darting forward to gently capture yours and place it back on his horns, “Why’d you stop?” His voice was rough, with a hunger you’d rarely heard from him.

Wait... is he purring? Half-lidded, his gaze locked onto you, eyes softened by the warmth that has always there when you're around.

His horns weren't usually so sensitive to the touch, but perhaps it was because it was you—the one person who had grown so close to him, the one person he felt tethered to in a way he couldn't fully explain. His body seemed to respond to even the slightest touch, and the very air you breathed seemed to send him spiraling.

As you resumed tracing his horns, the low rumble of a purr rose in his chest, almost too soft to catch. You blinked, your breath catching as you noticed his tail slowly curling and swaying behind him, giving away his pleasure. The purr deepened, reverberating through him as he leaned into your touch, his control slipping.

And then, before you could react, he pushed you deeper into mattress of his bed. You felt his chest press against yours, his tail curling possessively around your waist, pulling you closer as he buried his face against the side of your cheek, his purr vibrating against your skin.

He brushed his nose along your cheek, purring with an intensity that left no doubt about his feelings. You felt his heartbeat echoing in rhythm with yours, and his arms encircled you.

There was no mistaking it now. He knew the moment you stepped foot into the Astral Express, the moment you entered his life.

His head rested against yours, the glow of his horns casting a soft light between you, whispering into your ear, “You’re mine...”

⋇⊰DR. RATIO⊱⋇

“Can I... touch your arm?” The words slipped out before you could even process them, and by the time you realized, it was too late.

You were constantly drawn to the unknown, to things that fascinated you—and today, Dr. Ratio’s arm, the one exposed by his rather bold style of clothing, had caught your attention.

You could feel eyes shifting to you, a mix of shocked and bewildered looks coming from the students surrounding you both. Among them, you could practically feel his sharp, glaring stare boring into your skull.

He sighed, clearly irritated, before passing the clipboard he held to one of the astonished students. He grumbled something under his breath, clearly struggling to keep his composure.

“Excuse us for a moment… continue with your project,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

Before you could react, he had his arm around your shoulder, guiding you swiftly out of the room and into a quiet, secluded hallway.

Once out of earshot, he released you, crossing his arms and fixing you with a stern, no-nonsense glare.

“Do you realize the kind of attention you’re attracting with those questions?” His brow arched.

You gave him a sheepish grin, scratching the back of your neck as you looked away.

“I didn’t mean for it to slip out,” you admitted, your voice light. “At least… not in front of everyone. But really, it’s tempting.” You glanced back at him, letting the playful curiosity seep back into your gaze.

He sighed, shaking his head slightly as he studied you.

“I can never truly understand what goes on in your head, [Name]. Nor how someone like you manages to be one of the best researchers here,” he muttered, sounding exasperated but almost... begrudgingly impressed. “You were always like this, even back when we were students.”

It was true. Back then, you’d always ranked either at the very top or just below him, your carefree demeanor had led him to believe you didn’t take anything seriously. You had an uncanny ability to get under his skin, and no amount of stern lectures ever seemed to change that.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, right?” You shrugged, clicking your tongue playfully, adding, “So, is that a yes or a no?” He gave you a hard stare, brow furrowed.

“You’re serious about that?” His frown deepened, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely perplexed.

You were a puzzle he could never quite solve—a Rubik’s cube with infinitely shifting sides, always challenging, always just out of reach.With a heavy sigh, he finally relented, unfolding his arms and extending one toward you.

“Fine,” he said, his voice resigned. “If this will put an end to your pestering, then go ahead.”

You couldn’t hide your delight as you grinned and reached out, fingertips brushing against the firm curve of his arm.

The instant your touch met his skin, a subtle shiver that ran through him, though he tried his best to keep his expression steady. His poker face remained composed, yet you sensed the faintest twitch in his jaw.

Every time you were near, there was this unexplainable spark between you, something that always lingered just beneath the surface.

He’d told himself countless times that he kept it well-hidden, convinced that his practiced, stoic mask shielded him from your perceptive gaze. But there were whispers—others had noticed how he’d look at you, and sometimes he wondered how long he could keep this under wraps. At least, he reassured himself, you hadn’t noticed… yet.

His arm was exactly as it's displayed—defined, solid, with the firmness of something sculpted. As you trailed your fingers along his bicep, you looked up at him, caught in that same sense of wonder you often had when encountering the unknown, that glint in your eyes like a spark of discovery.

He held your gaze, his own expression softening against his will. Somehow, the realization that he could inspire that curiosity in you made something inside him stir—a quiet pride, even if he’d never dare admit it.

“Done?” Arching a brow, though there was something almost gentle in his tone.

You couldn't resist giving his arm a playful squeeze—only for a surprised sound, almost a groan, to slip from him. His cheeks flushed a faint pink as he shot you a glare, yet neither of you moved, frozen in place.

A second passed in that charged silence before you broke it with a shaky laugh.

“A-Ahaha… I-I think that settles it,” you said, flashing an awkward smile as you tried to compose yourself.

He muttered something under his breath, flustered, “This is the last time I’ll indulge any of your whims.” Yet he wasn’t certain he could keep that promise.

“Oh, well, at least I enjoyed my privileges,” you teased, grinning as you attempted to brush past him to rejoin the others.

But before you could slip away, his hand gripped your arm, halting you.

“Since you’ve had your fill… I expect you’ll indulge my curiosities as well,” he murmured, voice low.

You tilted your head, looking up at him, but he didn’t move back. His hand lingered as he traced the curve of your cheek with a feather-light touch, his gaze intent.

“So?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Is it a yes or a no?”

⋇⊰JIAOQIU⊱⋇

“Can I… touch your tail?” It was out of the blue to suddenly asked him fot his.

But really, who could blame you? His tail was just there, brushing against your legs with that irresistible fluffiness. It was practically begging to be touched!

Jiaoqiu’s ears perked at your request, and though you couldn’t see his expression entirely, you caught a glimpse of his grin hidden behind his fan. He had been waiting for this, teasing you by letting his tail drift closer until you could no longer resist.

“Oh my, aren’t you bold?” He purred, his tail slowly winding around your waist as he leaned in closer. “You do know it’s quite… rude to ask a Foxian such a thing, hm?” His tone was light, yet playful, and his words left you flustered.

Your face heated up, and you scrambled to apologize, “I-I’m sorry, Jiaoqiu! I didn’t mean to—”

“—For strangers,” he interrupted, his voice soft as his free hand reached out, fingers gently brushing against your cheek. His thumb traced a small circle, grounding you with his touch. “But you… you are no stranger to me.”

His voice was a low whisper now, an invitation that made your heart skip a beat. “Go on… touch it,” he urged, his words making your nerves flutter with a mix of excitement and hesitation.

You hesitated, fingers trembling as they moved closer to the soft, salmon tainted fur. Finally, you brushed your fingertips over his tail, feeling its warmth and softness.

His breath hitched, his fan lowering just enough for you to see his lips part slightly.

Each movements sent a shiver through him, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his ears twitched with your every touch. As your hands roamed deeper into the soft fur of his tail, he didn’t try to hide how much he enjoyed it.

But then again, he never really had been hiding it from the start, had he? It was you who had been oblivious to how he truly felt—how close he had always been to you.

His tail curled further around you, brushing against your body as if drawing you in. It wasn’t just his tail; his scent had already imprinted on you, marking something only the other Foxians could understand.

Even after he was gone, that trace of him stayed with you, lingering on your skin as if to remind others that you belonged to him.

“Feel free to touch me…” His voice was low, inviting, with a grin that never wavered. “I don’t mind.”

Was this what heaven felt like? You wondered, your fingers still lost in the softness of his tail, your heart racing as his words settled in the air between you.

Your gaze drifted to his ears, noticing the faint flush at the tips. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips at the sight.

Curious, you cautiously reached up, your fingers brushing gently against the soft, white fuzz inside his ears. His reaction was immediate—a slight quiver running through his body as his grin deepened.

“So this…” you murmured, your fingers lingering near the sensitive spot, “Is alright?”

His breath caught again, and he gave a slow nod, allowing you the freedom to explore. “That’s perfectly fine,” he purred, the words dripping with a quiet satisfaction.

He leaned into your touch, his cheek brushing against your arm as you ran your fingers over his ears. A contented purr vibrated through him, but then you felt something... wet?

You froze, confusion flickering across your face as you glanced down. He was nipping at your arm, leaving soft kisses on your skin.

"Jiaoqiu...?" Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you tried to process what was happening.

He chuckled softly and for a moment, you couldn't tear your gaze away from his eyes. Though his vision was obscured, his golden irises seemed to meet yours through the half-lidded gaze he offered. Even without seeing, there was an unmistakable intensity in the way his eyes stirred with deep and raw emotions.

"When I spoke, you can touch antyhing... I was hoping for something else... [Name]," he whispered, his lips pressing a delicate kiss into your arm again, this time lingering just a fraction longer. "I suppose I need to be a bit more clear, hm?" His tail unwound from around your waist, and the warmth of his hand moved, sliding down from your cheek to gently grasp your hand.

His fingers intertwined with yours, his grip firm yet gentle, his touch holding an unspoken promise. The playful edge in his voice deepened.

"Why don’t we go to your residence, my little bunny?"

⋇⊰JING YUAN⊱⋇

"Can I... pet Snowmoon?" You ask, your gaze fixed on the lion sprawled lazily beside Jing Yuan’s desk.

All the while the general is hunched slightly over the mountain of paperwork. It’s rare to see him actually working, and you’d be lying if you didn’t occasionally wonder if he just pretended to.

Hechuckles, his eyes lifting from the stack of documents as he props his chin on his hand, watching you with that familiar, teasing smile.

“It’s not me you should be asking for permission… that decision lies with her.” He pauses, giving her a fond glance. “You know she has a mind of her own.” You grin, shrugging with a spark of confidence.

“Oh, please—she only acts so aloof because she’s around you,” you tease. “Animals tend to mirror their owners, after all.” He raises a brow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, though he lets out another soft chuckle, his gaze warm as it lingers on you.

“Fine,” he relents, a playful warning in his voice. “But don’t go running to me if she growls.” You roll your eyes, standing from the sofa and making your way toward the lion.

The first time you met her, you were admittedly a bit nervous—after all, it’s not every day you come face-to-face with a lion—but any hint of fear quickly melted into awe. Her coat is as pristine as freshly fallen snow, her gaze a clear, serene blue like the depths of the ocean.

As you crouch down beside her, you reach out a tentative hand, stopping just before her nose. She sniffs your fingers curiously, then surprises you by licking them before leaning in, her soft fur brushing against your fingertips.

Her fluffy coat is even softer than you imagined, and you can’t resist a small, quiet “Aw” as you scratch the side of her neck. Her eyes half-close, and you feel the gentle vibrations of her purr against your touch.

“See?” You call over your shoulder, unable to hide your grin. “She’s just a big, fluffy kitten.” She leans in closer, enjoying your attention.

He leaning back in his chair with a feigned huff of indifference, “Hmph, don’t get too comfortable now." You can’t help but notice the slight pout in his features as he watches the scene unfold.

She is notorious for growling at him when he tries to get close. And yet here you are, someone who only occasionally visits his office, getting all the affection.

It’s unfair! But there’s also something undeniably heartwarming about it for him. As he watches you, a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Two of his favorite things, together right before him. If he could freeze this moment, hold onto it, he would.

Time slips by unnoticed as you sit there, nestled against her, your hands combing through her fur. The big kitten has dozed off, her steady breathing and occasional soft purrs filling the quiet room.

You’d intended to move at some point, but every time you lift your hand just an inch away, she lets out a tiny, sleepy whine and nudges closer, demanding more affection. It’s hard to say no to her.

The thought crosses your mind that she really does resemble her owner in some ways. There are rare moments where he gets... needy. Although her insistence on cuddles is much cuter than his endless, persistent begging.

A low, familiar voice pulls you from your thoughts. “I think that’s enough." Arms crossed as he looks down at you, trying to maintain a serious expression.

There’s a slight frown and a hint of jealousy in his gaze. You smirk, raising a brow.

“Oh? I didn’t quite catch that. What was it you said?” You reply, a playful challenge in your tone.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and steps closer. “Don’t make me repeat myself, [Name]. I think I’ve given you more than enough time with her.” She stirs, looking up lazily before resettling against you, as if she’s decided you’re staying right where you are.

With a soft chuckle, you glance up at him, “She seems to disagree, General.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to insist." He takes a few steps toward you, but his progress halts when a low, warning growl rumbles from the lion.

He stops in his tracks, momentarily caught off guard, a rare look of surprise flickering across his face.

You chuckle, shaking your head as you tease, “Aw, poor General. Looks like I’m staying here after all—”

Before you can finish, he moves in a flash, sweeping you up in his arms and lifting you away from Snowmoon’s side. His grip is firm, yet gentle, holding you securely against his chest. How can someone who naps so much move with such speed?

She rises and lets out another displeased growl, her tail lashing slightly as she watches you being spirited away from her side. You glance back at him, and it almost feels like a silent battle between a man and his lion.

His arms tighten around you possessively, and he huffs, “[Name] is mine!”

The lion stares for a moment, then flops down with a disgruntled sigh, clearly deciding the effort isn’t worth it.

He chuckles in triumph, settling back in his chair with you still cradled in his lap. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leans in, nuzzling his head against your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. You shiver, feeling the softness of his hair brushing your cheek.

“Are you actually jealous of her?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

He pauses, his gaze meeting yours with a glint of playful mischief.

“Jealous? Me?” He lets out a low chuckle, drawing you even closer, his arms tightened around your waist. “Maybe. But can you blame me?” His voice drops to a whisper, lips now close to your ear. “After all, I’d rather be the one keeping you all to myself...”

⋇⊰SUNDAY⊱⋇

“Can I... see your wings, S-Sunday?” you ask, feeling the name catch slightly on your tongue. After all the time you’ve spent calling him ‘My Lord,’ addressing him by name still feels foreign, as if you’re crossing some unspoken line.

His gaze lifts from his desk, and his eyes meet yours, expression unreadable. It's only been a few months since the two of you moved past mere formalities and into something deeper, but sometimes you still feel like a servant asking for a favor rather than a partner making a simple request.

“Pardon?” His tone is calm, yet curious, those small wings behind his ears twitching slightly.

“Your… other wings?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “I-I mean, if it’s alright with you, of course. I wouldn’t want to—” You stop yourself, feeling the awkwardness bubble up, regretting how impulsive your request had been.

He smiles, a faint chuckle escaping his lips as he observes you. “My dear,” he says, his voice soft and soothing, “Never feel shy to ask anything of me.” Slowly, he rises from his desk, each step deliberate as he approaches you. “Whatever you wish, I am yours to command.” There’s a quiet confidence in his steps, his gaze never breaking from yours.

His fingers tilt your chin up slightly, and his eyes soften, lips curling into a smile that always leaves you a little breathless. And as if it were the most natural thing, he shrugs off his coat, draping it neatly on the sofa beside you.

“Uh... w-what are you doing?” You stammer, trying to keep your composure as he slides out of his outer layer with a practiced ease.

“I thought it was clear,” he replies, voice rich with amusement. “You wish to see my wings, yes?” He finishes folding his coat, his gaze never wavering.

In a single, fluid movement, his two hidden pairs of wings unfurl, and you find yourself awestruck at the sight before you. Each feather fades from an ash-blue at the base to a rich midnight hue. That last pair was far darker, the outermost tips tinged in a shadowy, ashen black.

Though darker than expected for a Halovian’s wings, they exude a potent aura—divine, yes, but laced with an undertone of something almost… sinister. It’s mesmerizing and daunting all at once.

As you sit there speechless, he lowers himself onto the edge of the sofa, his thighs bracketing yours, his wings forming a slowly enclosing cocoon around you. His gaze is unwavering, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“Well?” Voice smooth as butter, his eyes glinting with intrigue. “What do you think?”

“T-They’re… beautiful…” You manage to whisper, captivated by the midnight elegance of his wings.

Almost instinctively, you lift a hand, fingertips itching to trace the delicate lines of his feathers, but you hesitate, unsure if your touch would be welcome.

Noticing your hesitation, his expression softens, and he tilts his head slightly.

“Go on,” he says quietly, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Feel free to touch them.” You reach out, hand trembling just slightly, and your fingers make contact with the nearest feather.

It’s softer than you imagined. You let your hand glide down one of the dark feathers, marveling at the subtle gradient of color and the warmth radiating from his wings.

As your fingertips brush against the soft feathers of his wings, a shudder ripple through him. A low sound escapes his lips, and you glance up, a hint of surprise crossing your face. His grip tightens around the cushion behind you, his knuckles whitening as if he could tear it apart at any moment.

You don’t notice the intensity of the effect your touch has on him, too caught up in the sensation of his wings, twirling your fingers around the delicate feathers.

Halovian wings are known to be sensitive, fragile even. But his wings, especially these two pairs that had been hidden away for a long time, are more so.

They’re darker than most, a reflection of the weight of his past actions, and he’s always kept them concealed, ashamed of what they’ve become.

When you asked to see them, a quiet surge of happiness stirred within him. To have someone, someone he holds so dear, ask to see this part of him… It was something he didn’t expect but longed for. And even more, when you found them beautiful, it filled a void in his heart that had been empty for far too long.

"My dear..." His voice drops a few octaves, darker than usual, as he watches you with half-lidded eyes.

You glance up at him, finally noticing the slight hitch in his breath, the flush creeping across his features. A sudden wave of concern floods you, and you start to open your mouth to ask if you’ve hurt him in any way.

But before you can speak, he leans in, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle. His hands move to cradle your face, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, his wings fluttering slightly

You’ve always known Sunday to be a gentleman, always composed, always polite. But you had also know that there’s a side of him that’s far more… chaotic. His kiss is desperate, hungry, as though he’s been holding back for too long.

The moment his lips part, the air around you seems to grow thicker, charged with an unspoken tension. His breath, warm and steady, brushes against your skin as his voice, barely a whisper, slips from his mouth.

"My dear... do you wish to see something more.. pleasing?"

Request» Masterlist»

[creamflix]

toji fushiguro x female reader; heavy, heart-crushing angst, not a lot of comfort. reader is toji's second wife, megumi's step-mom. concept inspired by @/yunymphs nsfw fic, off your shoulders — masterlist here ☆

marriage is supposed to be a blessing, a bond that seals two lives into one, a promise of belonging.

you’d always dreamed of it.

sharing every first moment with someone — the first kiss as newlyweds, the first lazy morning dance in the kitchen, the first time lying side by side, tangled in each other. you’d imagined a life full of firsts, a life that would feel like you’re writing a story together, each page a piece of both of you.

but with toji, the man you love and who loves you, it feels like stepping into the middle of a book already written.

he’s had his firsts, some so precious that traces of them linger like shadows in your home. and you try — god, you try — to let that be enough, to love him and his son, megumi, with all the warmth and devotion you can muster. yet some days, you feel like you’re just outside their world, looking in.

it’s in the everyday moments, these small interactions that remind you of everything they had before you came along. moments like this morning, when you’re up early making breakfast, hoping to surprise toji with something special. you’re chopping vegetables, humming softly to yourself, trying to imagine the look on his face when he comes in, maybe pulls you close and says you don’t have to go through the trouble. you’ve seen couples do that — little gestures to remind each other they’re together.

you want that, too.

but as you start to crack an egg into the pan, you hear megumi calling from down the hall. “dad, where are my soccer cleats?”

your heart clenches. before you can even move to help, toji’s already calling back, voice easy, like it’s a scene they’ve played out a hundred times. “try under the stairs, where your mom used to keep ‘em.”

his mom. megumi’s mom.

the woman who came before you, whose shoes you will never be able to fill.

the words hang in the air, chilling. you place the egg down and pause, the silence settling heavy on your shoulders. you don’t hate her, not in the slightest — you’ve only ever heard lovely things about her. if anything, you’re grateful to her for the habits, routines, the sense of belonging she built with them, for raising megumi to be as kind as he is.

but still, there’s a sting every time she’s mentioned, a reminder that no matter how much you love toji, a part of him will always belong to her.

maybe that’s normal, you tell yourself, shaking off the thought. you grab the spatula, focusing on the way the eggs sizzle in the pan, trying to calm the knot that’s forming in your stomach.

“i’m… making breakfast, by the way,” you call out, trying to keep your voice light. maybe this will be the moment toji notices, realizes you’re trying to make him smile in your own way.

“yeah, thanks, babe,” he says from the hall. he’s already moved on, ruffling megumi’s hair as they laugh about something you can’t quite hear.

right, you think, fighting the wave of hurt that sweeps over you.

maybe that’s just the way it is.

you stare down at the breakfast you prepared, feeling a pang of something deeper than you’d care to admit. you’re doing your best to fit in, to add to the life he’s built, but sometimes, it feels like nothing more than an afterthought. it’s silly, really — you know they care about you, know toji chose you because he loves you.

but love doesn’t always erase what came before.

and it’s not his fault that his past is so deeply woven into their present, into your present.

by the time they wander into the kitchen, you’ve already set out the plates, adding a smile to mask the ache twisting inside you. megumi gives you a small nod, a muttered “thanks,” while toji walks over, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “looks good,” he says with that lazy smirk, and you feel the flutter of warmth, the one that always ignites when he shows even the smallest affection. but it quickly fades as he moves back to his son, launching into an old joke that you don’t understand.

you sit down across from them, feeling the laughter spill around you, each chuckle a reminder of the bond they share. you know it’s unreasonable to feel left out; after all, you’ve only been a part of their lives for a fraction of the time.

and they are good to you. they include you in most things, make an effort to make you feel like part of the family.

but there are these subtle moments, these glances, these familiar gestures, that you can never quite touch.

you watch as toji reaches over, ruffling megumi’s hair, that same fond smile lighting his face. and it’s like watching them dance to a song you can’t hear. a piece of you aches to ask, where do i fit into this?

“you two are adorable,” you say, almost to yourself, hoping they hear the love in your voice despite the sadness resting there.

you can’t say the words that sit heavy in your chest, the longing to belong to them in a way that feels real and whole. instead, you keep your gaze on your plate, focusing on the small bite of eggs you’ve managed to lift to your lips, the only sound in your head the quiet plea that maybe one day, this feeling will pass.

maybe one day, watching them from afar will stop hurting so much.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Indiscretion

Inspired by this post

Warnings: non/dubcon, degradation, demeaning behaviour, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Summary: a colleague returns from a recent vacation but is less than relaxed.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’ve honed the skill of indifference long ago. The voices that carry from down the hall meld together in a dull buzz as you push them to the back of your mind. You’re less concerned with the latest water cooler gossip as your deadline bears down on you. 

You hate when a project comes down to the line. It couldn’t be helped. What should have been a two-person assignment was dropped solely in your lap. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Your colleagues are less than reliable. 

As their voices glaze over each other, you shrug of your resent. They all have their obligations; golf rounds or the windfall of courtside tickets. You’ve never been afforded the luxury of a half-day to go play. You are the dependable one; as far as your coworkers are concerned, you have nothing going on besides picking up their slack. 

Work is work. You don’t linger on it; you just get it done. A peel of laughter jars you from your focus. You should close your door but that’s just an invitation. The last time, they simply moved in front of your door and spoke even louder. It’s like a game to them. 

Caroline’s bubbly laughter trills down the hall. She’s joined the rabble. One of the young temps the men love to flirt with. ‘Oh it makes me feel young again.’ Ugh, you couldn’t imagine turning the clock back twenty years. You’re happy that era of your life is over. 

You squint at the monitor and review your work. There’s a subtle tap on your doorframe. Your flicks up and back down. Loki. 

“Yes, how can I help you?” You ask as your fingers flutter over the keyboard. 

“Good afternoon to you too,” he drawls as he breaks the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” you continue to type. You try not to think of how this was meant to be his project. 

“I’m only doing my rounds. As you know, I was recently abroad and I brought back some sweets,” he crosses your office and sets a blurry object down in your peripheral. 

“That’s generous, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” You say. 

“You’re welcome,” he overrides your protest. 

You sniff, “thanks.” 

He’s quiet as he stands across from you. His gaze hangs over you like a dark cloud. You check the auto-save and retract your hands. You push your shoulders back and look at him. 

“You were the only who didn’t come out to congratulate me,” he muses. 

You sit straight. You are not unkind or inconsiderate. You just don’t come to work to socialize. You signed the card they sent with the flowers. 

“Congratulations on your wedding. It seems it was a success,” you say. 

He doesn’t react right away. He just stares at you. His green eyes are sharp and his lips a thin line. It isn’t the ego stroking he was looking for. You’re not quite sure what more to say. You’re not very familiar. 

He scoffs, “I see.” 

You blink, confused by the derision in his tone. You look at him past your monitor as he slowly pivots on his heel. It scuffs loudly and he marches to the door. He stops right before it then delicate grabs the handle and draws it shut. 

You tilt your head curiously, “I’m just finishing up a project, so I don’t have very much time--” 

“You’ve always been a dry old spinster, haven’t you?” He slithers as he faces you again. 

“Pardon?” You’re genuinely stunned by his accusation. It’s not the first time you’ve met with that sort of spite. There is a contempt reserved only for older women. 

“Yes, you strut around here as if you are a queen. Above us all, and I come to you with a token of good will, a souvenir from my honeymoon, and it only reminds you of how utterly pathetically alone you truly are,” he sneers. “So you offer me that trite look and your empty tiding.” 

You scrunch your lips in surprise and cup your hand in confusion, “nothing of the like. I’m sorry, I am rather busy with my work--” 

“Oh but this isn’t just today. It’s how it’s always been. You cannot be happy for anyone for your own misery,” he tuts. 

“If that’s what you think,” you sit back calmly. “I think you should go.” 

He lingers on the other side of your desk, “it’s because she’s young, I know it.” 

“What?” 

“My new wife. I see how it makes you bristle to know a man of your peerage couldn’t be bothered with you. You see, women age differently. They become bitter.” He snarls. 

“I hardly see how this is appropriate. I am asking you to go--” 

He sets his stance and lowers himself into the chair across from you. He smirks and pushes back his dark curls. Your spine locks up. That look in his eye, you’ve seen that in men before. 

“I know what the matter is,” he pushes his feet wide and grips his thighs. He postures so his shoulders are wide and high. “How long has it been?” 

You refuse to acknowledge his jeer. You shift to your monitor and go back to your editing. He clucks. 

“Months, years?” He suggests. 

“I’m busy,” you insist, keeping your eyes averted. 

“What the wife doesn’t know...” he growls. 

You flinch, appalled by his suggestion. 

“Leave,” you say. 

He snickers. “Are you so resigned to your feeble existence? Those lonely nights? In your condo, drinking your chardonnay, reclining on your chaise and reading the latest lascivious rag written for pruny old divorcees?” 

You freeze then slowly look at him. It could be a cruel assumption, though it isn’t untrue. In fact, it is far too accurate to be a coincidence. Down to the chaise and the chardonnay. 

“And that toy you keep in your jewelry box,” he curls a finger to mimic the curved shape. “Do you even feel it anymore?” 

“Get out,” you hiss. 

He smirks and arches a brow, “come.” 

He beckons with two fingers. You clutch the armrests of your chair and your nose flairs. You glare back at him, horrified. A newly married man and he’s here propositioning you. What’s more, he’s been watching you. 

“You’re disgusting--” 

“Get up,” he rubs his thigh. “And come here.” 

“HR--” 

“Oh, I know Bradon well. I will be happy enough to explain how you’ve grown so jealous of my young wife. You’re overworked so of course you couldn’t control yourself--” 

“He wouldn’t believe you--” 

“Wouldn’t he? We play squash on Sundays. He knows my character well. An upstanding member of the country club--” 

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say? Hm? Congratulations on your pretty young wife. Now, you should go home to her,” you snip. 

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he taunts as his eyes narrow snakishly. “I want you to come sit in my lap so I can show you how useless that toy truly is.” 

“You are--” 

“I am your villain,” he undercuts you. “And you have two choices. You can finish that project and submit it and have it tossed out for your indiscretions or you can do what I tell you and still have a job to support you wined-up erotica sessions.” 

You curl your lip, repulsed. There’s no point in asking why. Men do not operate on logic. 

“What’s it going to be?” 

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath. You push yourself to your feet and steady yourself. You move stiffly around the desk, eyes on the wall as you near him. As you get close, he grabs your hip and turn you. He forces you down so roughly that your ankles bend. 

You catch yourself on him, grabbing his hands as he grips you tight, and you writhe against his obvious arousal. A man like him can only get off on his own ego. You shudder and grasp his wrists. 

He pulls you back against his and rests his chin on your shoulder. You squirm as he untangles his arm from your hold. He hooks his arm around your stomach as his other tugs at your skirt. You huff and claw at his sleeves. 

“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point--” 

He shoves his hand against your panties, pushing the satin between your folds. You gasp and twitch. You push your thighs together and crush his fingers. It only adds pressure. 

“You remember the day I started,” he turns to nuzzle your neck as he speaks, “and you had to make it known that you weren’t an assistant advisor, you were a senior.” He moves his fingers between the clutch of your tensed thighs. “That you were above me?” 

“No, I--” you gulp slap at his wrist. 

“Oh, and look at you now. Still above me, eh? Right there... on top of me,” he buries his hand against you and nips at your neck meanly. “You will be on your knees soon enough,” he flicks his fingers harshly and you spasm. “Right where you belong.” 

[siffroncrocus]

ramble concerning mumbo and grian ahead sorry, sorry.

Mumbo being so attached to grian does something painful to me. He’s always at Grian’s beck and call, doing everything for him and how does Grian repay that? Nothing. He didn’t even offer his life for Mumbo that was yellow. And yet grian offers himself to Scar. He can’t help it.

Specks of sand can be found in items even years after visiting a desert. It seems like Grian still has that lingering memory of Scar and him, that llama, in the desert. Did that sand mix in with the sand of Sahara?

But what does that mean for Mumbo? Mumbo that doesn’t remember anything from the series before. Mumbo that came into the series sparkly-eyed and ready to enjoy a fun game with Grian, to be met with his indifference and a red nametag.

Maybe the reason why Grian is so aloof is because of the past. Mumbo’s demise was often caused by Grian. Is he scared? Scared that he’ll put Mumbo in harm’s way again?

Mumbo doesn’t even know he’s doing this again. He still yearns for that nod of approval from Grian. That gnawing jealousy Mumbo has—it isn’t just from wild life.

Did Grian ever tell Mumbo about his redstone door? That strained laughter and jokes that didn’t land well during those trading talks—he isn’t the same anymore. So being invited again, have a few sessions of hardcore with Grian, how could he have declined?

Mumbo said it himself, he forgets that wild life is a death game, and was playing just to enjoy having fun with his friends. Maybe it’ll just be like old times. The sea pickles, potatoes, and the occasional puns, maybe it’ll all come back.

But it doesn’t.

Grian still activates that wild card, and respawns in that pink bed. He doesn’t bother saving Mumbo ever since that sculk incident two sessions ago. He watches Mumbo burn again.

It truly hurts when you never get looked upon by a watcher. When their entire job is to watch, it feels as if you’ve failed it. He’ll continue on with that green-eyed boy, while you’re left with the scraps of the past. Oh little moustache man, when will you realise that the boy in the red jumper will never cast his gaze upon you.

Please don’t fly too close to the sun this time Mumbo.

[ode-to-melpomene]

Stray

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: Jason doesn't believe in good intentions. Word Count: 2313 Warnings: Stalking, but no ill intent. Minor depictions of gore and injuries.

The first time Jason saw you, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Enamored was too strong a word to describe the way his gaze followed your figure far below him. Captivated, maybe? Yes, captivated by the nervous way you sidled into Crime Alley, moving like an anxious cat as you hugged the wall and kept to the shadows. Skittish, and clinging tightly to the box in your hands as if it might grow legs and run away.

He watched you closely from his perch on a fire escape. The nearby flickering neon light cast a glow over you and the dirty street. Your breath fogged in front of your face.

Jason climbed to the edge of the fire escape, then stepped off onto a windowsill. He moved across the face of the building that way, clinging to sturdy drain pipes and window ledges as he loomed over you. You turned right onto an open street, and his brows furrowed beneath his helmet.

His eyes narrowed when you scampered across the open street and towards a dilapidated overhang that shadowed the entrance to an abandoned building. That was a squatter house, one he frequented on his patrols. Pretty bird in his territory, clothes too nice for this part of Gotham… what were you doing here?

His question was answered when the door to the building swung open with an echoing creek. A man with a thick beard and a knitted hat met you at the door. The warmth of a fire inside the building backlit him, obscuring his scowl.

You outstretched the box in your arms to the taciturn old man. He pulled back the cardboard flaps and looked inside, delivering a curt nod of approval in response. He snatched the box from you unceremoniously and quickly shut the door to the biting cold and your lingering gaze.

It was beginning to snow when you stepped out from under the building's cover. You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, then scampered back across the street and hid in the shadows once again. Jason watched you go, unmoving from the ledge he perched on in the darkness. When you were finally out of sight he dropped to the ground.

The light dusting of snow crunched under his boots, turning to dirty slush as he crossed the street. His gloved hand rose to rap against the creaky door. A curse came from inside, followed by shuffling.

The old man opened the door. Red Hood shouldered his way past the man and into the den, lit by the warm glow of fires in metal trash cans. There must have been twenty people inside, three or so up and moving and passing out… blankets?

“Got yourself a new delivery person, Roger?” Red Hood asked as he turned to face the old man, the firelight glinting off his helmet.

The man, Roger, crossed his arms over his chest and glared a bitter, distrustful glower. “That a problem?”

He paused for a beat, glaring at Roger through his helmet. “I need to know who’s coming in and out of the Alley,” Red Hood retorted, a mean scowl hidden on his face. His helmet turned on a swivel, taking in the state of what used to be a restaurant. “Thought I told you not to start fires in here. Don’t want you to get-”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning, yeah, heard you the first fifty times,” the old man answered with a dismissive wave. He moved around Red Hood on achy knees and snatched the now empty cardboard box from the ground. “Not much other options. You saw the snow coming down out there.”

“I won’t let you freeze to death.”

Roger scoffed and tossed the box into one of the makeshift fire pits. The flames sputtered a weak ‘thank you’ and hungrily consumed the cardboard. “Look, kid. We appreciate the bravado, but you can’t help all of us.”

Red Hood huffed out an angry breath. “I can’t clean up the Alley if-”

“You can’t clean it up at all,” the old man snapped, catching Jason off guard. He ground his teeth together when Roger turned away and marched across the open room. Jason followed close behind, teeth digging into his cheek. “It’s just how things are, kid. You’re too wrapped up in this filthy cesspool as is. We can’t exactly afford to repay you.”

Jason halted beside a fire pit. Roger froze several steps ahead of him, sensing the vigilante’s hesitation, and turned back to him with a raised brow.

“That goes for your delivery person, too?”

Roger shrugged and buried his hands in his coat pockets, chasing away the burning pink that blossomed across his cold fingers. “You’re not the first one I’ve told to not bother. It’s nothin’ malicious, I’d reckon, but self satisfaction is still a hell of a drug.”

Jason’s knuckles were bloody beneath his gloves the next time he saw you. 

The canvas of his gloves rubbed the split skin raw each time he opened and closed his fist. His eyes were wild beneath his helmet, darting across the rooftop he stood on for any other signs of life–well, life beyond the one figure who seemed to still be struggling to breath. The man leaned against the wall, face bloody, hand pressed over his abdomen, eyes closed. He looked better off than his companions.

Drug dealers. Jason lifted his helmet high enough to spit on the corpse a few feet from him, the rapidly dissipating heat of the pooling blood steaming up the cold night air. Served them right, he told himself.

It was when he looked down at the street below, gauging the drop, that his gaze zeroed in on you. A familiar figure weaving through the shadows. Your gait was burned into his memory. He knew it was you, despite the thick wool shawl wrapped around your head and shoulders to protect from the biting wind. Another box in your arms.

Jason stepped to the ledge with narrowed eyes. What were you doing this time, so close to the center of the most crime-ridden district of Gotham? The tips of your boots kicked up dirty, slushy snow, piled an inch thick on the scarcely used backroad. He walked along the ledge, following you from easily fifty feet above. His shadow fell in behind yours, looming like a wolf behind an unsuspecting lamb.

You turned left. Left, towards the red light district side of town. Jason scoffed and hopped down from the ledge, his boots crunching on gravel–if you wanted to get yourself killed, that was your own prerogative. You didn’t belong in Crime Alley anyway. Not his problem.

Jason carefully tugged on the gloved tips of each finger, slowly releasing the fabric. With a grunt, he yanked the canvas and shook his hand at the sting. His broad, scarred hands were dappled with bruises along his knuckles. Green met red in tender circles, purple blooming at the peaks of his bones. He clenched his fist, watching the skin split along the ridges, crimson rapidly filling the valley. The damage wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. His fingers pried open the glove, surveying the inside. Maybe he should invest in some gloves with better lining…

He twisted to look over his shoulder, lower back popping twice at the change in angle. He was stiff, his broad shoulders sore. And yet, he held that angle as he stared down the side street he knew would only spell more trouble tonight. He’d already accomplished what he intended for the evening. It was risky to stay out any later. Who knew what sharks were lurking in the waters?

But…

Jason turned forward again as he tugged his glove back on, stretching his fingers inside the rough material. His hands were so cold he hardly noticed the sting against his knuckles. Snow touched the black fabric, held steadfast for a moment, then melted away. He watched a perfect snowflake, fully intact, touch down on his glove in one instant and fade away in the next.

He sighed as he turned back to the ledge, stepped up, and jumped.

It didn’t take him long to spot you wedged between a dumpster and a side door that led into a less than reputable strip club. He perched on the ledge of a nearby building with his elbows planted on his knees.

He didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open and a woman stepped out. Blonde, although the color didn’t look natural, with lips that color of his helmet and strappy heels to match. A pink beaded corset, and a feather boa wrapped around her shoulders. The woman stepped into the alleyway and unceremoniously dropped against the brick wall a few inches from you.

Jason narrowed his eyes as he watched you try to pass the box to the woman. She waved dismissively and instead pulled out a pack of cigarettes from where she held it tucked under her arm. A lighter was snatched from the edge of her corset and quickly replaced when the cigarette between her teeth was lit. She stared through heavy lashes at the cherry red end, took a drag, and began to speak.

The dancer talked for several minutes, taking periodic drags of the cigarette between words. She occasionally tipped her head towards you, gauging your reaction despite the thick shawl that obscured your face. She laughed in response to something you said, then dropped the butt of the cigarette and stomped out the light.

You tried to hand her the box again and this time the blonde woman accepted. She hefted it into her arms and balanced it on one as she rifled through the contents. Jason scowled when she withdrew a soup can and presented it to you with a wide smile and a giddy laugh. She replaced the soup can and used her free hands to pat your veiled cheek affectionately.

Then she was gone, back into the shadowy, smoke-filled club. You stood by yourself outside the door, hands limp at your sides as you stared at the door. You looked so small.

Jason’s heart stopped when you turned on your heel and looked right at him. Your eyes scaled the building slowly, almost as if you were tracing his shadow until you finally settled on him with a weighted stare. A predator’s stare. Jason wasn’t used to feeling like prey.

His skin crawled, and the feeling stuck even when you turned from him and stomped through the growing piles of dirty snow back the way you came. His heart thundered in his chest as he watched you drag your heels through the slush.

Jason followed. He knew he shouldn’t, but curiosity wormed itself deep between his ribs and egged him on. He walked along the ledge above you, no longer feeling like a wolf tailing a lamb. Suspicion brewed–sure, maybe you were just being a kind person, if there even was such a thing… but how often did people spot him like that?

So, he followed, despite the way it made his teeth grind and his skin itch. Jason kept the shadows, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and scaling walls while you skittishly meandered through the streets of Gotham. Your stride shortened when you finally exited Crime Alley. The warm glow of cleaner streets blanketed you in a golden haze.

Jason jolted from his thoughts when you climbed the steps of a brownstone apartment building, your cold hands fumbling at the door knob for just a moment before you slipped inside.

So that was it. You were gone, snatched from his vision as quickly as the snowflakes that melted on his jacket. He knew he should leave, that his hunt was over… so why did he stay rooted in place?

Jason found his answer when a light flicked on in a fifth story window. Warm, golden light slipped from your window invitingly. He wondered… Jason crouched on the balcony he stood on. Yes, he could see inside. It was a sparsely decorated apartment that hardly looked lived in, a simple sofa against one wall and a foldable table with three chairs in the center of the living room.

His skin crawled.

He flinched when you reappeared, your hands carefully unwinding the thick scarf from around your head and shoulders. He was right, you were the person he had seen before. He recognized the downturn of the corners of your mouth and the crinkle in your brow as you toed your boots off.

Enamored, maybe. Yes, enamored was the right way to describe how his eyes greedily followed you shucking your coat. Enamored by the way you dropped it on the floor without a care. Enamored by the way your nails raked your scalp and your lips split in a yawn.

Sullen when you once again disappeared from view.

Jason’s mind screamed at him to move. This wasn’t something he should be watching–this was a private, domestic moment for your eyes, not his. He was no better than the men he put down.

And yet his heart raced when you reappeared. You opened the window that led to your fire escape, heat fogging up the chilly air. The curtains around the window drifted around you in the subtle, crisp breeze. Jason watched you with bated breath as you turned, bent down, and gathered something in your hands.

His brows furrowed in confusion as you held a mug of some steaming liquid in each hand. You took a sip of one, then set the other down on the ledge outside the window.

The window slid shut with a deafening click, and you disappeared. The golden lights of your apartment were snuffed out minutes later.

The steam wafting from the mug eventually faded. Jason remained frozen in place.

Masterlist ✴ 'Stray' Series ✴ Next Part

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I would also love to get a frostbite with the prompt "You can't just say things like that!" "Why? Because it makes you blush?" with james 💕💕

Thank you so much requesting, bun! I hope you like it <33

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ JAMES POTTER #9: "You can't just say things like that!" "Why? Because it makes you blush?"

The two of you were sitting by the lake, legs stretched out in front, hands barely an inch apart. The sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm, orange glow over the grounds, and you were wrapped up in James’s old Quidditch jumper because you’d “forgotten” to bring a coat. (Not that he minded lending it to you—he lived for moments like these.)

He’d been telling you some ridiculous story about Sirius trying to charm the Great Hall's tables into flying around during breakfast, but somewhere along the line, he’d trailed off, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, giving you that dimpled grin that always got him out of trouble. “Can’t help it. You look… beautiful.”

Your eyes went wide as a blush crept up your cheeks. “You can’t just… say things like that!”

“Why not?” His grin grew, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“Because!” you spluttered, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “It… it makes people flustered!”

“Ah,” he said, scooting a little closer. “So it makes you flustered, is what you’re saying?”

“No!” you said, a little too quickly, your cheeks warming even more. “I’m not flustered. I just… I don’t think you can go around calling people beautiful, is all.”

“Oh, really?” He was practically laughing now, clearly enjoying the way you were trying to avoid his gaze.

“Yes, really!” You crossed your arms and lifted your chin, trying to look unaffected. “There are rules to these kinds of things.”

“Rules? Since when have you known me to follow rules?” He smirked, reaching over to tug on the sleeve of his jumper where it hung down past your hand. “Besides, if you’re not flustered, then what’s the problem?”

“Nothing’s the problem,” you muttered, feeling absolutely ridiculous but trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I just… I don’t like it when you say things like that out of nowhere. It’s—”

“Adorable?” he supplied, grinning at you, clearly undeterred.

“No! Infuriating!” you shot back, but your face gave you away.

He leaned in just a little closer, his voice softening. “Because it makes you blush?”

Your breath hitched as you tried to come up with a comeback. But, embarrassingly, nothing came. You could only manage an indignant huff, folding your arms tighter.

“See?” he whispered, his smirk downright devilish. “You’re blushing.”

“James Potter, I swear—” you began, but he cut you off by gently taking your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper as he gazed at you, entirely unbothered. “You swear what?”

“That you’re… you’re…” Your train of thought completely derailed as his thumb brushed your cheek again, leaving you in absolute shambles.

“I’m… what?” he prompted, looking like the most self-satisfied person in the world.

“Impossible,” you muttered, your voice much softer this time.

His smile softened too, a warm and genuine look in his eyes that made your heart skip. “But you love it, don’t you?”

You tried to scoff, but it came out far weaker than intended. “That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

“Y-Yes,” you mumbled, feeling like you were floating. “It is.”

“Well,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “good thing I’m not great with rules then, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggled into his jumper. And in that moment, with the warmth of his laughter and the feel of his arms around you, you couldn’t remember why you’d even tried to deny it in the first place.

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 15

Something inside of Xavier has shifted. You can’t quite define it or give it a name, but you can sense it, see it in every glance and feel it in every touch. He is not the same man he was yesterday.

What a difference a day can make.

The change isn't anything obvious—most things haven't changed at all. He is as shy and sweet and earnest as he has always been. He still blushes when you touch him, he still pouts when you tease him, and he is still playful and warm.

But the shadow behind his eyes, the hint of sadness in his smile, is disappearing. There is a growing certainty in him that was not there before, as if he has made a choice -some choice- and it has freed him in a way that seems to extend beyond just his secrets.

It's absurd, but you can't shake the thought that he chose you yesterday—that, somehow, you were always a choice he had to make. You don’t even know what the alternative might have been, but now, when he looks at you, the affection in his eyes feels complete, as if it’s here to stay.

Maybe his fevered promise not to leave again was truly meant for you after all. But that only raises more questions—had he been planning to leave you? And when did he leave the first time?

If you were the choice, then what was the other option?

He has remained tight lipped about this particular detail - unwilling to share any part of it. Other small secrets about his past have trickled out in fragments over the past 24 hours—never fully explained and always a little vague, but still unmistakably genuine. He’s trying to open up, and you’re trying your best not to push him. The rest will come later, you tell yourself.

In the meantime, you have a much more immediate issue to deal with.

There is no other way to put it - Xavier has become adorably, maddeningly clingy. He hasn’t let you stray more than an arm’s length since yesterday, and if he weren't so infuriatingly old fashioned, you're pretty sure he'd have slept with his cock buried deep inside you last night. Instead, he’d settled for holding you close, your back pressed firmly to his chest, with his hand resting possessively between your thighs.

It’s not exactly a bad thing; in fact, you love him even more like this. Every time he teleports to your side instead of walking, you can’t help but laugh, as if the seconds saved are simply too precious for him to waste. You marvel at the confidence in his touch now, the way he explored your body this morning like he owns it. And you fall even deeper for him every time he willingly gives you some crumb of information about who he really is.

You're savoring every moment with him and wish you could pause time and stay like this, just the two of you, forever. But you have a plan today - one that he cannot be a part of because it would spoil the surprise.

"Xavier," You whisper, trying to pull away from his insistent kisses, "I really do have to go soon. I have to check in with Jenna. In person this time. You know how she feels about being kept waiting."

Xavier acts as if he didn’t hear you, keeping you pinned firmly against the front door. His lips find a sensitive spot on your neck, biting gently before soothing it with a warm flick of his tongue. By now, he’s already delayed you at least ten minutes with those distracting, lingering kisses—reminders of just how skilled he is with his mouth.

"Xavier," you say more firmly.

He huffs as he pulls back just far enough for his blue eyes to lock onto yours, and the pout in them is nearly enough to break you.

"Why are you calling me that?" He asks, his forehead dropping to yours as he holds you to him, his nose rubbing against yours.

"What?"

"You usually call me Xav now. Or bunny."

A soft laugh escapes your lips at his confused, slightly pouty tone. "Xavier… Xav, I really need to—"

"But...," He protests, ducking his head to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck again. "Let's go together. We're partners. I go where you go."

"It's supposed to be 24-hour surveillance, Xav. You know we both can't go. We already agreed on this yesterday."

"Yesterday was yesterday. Can't we make a new agreement today?"

The whine in his voice is killing you, but you really do want to surprise him. This birthday needs to be special; he deserves to feel special.

"Not this time, Xav."

Xavier's mouth trails down to your neck, each kiss sending a spark through you as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning as you feel the insistent press of his hardness against you, even through the layers of clothing.

"Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?" he murmurs, his voice a low, promising whisper.

His mouth is pure temptation against your skin, making it hard to remember why you need to leave. But there will be time for this later—hopefully endless time, forever, if you have anything to say about it.

"Bunny, please." You breathe out, threading your fingers through his hair to gently tug his greedy lips away from your skin. "I have to get going. I'm going to be late."

Xavier pulls back and fixes you with the saddest puppy dog eyes that have ever existed. "I can't believe you'd actually...leave me alone in this house."

"I'll make it up to you when I get home, I promise. And I won't be gone long."

Xavier sighs and nods as his arms tighten around your waist. He lets out a defeated groan, and mumbles, "How long?"

"It's just a few hours. I'll be back before you know it." You smile gently at the boyish sulk that has spread across his face as he continues to mope and press small kisses along your jaw.

Finally he gives in and lets out a heavy sigh that fans out along your skin. “Alright,” he grumbles, releasing his hold on your waist and taking a step back.

The small bit of distance clears your head just enough, and you shake it slightly, trying to dispel the lingering desire coursing through you. God, this man has you so wrapped around his finger that you can barely think straight.

You flash him a quick smile and turn to open the door, but pause, throwing him a puzzled look as he moves to follow you.

"Xav, you know you can’t come with me, right?" you say, a mix of amusement and exasperation in your voice.

He nods, pulling the door open and gesturing for you to go ahead, slipping an arm around your waist as he guides you through. "I know," he says with a grin. "I’m just escorting you to the station. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?"

It’s hard to believe that the man who used to vanish for days, even though he was just next door, now can’t imagine being apart from you for more than a few hours. It’s a clinginess you’re not used to—not from him, not from anyone—but oddly, it doesn’t bother you. There’s something deeply comforting about being wanted this much, and you can’t help but hope it never changes.

"I’ll miss you," you say, rising on your tiptoes to press a kiss to Xavier’s cheek as your train pulls into the station. "And try not to blow up the house while I’m gone, alright?"

He looks like he wants to argue, his hand tightening around yours, but then his eyes soften, and he gives you a gentle smile, slipping into his practiced, fake-husband role. “Come back soon, Mrs. Shen. Stay safe.”

He’s an exceptionally good fake husband. So convincing, in fact, that the word itself—fake—irritates you as it echoes in your mind on the train ride into the city. Your marriage to him is fake, yet with each passing day, it feels more real. The thought of it ending… It's almost unthinkable.

As soon as you step off the train and into the city, your plan for the day begins to unravel. The check-in with Jenna is mercifully brief, but her urgency to wrap up this mission leaves you tense and uneasy as you navigate sidewalks that are already too slick for comfort.

Snow in October is a rarity in Linkon, but here it is—thick, heavy flakes falling from the sky, dusting the sidewalks in a thin layer of white. It’s beautiful, but bitterly cold, and you're not dressed nearly warm enough for it.

You shiver as you wander from shop to shop, collecting things for Xavier’s birthday. A surprise party had crossed your mind, but inviting a bunch of fellow hunters to your covert mission apartment didn’t exactly scream discreet. So instead, you’ve opted for something simpler—something you hope he’ll love, even if it has the potential to set the place on fire.

But if it makes him happy? It just might be worth the risk.

The cake ingredients were easy enough to acquire, but the decorations were trickier, the items scattered throughout the city, rather than all together in one single shop. By the time you finish collecting everything for the perfect birthday cake, you're freezing and damp with snow. 

The warmth of the nearby cafe and the promise of something sweet was impossible to resist, and you sigh with relief as you dump your shopping bags onto a table and strip off your cold, damp jacket. A steaming cup of hot chocolate and three macarons later, your phone buzzes in your purse. You dig through the clutter of your wallet and keys to find your phone. It vibrates in your hand again as you pick it up and the screen glows with a notification:

(4) Voice Messages from Xavier

Xavier: Is it snowing there?

Xavier: We ran out of vinegar. Can you get some on your way home?

Xavier: Are you on your way back yet?

Xavier: Are you talking to someone outside right now?

You try not to smile at your phone like an idiot, but you fail as warmth floods through you at the sound of his voice. It’s amazing how a handful of words can make you feel so secure. There's something foreign but comforting about having someone care for you like this - someone waiting for you to get home. It's been a long time since you've had such a simple luxury, and you hadn't realized how much you've missed it.

You: I have to stop and pick up a few more things. But I'll be home soon.

Xavier: What do you want for dinner?

You're contemplating the least disastrous option as footsteps approach your table, and you glance up just in time to see a familiar face.

"Fancy meeting you here, miss bodyguard. There are easier ways to find me, you know. You don't have to stalk me." Rafayel smirks.

He slides into the chair across from you, meeting your wide-eyed gaze as he casually plucks a green macaron from your plate and takes a bite.

Has he always looked like that? you wonder as he flashes you a playful, disarming smile.

Seeing Rafayel is like looking at a masterpiece—he’s almost too perfect, so striking it’s hard to believe he’s real. You thought you’d grown used to his looks ages ago, that you had built up a certain immunity to it. But a few weeks apart have undone that, leaving you vulnerable to his effortless charm again.

Xavier is undeniably handsome, but Rafayel—even dressed simply in a sweater and dark pants—is goddamned majestic.

"Raf! Hey! Uh, what...what are you doing here?" You manage, surprised.

He's wearing his signature look of lazy amusement. His inky purple hair is slightly damp from snow, and he runs a hand through it as he takes another bite of your dessert.

"What do you mean? I come here all of the time. Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You're supposed to be locked away somewhere trying to catch a bad guy, yeah?"

"Oh, shut up. I haven't been locked away; the mission is just taking a while. I came into town today for a mission update." You say, and wave toward your bags, "and some shopping."

His eyes flick toward your bags, narrowing on the pastel letters spelling 'Happy Birthday' across the card that's peeking out.

"Mission update, hm? Interesting," he drawls as he pops the remaining bit of macaron in his mouth. "I'm surprised you escaped your tower, your highness. You haven't really bothered to respond to my texts for the past week. I was starting to think you'd been captured or that you got possessed by Wanderers or something."

"Uh," you stammer, quickly sliding another bag over the one he's eyeing, shifting awkwardly in your chair. "Sorry about that. I’ve just been... really busy."

Though his tone is playful, there's a hint of hurt beneath it that tugs at your heart, just as it always does. He’d deny it until he was blue in the face, but you know he can’t stand feeling ignored—and it sucks to know you're the reason for it this time.

He shrugs and leans back, draping his arms across the back of his chair as he casually crosses an ankle over his knee. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Secret missions and saving the world and whatever. Same as always."

The tired sound of resignation in his voice makes your smile falter, and you can only guess at what's really going on behind those galaxy eyes of his.

After countless late-night phone calls, you used to wonder if there might be something real between you and Rafayel. He was a flirt—that much had been clear from the start—and you’d brushed off his advances, wary of reading too much into them. But sometimes, when it was just the two of you, when the flirting grew a little more heated or the light touches became bolder and hungrier, you were almost certain there was something more. That he felt it, too.

But he never took it further, and the moment would fade as if it had never happened at all.

It doesn’t matter now, you remind yourself, tearing your gaze away to stare out the window. The sky has darkened, snow falling steadily against the glass, and your train will be leaving soon. Whatever might have been between you is just a memory now—one you are scared to dwell on any longer.

"We'll catch up when my mission is over, okay?" You swear, rushing the words as you stand up and shove your jacket on, reaching for the bags on the floor. "I'll come over, you can tell me all about your newest exhibit, and we'll make fun of Thomas together. I pinky promise."

"What?" His eyes widen, and he quickly stands, reaching out to still your hand as you go for another bag. "You’re leaving already? You just got here."

"Raf—" You sigh, guilt gnawing at you for more than one reason. Xavier is waiting. "I really do have to go. My train leaves soon."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his warm hand almost scorching hot as he stares at you with a rare flash of desperation in his eyes. It makes him look vulnerable for just a fraction of a moment, and something inside you tightens, torn between the urge to ease the ache you've caused in him and the need to put distance between yourself and old feelings you’d rather not think about.

"Let me walk you to your stop then," he says, his tone light and easy, but he's still holding your hand prisoner. His suggestion isn’t really a suggestion—it’s more of a demand.

"Fine," You say, rolling your eyes dramatically even as a smile forces its way onto your face. "But make yourself useful. Help me carry this stuff."

Rafayel grins and lets go of your wrist, bending to scoop up most of the bags. "Jeez, these are pretty heavy. I better get some kind of awesome reward for all of this labor."

A chill wind and swirling snowflakes greet you as you step out of the café, making you mutter a curse under your breath. If you’d known it was going to snow, you’d have worn a real coat.

"I hate snow," you grumble as you fall into step beside him.

"What do you mean?" he grins, bumping your hip with his. "Snow is like magic. Look around!" 

He gestures to the snow-dusted trees and buildings blanketed in white. "Each flake is unique, perfect in its own way, turning everything ordinary into something miraculous, if only for a moment. And...it also looks really pretty in your hair."

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his words make you feel warm despite the chill wind cutting through the thin material of your jacket. Maybe you don’t actually hate snow after all.

The walk to the station goes by in a blur as you catch up on the last two weeks: gossiping neighbors, Thomas, how cold the city is this year, his new exhibition, your boring surveillance work—keeping it light and casual.

It almost feels like nothing has changed—the two of you chatting, him cracking jokes and teasing you to get a reaction, and the way your stomach flutters every time he brushes against you. He doesn’t do that by accident; you're sure of it.

A pang of longing hits as you realize just how much you’ve missed this. Despite how he gets under your skin like no one else, his friendship means more than you’d ever care to admit. 

Yes, he drives you crazy, and your feelings for him are confusing—but he’s always had this way of making the world seem brighter, lighter, and somehow more beautiful than you could ever see it on your own.

"It's so cold. I’m frozen solid," you declare, setting your bags down on the bench outside the train station. You’re about ten minutes early, and the air is only getting colder. Your fingers sting with the chill, and you blow on them in a vain attempt to warm up.

Rafayel sets the rest of the bags beside yours with a chuckle, shaking his head, "You're right, it is cold. Too cold for my delicate hands." He pouts, his brows knitting together as he exaggerates a shiver and opens his arms wide. “Hold me.”

"Raf..." You laugh, amused and exasperated.

"Come on, cutie. Don't you know how body heat works?" He quirks a brow, stepping toward you. "You wouldn't let me freeze to death, would you?"

His smile is dazzling, effortlessly charming, and completely irresistible—the kind that melts your resolve into a mushy mess. It’s the sort of smile that can't be refused.

You reluctantly return his smile, already mostly deaf to the alarm bells ringing in your ears, and step into his embrace. “Okay, okay. Just for a little while.”

Rafayel laughs, a warm sound rumbling through his chest as he wraps one arm tightly around you, pulling you close. With his other hand, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing gently over your cheek and neck. The sharp, clean scent of him—citrus and sea salt—fills your senses as you lean into him, soaking in his warmth.

The alarm in the back of your mind grows louder, more frantic, the closer you get. Yet the soft thrum of his heartbeat, syncing with yours, drowns it out, and the warmth of his breath against your skin is enough to silence the knot of warning you feel in your stomach. The familiar scent that clings to him wraps around you like a shield, blocking out even the smallest of doubts.

"Hold still," he says softly, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently combs it out. "You've got snowflakes in your hair."

A sarcastic remark hovers on the tip of your tongue—of course you have snowflakes in your hair, he does too, it's snowing—but the warmth in his eyes as he strokes your hair holds you silent. His fingers are gentle as he carefully smooths your hair back even as more snowflakes continue to fall, and he leans even closer to see his task clearly in the dim evening light.

Your cheeks flush as he moves closer, leaning into you, and a familiar warmth builds inside of you, making it hard to breathe evenly. You turn your head away from his hand, but he frowns and gently cups your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

"Hey," he scolds gently, "I'm not done. Don't move."

But his hand doesn’t return to your hair. Instead, he gently caresses your reddening cheek, a soft smile spreading across his face. "You're being pretty shy," he murmurs.

And you are. No sarcastic remarks or witty comebacks come to mind, not with the way he’s pressed against you, the softness of his touch on your cheek, and with his face so close to yours. The only sound you can make is a quiet hum that doesn't mean anything at all.

His eyes roam from your cheek to your ears and down to your neck, and he slides his hand along the same path. "Hmm. Your cheeks, and your ears, and even your neck...are all so cold. Do you want me to help warm you up?"

It’s not just warmth in his eyes anymore; it’s heat, and your stomach flips as he drops the tone of his voice to a low purr. The feel of his warm breath against the side of your neck makes your pulse quicken and your own breath catches in your throat.

"Is it working?" He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

You nod, barely breathing, as the heat that has built inside of you threatens to ignite into a blaze, your body trembling as you press against him.

“What about here?” Rafayel asks, shifting to the other side of your neck. His warm breath caresses your cool skin before he nuzzles close, trailing slow, lingering kisses from your ear to your neck.

He’s never kissed you before; of that, you’re certain. Yet somehow, in this moment, it’s as if you’re reliving a memory. His warmth, his scent, his touch, the way his body presses against yours—it feels natural, achingly familiar, as if you’ve known it all along. You could lose yourself here, drown in the sensation, and never surface again.

You’re trembling, but not from the cold, as Rafayel pulls back, his hands gently cupping your face. “You’re so quiet,” he says, his voice laced with curiosity. “I haven't the slightest idea of what’s going on in that head of yours. Have my awesome heating skills truly rendered you speechless?”

All you can manage is a shaky laugh, more like a breathless gasp, unable to form a single coherent word as a wave of déjà vu hits you, overwhelming and intense.

"Looking at my bodyguard..." He pauses, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I can't tell if she's happy right now..." Leaning in, he brushes a soft kiss against the corner of your lips, then locks eyes with you. "Or maybe she's not?"

You stare, wide-eyed, unable to break free from the grip of the dizzying familiarity of this all— frozen in place by how deeply, unexplainably right it all feels.

"Raf, I..." You trail off, lost for words, unsure of what you're trying to express, but knowing you have to say something. Anything. That you can't do this with him, or that you need more of him. Or that, sometimes, two things can be true.

Before you can untangle your thoughts or find the words to express your conflicted feelings, he silences you with a kiss. It’s gentle at first, tentative—his lips brushing softly against yours. Then the kiss deepens, his mouth pressing to yours with an intensity that feels raw, as if the longing comes from the depths of his soul.

You’re drowning now, clinging to him as if he’s your anchor amid the waves of emotion and memory crashing over you. For a moment, time and space collapse, and it feels like this has always been your life, as if this is just one second in a lifetime spent with him like this.

But the brush of his tongue against yours snaps you back to reality, and you tense in his arms, your hand moving to the back of his neck to gently pull him away.

"What?" he whispers, breaking the kiss as he rests his forehead against yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

His voice sounds so tender and hopeful that it breaks your heart a little, and your stomach twists with guilt as you lean away from his embrace.

In another life, you’d beg him to keep going. In another universe, you’d be his completely—mind, body, and soul. You can feel the way his heart calls your name.

But not this life; not in this universe. In all of the world, there is only one call your heart answers to, and it is Xavier's.

“Raf,” you whisper, your voice soft and aching, “I’m so sorry, but—”

"I know what you're going to say," Raf cuts you off before you even finish, hurt replacing the warmth in his eyes, "Sooo you don't have to say it."

He drops his hands from your face and steps back, and the cold wind that cuts through you is nothing compared to the burning ache flaring to life in your chest.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few snowflakes, and lets out a bitter laugh. “I guess things with the ‘fake’ husband aren’t so fake anymore, yeah?”

"I love him," you admit, the words escaping before you can stop them, leaving you stunned. You’d never said it out loud before, never dared to voice what you felt. But now it’s out, and there's no taking it back.

Rafayel laughs again, a choked sound that gets stuck in his throat, and looks up at the sky as if searching for an answer there. After a moment, he groans softly before his eyes return to yours, "Oh, that intense, huh?"

You nod, silent, unwilling to say anything more for fear of deepening the hurt in his eyes. The few feet of space between you feel insurmountable, and you itch to close the distance, to reach out and comfort him somehow.

Rafayel sighs, his hand motioning toward the empty air, as if Xavier were standing here, too. "Is he... is he better than me?"

"No, Raf," You groan, the ache in your heart burning even brighter, "He's not better. It's just...different. I can't explain it."

Rafayel looks away again, his lips pressing together in a tight line, before turning back to you with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes. "Just...promise you won't forget about me, okay?"

Tears sting your cheeks, and the hurt, desperate sound of his plea is all the proof you need to understand that a broken heart can keep breaking.

"Oh, Raf, I could never forget about you," you promise, stepping closer. You reach for his arm just as the train pulls into the station, the loudspeaker announcing its arrival.

"I won’t," you swear, ignoring the blaring sound. "Never."

He steps back from your outstretched fingers, and his voice and eyes harden as he replies, "You will. You always do."

The train stops, passengers streaming past, and you open your mouth, trying to reassure him—but no words come. A wave of uncertainty hits as his cryptic words echo in your mind, and you fail to make sense of them.

The option to reach for him, to pull him close and comfort him, is stolen from you as he turns around and starts walking back in the direction you came.

"Get on the train," he calls over his shoulder, "Don't keep Romeo waiting."

You hesitate, your fist clenching as your heart and mind fight for control. Watching him walk away feels like losing a part of yourself, though you can't quite understand why.

You board the train with tears in your eyes, and search through your purse for your phone. You send a quick message to Xavier to let him know you'll be there soon, and try to collect the pieces of your heart as the train speeds toward home.

Xavier chose you yesterday. And today, you chose him.

This star isn't going anywhere. 

[kimmie2me]

# 04. Crossed Lines

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

note: hey hey!! sorry for the late chapter!! needed time to write this + a request ill post later!! enjoy!!

.....

After the short interaction wrapped up, you found yourself glancing over at the two other detectives standing beside Midoriya. Both were new faces to you, but the contrast was instantly noticeable—Ashido Mina, with her bright eyes and bubblegum hair, radiated an unshakable optimism, while Sero Hanta’s casual smile and relaxed posture somehow balanced the energy Bakugou’s relentless intensity brought to the room. Midoriya himself, ever the polite one, caught your gaze and offered a small, friendly nod.

You decided that if you were all going to be dealing with a case this serious, a little rapport wouldn’t hurt. But the moment you opened your mouth, Bakugou’s eyes cut toward you, a warning practically glowing in his glare.

“Is this a damn tea party?” Bakugou barked, arms crossed tightly. “We got places to be, people. Let’s. GO.”

“Lighten up, Kacchan,” Midoriya replied with a smile that was almost too casual for the tension between him and Bakugou. He pushed up his sleeves, looking genuinely unfazed by Bakugou’s attitude. “We’re all working together on this one. And a team that’s familiar with each other works better, right?”

Bakugou shot him a glare, muttering something about “wasted time” as he stormed past, but he didn’t outright shut you down again, so… small victories.

“So, you’re the new partner, huh?” Sero asked, flashing a grin as you all walked toward the bullpen. “Must be tough, dealing with Mr. Sunshine over there.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the groan slipped out before you could stop it. “You have no idea. Half the time, I feel like he’s about two seconds away from throwing me out of a moving vehicle. Or into a boxing ring.”

“Oh, trust me,” Mina giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s all bark… and bite. But he only goes full ‘attack mode’ if he respects you. Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, clearly having overheard every word of the conversation, nodded with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, Kacchan... has a unique way of motivating people. If you can even call it motivation," he added, trailing off as though unsure of how to phrase it. And this was the same guy who'd gotten away with calling Bakugou a semi-affectionate nickname—in public!

You were still processing that when Mina gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder. “So, don’t take it personally if he’s a little extra harsh. You’d have to screw up pretty bad for him to really lose it on you.”

Sero grinned. “Yeah, we’ve all been on the receiving end of his ‘motivational speeches.’ Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya again nodded, a hint of nervous laughter escaping him. “He’s been like that since high school. But he’s a good detective. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see why.”

Just as you were starting to relax into the conversation, Bakugou’s voice sliced through it like a razor. “Oi! Enough chitchat. If I wanted a damn pep talk, I’d ask for it.” He shot you a glare, then pointed toward the door. “Move it. Now.”

You exchanged quick, sheepish glances with Mina and Sero, who both gave you a silent “good luck” nod as Bakugou led the way out, practically radiating impatience. Even Midoriya’s friendly wave didn’t fully shake off the weight of Bakugou’s intensity.

As you moved into the hallway with Bakugou just a few steps ahead, you couldn’t help but think: that getting to know these new teammates was going to be a marathon in itself. And given Bakugou’s lingering glare, you were pretty sure he’d do his best to make sure you wouldn’t forget it.

.....

The air between you and Bakugou was thick with unspoken tension as he pushed open the door to a quieter side room, away from the chatter and energy of the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, the soft thud of the door closing behind you magnifying the sudden silence. Bakugou’s back was to you, the crisp lines of his navy-blue police detective uniform sharp under the bright lights. The tailored fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the insignia patch visible on his sleeve as he crossed his arms and let out a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright, listen up, rookie,” he started, voice low and rough but without the usual edge that could cut through concrete. His eyes met yours, stormy and electric, a mix of begrudging seriousness and irritation. It wasn’t quite the barking tone you were used to, but it sure as hell wasn’t gentle either. “This isn't some simple patrol. We’re dealin' with a syndicate—real, organized scum who’d sell their own mothers for a payday.”

You nodded, feeling the pressure coil tighter in your chest. He took a step closer, and you resisted the urge to flinch. He wasn’t intimidating by accident; he was all sharp edges and raw energy, a wildfire trying to behave like a controlled burn.

“I know you’re green, and I know you’re not ready for half the shit we’re about to face.” His eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of disagreement. “But that don’t mean you’re gonna slack off. This is your chance to prove you can handle bein’ my partner without draggin’ my ass down.”

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe defend yourself or say something witty to cut the tension, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hand flew up, pointer finger raised in warning. “No. Shut up and listen."

Great. The infamous Bakugou Katsuki motivational speech, part two.

“We’re runnin' recon. Stakeout. The works. This ain’t the kind of gig where you can afford to blink and miss somethin’.” He started pacing, his boots hitting the linoleum floor with a steady rhythm. The room was just big enough that his movements seemed to fill every inch of space, every stride of his reminding you that he was not just a man, but a force. “We watch, we wait, and we don’t move unless we have to. You don’t make a sound unless I tell ya to. You don’t play hero, you don’t get curious, and you sure as hell don’t run your mouth if things get tense.”

He stopped in front of you again, eyes flickering over your expression like he was reading every doubt, every hesitation. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tone it down. Instead, he leaned in, the intensity in his eyes nearly crackling.

“I’m sayin’ this once, so get it through that head of yours: the second you act like this is a game or hesitate when things get messy, we’re done. Got it?”

The room felt a few degrees hotter, and it took everything in you not to shrink under his stare. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves. “..Got it.”

His gaze lingered, scanning for any cracks, any sign that you were bluffing. Whatever he saw must have passed his test, because he straightened, arms folding back across his chest as he nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk but something less hostile. “Now, don’t screw it up.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the words sinking in like lead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious. You took a breath, the reality of it all pressing down on your shoulders.

“So, when’s the stakeout?” you asked, trying to mask the nerves in your voice with a false bravado. It worked well enough in theory—maybe not so much in practice.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened with the glint of a man ready for battle. “Tonight. Gear up and meet me by the west gate at 1900. And remember what I said, rookie—‘cause one slip, and we’re both screwed.”

You nodded again, the weight of the next few hours pressing like a vise on your chest. As you turned to leave, the thought flared back in your mind: Yeah, you were definitely doomed.

.....

The hours between the briefing and 19:00 were a special kind of hell. You sat at your desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as your nerves twisted into knots that no amount of deep breathing could undo. The department buzzed around you, a chaotic orchestra of voices, footsteps, and the static crackle of radios. But all of it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in your ears. Your mind was on one thing: tonight's stakeout.

Kaminari, bless his soul, had tried to lighten the mood, sauntering over with that boyish grin and the kind of confidence that only came from blissful ignorance. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know, if this was a horror movie, you’d be the one who gets possessed first.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as your leg bounced under the desk. His joke didn’t help, but at least it was something.

“And then Bakugou would probably shout at the demon until it left you alone,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. That earned him a snort from Kirishima across the room, who was busy checking his gear. Even so, the tension in your chest didn’t let up.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the demon just possessed him instead,” you said, only half-joking. Kaminari barked out a laugh before leaning in.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t do anything Bakugou said not to do,” he whispered conspiratorially.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But instead, all you could do was glance at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until you’d have to face Bakugou’s exacting standards—and hope that you wouldn’t be the reason this mission went sideways.

…

By the time 18:30 rolled around, you were a bundle of frayed nerves. Every glance from Bakugou during prep was a silent challenge, his sharp eyes catching the tiniest missteps—your holster that wasn’t clipped properly, the radio you checked twice just to be sure it was on the right frequency. He didn’t even have to say anything; the weight of his disapproval was enough to make you sweat bullets. You could practically hear him in your head, shouting, “Rookie mistakes get us killed.”

The room felt like it was closing in, the anticipation coiling tighter with every second that passed. It didn’t help that the murmured conversations were peppered with glances in your direction. Even Kirishima, who’d shown up with a reassuring clap on your shoulder and a grin that promised camaraderie, couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled over you.

“Alright, everyone!” Chief Yagi’s voice cut through the room like a warm, steady beacon. The tall man stood beside Chief Aizawa, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. The room quieted instantly, officers shifting from casual banter to focused attention. Even Bakugou, with his constant underlying intensity, straightened his posture.

“This is it,” Chief Yagi began, his voice even and calm, resonating with the kind of authority that settled nerves—at least a little. “We’re up against a syndicate that’s been one step ahead of us for too long. Tonight, we change that.”

Chief Aizawa’s eyes swept the room, pausing on you for a fraction longer than you’d have liked. “Stay sharp. This isn’t your average stakeout. Everyone needs to be on point. One mistake, and they’ll be gone before we blink.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze like an iron chain. Your heart drummed so loudly, you wondered if anyone else could hear it.

“Bakugou, you and your team are the first line,” Yagi continued, eyes shifting to the explosive blond. Bakugou’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk but was probably just his battle-ready scowl. “Be ready for anything.”

“Damn right,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flicked to you for half a second, a warning and an assurance wrapped into one.

You swallowed hard as the chiefs finished the briefing, a collective shuffling of boots and gear following as everyone moved out to their positions. The air crackled with anticipation, every officer a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The hallway buzzed with activity, footsteps echoing as your team gathered near the entrance.

And then it hit you, hard and cold like a wave crashing over your head: you were absolutely fucked. All the pep talks, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t quell the gnawing anxiety that twisted in your gut as you stepped into the night, the sky darkening into a canopy of shadows.

“Let’s move, rookie!” Bakugou’s voice cut through, snapping you back to the present. You glanced over at Midoriya, who shot you a small, nervous smile that did little to settle your nerves. Ahead, Kirishima flashed a thumbs-up, his own excitement barely contained.

The night was just beginning, but one thing was clear—you were in for the fight of your life.

.....

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou took up positions in the dense cluster of shadows outside the syndicate's hideout. The abandoned industrial park loomed like a hulking beast, its rusted metal structures catching the eerie glow of the moon. The cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only added a biting edge to the tension coiling in your stomach. Bakugou was already a taut wire, vibrating with his usual mix of impatience and adrenaline.

“Eyes open, no screw-ups,” Bakugou hissed under his breath, the snarl barely masked behind clenched teeth. His glare cut through the dark, landing squarely on you. Great, you thought. Just what you needed—his full, undivided wrath.

“Got it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of night insects.

Kirishima, bless his eternally optimistic soul, shot you a reassuring smile. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? We’ve trained for this. Just remember the plan.”

You nodded, trying to channel even a sliver of his confidence. The plan was simple on paper: observe, gather intel, wait for the signal. But reality had a funny way of chewing up simple plans and spitting them out as complicated messes, and with Bakugou as the lead, nothing was ever just simple.

Bakugou shifted beside you, eyes narrowed and posture coiled tight like a predator about to spring. “Stop movin' like you’re an amateur on a school field trip. You make one wrong move, and they’ll hear us from miles away.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from snapping back. He wasn’t wrong, but damn if the delivery didn’t make you want to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you adjusted your stance, focusing on steady, measured breaths. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of you, his smile faltering slightly. He opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging but quickly shut it as Bakugou shot him a look that could’ve seared paint off metal.

“Focus, Shitty Hair. We’re not here for a group hug.”,” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima winced, but to his credit, he nodded. “Right, right. All good here.”

The quiet stretched out, an oppressive blanket that made every creak and rustle sound magnified. You kept your eyes trained on the entrance of the building, fingers flexing nervously at your side. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple despite the chill. You wanted to be calm, composed, the officer Bakugou didn’t feel like he had to babysit. But under the weight of his scalding gaze, the pressure sat heavy on your chest.

Suddenly, a small sound—a metallic clink—broke the silence. Your eyes darted to the source, and before you could register what it was, Bakugou had whirled on you, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell did I say, rookie?!" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper but fierce enough to make your pulse leap. “You tryin' to announce our presence with a goddamn megaphone?””

“I didn’t—” you started, but Kirishima interjected, trying to diffuse the escalating tension.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. Let’s just—”

“Stay outta this, Kirishima,” Bakugou snapped, never taking his eyes off you. "I swear, if you cost us this op—”

“Bakugou, I get it,” you interrupted, your voice sharp enough to slice through the static in the air. “I’m not here to mess this up.”

“Then act like it.”,” he shot back, voice dripping with impatience. His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing against you. Prove yourself or get out of my way.

Kirishima shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between stepping in and staying silent. His fingers curled, the tension evident even in his usually relaxed frame. He gave you a small, apologetic look, but there wasn’t much he could do. Bakugou’s word was final.

You swallowed hard and nodded, steeling yourself. The sting of Bakugou’s criticism burned, but it fueled you, sharpening your focus. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking under his scrutiny.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as the quiet hum of the night settled once more. The weight of the mission, of Bakugou’s piercing gaze, of your own hammering heartbeat—all of it coalesced into a single, suffocating realization.

You were in it now, with no room for doubt or error. As Chief Yagi’s voice crackled softly through the comms with the final “All units, prepare to engage,” you exhaled shakily. The stakeout had officially begun, and there was no turning back.

This, you thought as you scanned the perimeter one last time, the shadows shifting and stretching like specters. Is the worst year of my life.

.....

The first half hour of the stakeout was suffocating in its monotony. Every creak and groan of the old industrial park seemed amplified, stretching the seconds into an eternity. Bakugou hadn’t taken his eyes off the building for a second, muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. You tried to match his vigilance, forcing your breathing to remain steady as the cold air bit through your jacket. Kirishima shifted beside you, the only sign he wasn’t made entirely of stone.

Suddenly, a low whistle over the comms cut through the night: the signal. Movement at the side entrance. Your pulse spiked, locking eyes with Bakugou, who barely gave you a glance before snapping, “Stay close. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. This was it. Time to prove you were more than just some rookie Bakugou had to babysit.

The three of you crept forward, Bakugou leading with steps too silent for someone with such a loud personality. You mirrored him as best you could, even as adrenaline threatened to unsteady your footing. Kirishima brought up the rear, eyes narrowed and focused.

Just as you reached the door, Bakugou’s hand shot up, signaling a halt. He glanced back, mouthing, On my mark. Your fingers flexed, nerves wound tighter than a spring.

Then, a figure darted out of the building, faster than expected. Panic flared as you reacted just a beat too late. Your foot grazed a loose pipe, sending it clattering against the concrete like a symphony of mistakes.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with molten fury. “What the hell did I just say?!”

The figure froze, head whipping toward the noise—then bolted, vanishing into the maze of the industrial park.

“Move!” Bakugou roared, his voice slicing through the night.

All three of you burst into a sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement. The cold bit harder as you tore through tight corridors and rusted structures, Bakugou’s curses driving you forward.

Twisting around corners, feet pounding, shadows shifting erratically in the flashlights’ beams—you misstepped, just a fraction too slow on the slick ground. Your ankle twisted, and the world tilted. You yelped, slamming into a metal crate with a clang.

“Split up!” he barked, and you veered right, legs burning, lungs heaving to keep pace. You caught a blur of movement—a flash of dark clothing.

“Contact, west side!” you gasped into the comms.

But as you turned the corner, your target slipped into a corridor cluttered with debris. You leapt over a pipe, skidding on loose gravel, arms pinwheeling. Before you regained balance, a second figure shoved past, slamming you against the metal siding of a container.

“Dammit!” you choked, disoriented. The clatter had already alerted the team, but it was too late. Bakugou appeared from the opposite end, just in time to see them vanish through a gap in the chain-link fence.

He spun to you, fury sparking in his eyes. “Are you serious? One damn job, and you blew it!”

Kirishima came running, breathing hard, eyes darting between the exit and your crumpled form. “We can still—”

“It’s too late, Kirishima.” Bakugou spat, words cutting like glass. He yanked you up by the arm, not gentle. “Lost our best lead ‘cause of you.”

You winced as he let go, the cold fury in his eyes stinging more than the rough grip on your arm. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Chief Yagi’s voice crackled over the comms. “Teams, return to base. We’ll regroup and assess.”

You couldn’t look Bakugou in the eye as you trudged back, the walk a slow march of shame. Kirishima tried a comforting shoulder pat, but it only made the sting worse. Bakugou’s words echoed in your skull, sharp as broken glass.

.....

Back at the precinct, Bakugou wasted no time, cornering you in the hallway, slamming a fist against the wall by your head with a sharp crack. You flinched. His eyes blazed, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to shatter, and you could feel heat radiating from him, even in the frigid night air. This was beyond bad.

“What. The hell. Were you thinkin’?” he ground out, each word heavy with fury, barely contained. He was close enough that you noticed the scar slicing across his right cheek—a jagged reminder he was built for chaos. Right now, though, he looked like he was about to snap—and you were the reason why.

Honestly? You didn’t even know. No idea, and that was the worst of it. You didn’t know why you kept screwing up. Or why you couldn’t just…stop.

You swore you wouldn’t cry. Never. But after everything, you could feel it creeping up, your gaze dropping to avoid Bakugou’s glare, which burned with something harsher than anger—disdain. It was like fuel to the fire, but for your tears, if that even made sense.

The weight of his glare felt like it might crush you into the linoleum. Bakugou’s presence filled every inch of the hallway, every jagged line of his rage pressing in on you until even breathing felt like a mistake. But you forced yourself to hold it together, swallowing hard, refusing to crack under his gaze.

"Chief Yagi told me you had potential," he sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Thought I was wastin’ my time watchin' your back, but I guess you’re set on provin' him wrong." His eyes raked over you, assessing, but you could tell he wasn’t finding anything worth the trouble.

Your fists tightened, knuckles white, but you bit back any retort that threatened to slip out. You didn’t have a defense. You’d failed, and he was right to be angry. Still, the weight of his disappointment—and the sting of his words—cut deep.

"I fuckin' knew you'd be a shit partner, if I can even call you that," Bakugou spat, voice low and venomous. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "You're not even worth the time I wasted, dragging your ass through this mess."

Your chest tightened, but you kept your jaw set, refusing to back down or give him the satisfaction of seeing your frustration boil over. You could feel the heat of his words, each one like a slap to the face. But you weren’t going to let him break you.

Kirishima rounded the corner, his face a mask of concern. He caught Bakugou’s shoulder, halting him mid-step. “C’mon, man, go easy. You know we all slip up sometimes. We were all green once, right?”

Bakugou shrugged him off, his glare flicking between you and Kirishima. "Green’s one thing. Getting a lead ruined ‘cause they don’t know left from right? That’s another."

Kirishima's jaw tensed, but he turned to you with a softer look, one that almost undid all your efforts not to crumble right there. "Hey, everyone messes up at some point. Even Bakugou’s had a few rough starts. Right, Bakugou?" he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching tighter. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima didn’t back down, meeting Bakugou’s fierce gaze head-on. “But you’re the one who’s always telling everyone to learn fast, right? And they will. They just need—”

“Need to toughen up, yeah,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to you, his voice low and lethal. "Next time you so much as breathe wrong on a case, I’ll make sure it’s the last time."

With one last, withering look, he stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. Kirishima stayed a moment longer, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm but reassuring.

"Look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "Bakugou’s tough on everyone. Hell, he was even worse with me when I started. But he’s all bark, yeah? Don’t let it get to you. You’ll learn. Just…keep at it."

You managed a shaky nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

He gave you a reassuring pat, his smile kind despite everything. "Hang in there. If you stick around long enough, even Bakugou’s gotta acknowledge you eventually." He offered a wink, trying to lighten the mood, before heading down the hall after his friend.

The quiet that followed felt hollow, the fluorescent lights humming above as you stood there, replaying every step of the mission in your mind, every slip and wrong move magnified a hundred times over.

You barely registered the footsteps approaching until a soft voice spoke.

"You okay?"

It was Chief Yagi, his tall frame looming gently over you, eyes soft and compassionate. The chief was a man of few words, but each one seemed to carry weight. He’d been the one who vouched for you, vouched hard enough to get Bakugou’s reluctant approval. You didn’t know why he’d stuck his neck out, not when there were dozens of rookies more deserving.

“Yes, sir. Just…reflecting,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Yagi’s gaze didn’t waver, his sharp eyes searching yours as if reading every thought that crossed your mind. “Mistakes happen,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “They’re not what define you. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

You nodded, hearing the wisdom in his words but not quite feeling it. The shame still burned, Bakugou’s words still echoing like a scar. You couldn’t shake the image of his furious glare, the way his words cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had one job. That’s all he’d said. And you’d screwed it up. Badly.

You weren’t cut out for this, were you? Maybe Bakugou was right—maybe you were just a waste of time. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but you were fumbling through every step, like a toddler learning to walk. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment, his anger, like it was still seeping into your bones.

You weren’t good enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

A pit of self-loathing twisted in your stomach, deeper than it ever had before. You’d come into this job with so much hope, with the idea that you could prove yourself, that you could be something more than just another rookie. But every time you tried, it felt like you only dug yourself deeper. Every mistake you made seemed to stack up, making you a bigger target for Bakugou’s wrath.

Was this the best you could do? Stumbling through every opportunity, letting your partner clean up your mess?

You should’ve known better. You should’ve moved faster, been more careful, not tripped on that damn pipe. You shouldn’t have let the pressure get to you. But here you were, a failure in the eyes of your mentor, your team, yourself.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You didn’t cry. Not over something like this. But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest didn’t fade. What if this was it? What if you just weren’t built for this kind of work? Maybe you didn’t belong here at all.

You pushed a hand against the wall, feeling the cool surface beneath your palm as your breath grew shallow. What if you just gave up? What if you walked out the door, out of this damn precinct, and never came back?

You’re not good enough, the thought whispered. And you never will be.

For a moment, you stood there, weighed down by that voice—by the truth of it. And in the quiet of the hallway, with only the distant hum of the building and the haunting echoes of Bakugou’s fury, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe it.

The silence stretched on, the oppressive weight of your own thoughts bearing down on you. The anger that had been bubbling in your chest before was now buried under a thick layer of disappointment—both your own and what you imagined Bakugou’s to be.

But then, a soft voice cut through the dark fog of your mind.

"Hey." Chief Yagi’s voice was gentle, but firm. You didn’t even realize he had entered the hallway until you heard him say your name. "You doing alright?"

You flinched at the sound of your name, dragging your gaze up to meet his warm, steady eyes. Chief Yagi wasn’t like Bakugou—he wasn’t harsh, wasn’t blunt or demanding. His presence was a quiet kind of strength, and it was that quiet strength that seemed to settle over you like a blanket.

“I… I don’t know, Chief.” The words came out like a confession, raw and hesitant. You couldn’t meet his gaze for long, instead focusing on the floor as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I screwed up. Big time. I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this."

The words tasted like ash in your mouth. They were the culmination of all the doubts you’d been carrying, every mistake you’d made, every misstep that felt like a chasm between you and your teammates.

Chief Yagi sighed softly, taking a step closer, his expression kind but knowing, like he’d seen this before. "Hey," he repeated, his voice reassuring. "Everyone messes up. Especially when they’re starting out."

You shook your head, unable to shake the feeling that you’d let everyone down. "I let everyone down, Chief. Bakugou was right. I—I had one job, and I blew it. You gave me a chance to prove myself..and I failed."

"Yeah, you made a mistake. But you didn’t ruin everything." Chief Yagi’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of experience. "We’re not in this alone, you know? You don’t have to carry the burden of every single slip-up on your own."

His words were a balm to the self-inflicted wound that had been festering. But they still didn’t feel quite enough to wipe away the guilt. "But I keep messing up," you said softly. "Over and over again. I’m just... holding everyone back."

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "What you’re doing is learning. You’re learning, and you’re pushing through. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I see it, you know? The way you push yourself. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s tough."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to feel that tiny spark of hope flicker back to life inside you. But it was hard to see through the haze of failure that clouded your mind. "But what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’m just... a mistake waiting to happen?"

Chief Yagi let out another soft breath, and when he spoke again, it was with the kind of patience only someone who’d been through it all could have. "You know, no one gets everything right the first time. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter. It’s not about getting it perfect; it’s about getting back up every time you fall. And you will. I’m sure of it."

His words sank into you like a stone into water, rippling through the doubt and frustration that had been swelling up inside you. Chief Yagi wasn’t trying to erase your mistake, he was just reminding you that it didn’t define you. That you didn’t have to be perfect to be worth something.

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," he continued, his voice steady, "but I’m here, and your team’s here. You don’t have to be alone in this, even when it feels like you are."

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had formed in your throat. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself a breath, a small sigh that felt like a fraction of a weight lifting.

“I won’t give up,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him, but they still felt like a promise. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep going.”

Chief Yagi smiled, a small but warm curve of his lips that sent a little spark of hope through your chest. “That’s all anyone needs to hear. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

He turned to walk away, but before he did, he gave you one last, reassuring glance over his shoulder. "And if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Don’t forget that, okay?"

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all. Maybe you could get better. Maybe you were learning. And with that, you allowed yourself just a sliver of hope—enough to push through to the next day.

[marilynslove]

birds of a feather .. J.M

“ this love will keep us through blinding of the eyes „

୨⎯ 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 ⎯୧

my breath gets caught in my throat at the sound of blade sinking into skin, the sound of jj’s small groan making my heart fall to the ground. i watch as groff twists the blade before withdrawing the hand knife from jayj’s stomach, my arms reaching out to help support the blonde as he stumbles back a little.

i can feel nothing and everything as i feel his tensed body against mine, helping him sink down to the ground slowly as i sink to my knees in front of him - eyes glossing over as my hands quickly avert to the crying of his wound, crimson red now staining the lines and creases of my hands.

my brain ignores the fading noises of groff’s footsteps as i scan his body for any more injuries that could’ve happened from the earlier combat against the mercenaries.

the pounding from my heart is all i can hear, the pulse beating quickly - yet the only sound i can listen to is the small breaths from jj’s lips - soon turning into coughs.

“no, no, no. look at me, look it’s-, it’s all gonna be okay.” i say, voice cracking as i look into the familiar gaze of his blue eyes. the ones i’d grown accustomed to seeing everyday for the past twelve years.

“let me see it.” i say, my hands shakily removing his own that were practically clutching at the gash.

my fingers tread over the now stained material, blood smearing against my fingers as my lip starts to quiver. my chest grows heavy as i stare down at him, consternation lingering in every nerve of my body as i freeze - almost like a deer in headlights.

he furrows his brows and scrunches his nose a little as he shifts his body to lean in a little - the same way his nose usually scrunches when he laughs.

“hey-, princess, look at me.” jj says through a cough, his hands reaching out to have a weak grasp on my arms. “‘s all gonna be okay, yeah? yer gonna be alright, i promise. don’t-, don’t cry.”

his finger comes to wipe the tears streaming down my face, shaking his head slightly.

“you-,” he cuts himself off with a cough, spitting up some blood to the side with a groan. his eyes flutter shut for a moment for (little to no) relief before opening to meet my own again.

“jay, baby you have to stay still.” i mumble, gently tapping on his chest.

“no, listen to me. you,” he presses his pointer finger against my chest as he leans forward - trying and failing to hold back a small groan of pain, his breath tickling against my skin.

“are gonna do great things. and you’re gonna grow old, and you’re gonna have all those babies we’ve talked about.”

i chew on the inside of my cheek as he talks, my gaze flickering over his face as i try to memorize the smallest of details. taking in the small dimples that forms as he talks, the ways his lashes kiss the soft but now dirtied surface of his skin.

the messy look flashes a small moment in my mind from when we were kids ; we’d been playing cops and robbers out in the cut and i’d tripped and fell, drawing cries from little me. john b had laughed, but jj threw himself on the ground next to me to make me laugh - ending up with dirt smeared across his nose and cheeks. i’d always thought that summed up the type of person he is.

“n you’re gonna open up that surf shop you always talk my ear off about, with the little turtle stickers you’re gonna hand out to every customer that comes and goes.” a small smile tugs at his lips, a hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair that’d fallen out of place from my braid.

i lean into the warmth of his touch, tears blurring my vision before disappearing as fast as they came.

“do you-, do you think we’ll see each other again? in our next life?” he mumbles, the look in his eyes becoming distant as his eyes grow heavy.

i nod, the lingering lump in the back of my throat making it hard to swallow.

“every life, maybank.” i say softly, my voice trembles as i press a soft kiss against his lips.

“i love you in every one, i pinky promise.”

he looks up at me as his hand weakens, the small smile lingers on his lips before parting to speak. his body starts to relax, moving faster than his mind.

“jj? …. jj?”

[fistfuloflightning]

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

The Night We Met, Lord Huron

[tonycries]

I'm A BIG Stepper!

Synopsis. Too big? There’s no such thing as “too big”.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, saying it’s “too big”, FÉRAL boys, spítting, chokíng, them being big like REALLY big, cúmplay, oraI (male + fem), Choso’s rings, breéding, víbrators, creampíe, again - REALLY big, kinda mean Choso hehe, true form! Sukuna, dp, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.7k

A/N. When you accidentally choose “thought daughter” and half your synopses are questions WHOOPS.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “That? M’bigger.”

“Yer killin’ me, doll.” Toji huffs out in ragged jealousy at those slow, sultry noises. “Look at you- just look at how she’s just begging f’me.”

Such cute lil’ whines leave your pretty lips as he works your puffy cunt open with that hot pink vibrator of yours. Soaked, thick - customized to the exact measurements of the achingly hard cock sat between his legs right now.

“B-but-” you gasp, eyeing down at the way your puffy folds were bulging around the toy. “S’barely even ngh- all the way in, Toji.”

“So?” he rolls his eyes. And Toji knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows it’s for his own good to stretch out your gummy walls so that you can take his massive size. But all it takes is another hard caress of that buzzing length against your poor g-spot for him to snap.

Eyes becoming crazed when your jaw falls slack, back arching up like such a slut up against his hard abs as you squeal, “Toji! Oh my god m’close—”

Close? 

Suddenly, Toji can’t take it anymore - he needs to feel you wrapped around himself. 

Now. 

“M’gonna- wait what- ngh!” You’re batting your dewy eyes up at him when he drags the vibrator out with a loud squelch! All at once. Still reeling from disappointment, “Baby, why’d you-”

“Because.” he interrupts, and you keen when you feel the urgent throb! of Toji’s fat tip kissing at your swollen folds. Red and angry, leaking thick precum over your pussy lips in a pretty gloss. So mesmerizing that you almost miss the familiar flex of his thighs, the way his dark brows furrow in concentration. “-this pussy of yours says s’time for the real deal.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s suddenly dipping his girthy head just barely past your first ring of resistance. Difficult.  

“Relax.” he hisses. Pushing in lingering, determined little grinds past each clench, still easy - still patient. For now. “Breathe f’me. Breathe f’me come on, She can do hah- do it, right, my girl?”

Shit, a part of him thinks he should’ve almost waited longer with the vibrator. Because Toji knows he’s big. He knows your cunt is so tight so heavenly he might just pass out right now. Until- 

“Hngh! Toji!” you scramble onto your elbows when you feel his fat head finally bullies past to brush up against your hidden sweet spots. That little divot squeezing past to mark your walls inside. “You promised you’d hah- last longer with the oh vibrator tonight.”

Honestly, a part of Toji was impressed you were still able to form coherent sentences with the way you were being split apart on his monster cock. 

He leans down to nuzzle your neck, “Awww, did I?” Hiking your limp legs further and further up his broad shoulders where he had you folded in half. “I don’t remember, maybe your pussy was jus’ c-calling t’me.”

“You- you liar!” you cry out, and he can’t help but grow impossibly harder. Fighting off that dangerous, feral part of himself that just wants to ram into you like some animal already. Because oh how he loved when you act like you weren’t bucking up mindlessly into the smooth staccato of his hips as he eases his way in.  “Hngh- fuck you jus’ got- oh!”

The stretch - fuck the stretch. You never got used to it, no matter how many times he used that damn vibrator on you. Pushing you to your limits. It’s like he was nudging at your lungs already.

“F-fuuuck-” you can’t hold back your desperate moans, nails dragging reg marks down his biceps almost the size of your head. “Are you- ngh are you at least halfway in, Toji?”

“Nope.” he hums smugly, popping the p. “Though…”

And in a split second, he’s sitting up, with you splayed out so prettily on his fat length. Lips quirking into a mean little grin when two big arms of his help gravity pull you down, down, down onto his thick cock. Inch by fucking inch. 

Turning his head to lick a long, languid stripe up his wrist. Groaning at the sweet sweet taste of your juices forming a sheen on his skin from the little “preparation” before. And fuck you think you feel him grow thicker - angry veins pulsing against every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

Full. So full - and he wasn’t even all the way in yet. 

“Oh- oh my god- fuck you’re so deep.” you mewl, body jolting with the inability to decide between wanting to run away or slam your hips down for more. 

Toji notices - of course, he does - it was always like this, a few tears, a few whines, a few strokes with that pathetic “replica” of his swollen cock to stretch you out. He splays a hand out over your lower stomach, pressing down. Hard. Twitching wildly at that familiar bulge inside you, “M’so much deeper than that stupid toy.” 

It’s all you can do to whimper, strained and utterly fucked out already. “Wh-what?”

“Heh, ya wanna know a secret, doll?” He’s leaning down to chuckle darkly in your ear - sending shivers down your neck, your arched spine, all the way to where he gives harsh thrust. Calculated. Once. Twice. 

This time, not stopping until he was bottoming out. 

Your puffy folds meeting his pelvis in a lewd kiss, his heavy balls smacking against your ass, thick cock settled deep - right where Toji’s been dying to be all night. Toji coos at the way your poor cunt was stuttering and bulging with the greedy effort to take him. 

He plants a sloppy kiss right on your lips, “That vibrator’s made smaller than me.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Gentleman.

Now, Nanami Kento has always been told he looked like a gentleman - everything from his neatly styled hair, to his perfect suits, to the stern reading glasses always at his nose. Nanami Kento was a gentleman - both inside and out. 

Well, except for that massive cock he hid away behind dapper dress pants, of course. 

The one that always got so girthy and angry at the mere thought of not being stuffed inside your pretty pussy. The one that was currently beading hot precum at your pussy lips, forming a lewd little pool from where he was spooning you from behind. 

The perfect remedy after a long, hard day at work - you, his cute lil’ wife. 

“Bad day?” you whisper over your shoulder, Nanami’s nods coming out in feverish little puffs against your heated skin. “Then, I want you to put it in, Ken. All of it, don’ wanna waste time on preparation.”

And Nanami was never one to deny his wife - never one to doubt anything you wanted. But at this very moment, he’s loosening that speckled yellow tie he didn’t have the patience - nor the sanity to remove. Sliding the divot on his fat tip across your clit with a hushed, “Can’t, my love. I promised to not overwork you.”

You huff, “S’not overworking- just ngh- Ken-”

“Don’t.” he warns, hips rutting up lewdly at the mere sound of your voice. Sliding the mess of his glisteningly swollen cock right between your puffy folds. “Fuck- don’t. Jus’ had a bad day n’ this naughty pussy’s gonna make me lose control, darling. Have you calling out of work tomorrow.” He kisses down your neck left hand snaking down to give your cunt a gentle smack! The cool band of his wedding ring burning against your clit, “S’that really what you want?”

And it was meant to be a question to himself more than anything, really. A reminder that you weren’t even prepared yet - not stretched and teased to his heart’s content like usual. A reminder to fucking reel his sanity back before he breaks you. 

But, alas, maybe you’re a genius - maybe you’re just stupid. Because you whine stubbornly, “Well, I hear it’s the best solution for a bad day, so why don’t you?”

In an instant, that’s all it takes for your leg to be stretched up in the air. The cozy bedroom chill hitting your bare cunt - only for a split-second, before Nanami’s achy tip is filling you up. Everywhere. Anywhere. 

“Hold onto this.” his free hand presses his tie onto your shaky one, hip still pushing. Still rutting up in a steady pressure on your snug cunt. “Pull on it if m’going too rough- fuck- fuckin’ choke me I don’t care. Jus’ let me know because from now on…” he trails off dangerously. 

But you’re not left to wonder what the end of his sentence will gift you. No, because you feel it. 

He’s pushing in - nothing like the slow, languid strokes you were used to. No, barely even giving you the time to adjust while your husband just keeps pressing and pressing and-

“Ah! Ken!” you involuntarily tug on his tie when his sensitive slit massages at those syrupy sweet spots insides. “You’re so deep- fuck just fuck me how you want to.”

Nanami’s head feels light, vision getting spottier with each heaving breath he’s taking - maybe from your tightening grip around his tie, maybe from the way you’re squeezing him so fucking tight. But it takes him a few seconds to pull himself together enough to grit out, “Fuck- I want to. Oh, how I want to.” As if to confirm his statement, he’s thumbing apart your sopping slit, groaning at the sight of you drooling eagerly down his cock. “But you’re so fuckin’ tight I can’t ngh- s’this how you feel- fuck! I think m’gonna hafta take y’like this all the time, my love.”

Each word has him speeding up in jagged little pistons. Feeling so mean with the way he was bullying those cute moans out of you. 

“I don’t care- ngh-” you babble, when his fingers roll over your clit. Squirming your hips down to meet his, trying to press up against those neat tufts of blond at his hilt. “-just want you all inside me.”

Shaping your cunt to this shape of him, losing his breath with each and every dense push inside your sloppy entrance. Still stuck not even halfway in yet - but you feel like you’re losing your goddamn mind. 

“You’re so fuckin’ hah- hold on.” And then, your beloved Nanami pushes your leg up even further, craning his neck over to spit. A steady, sinful stream of saliva right onto the bulging mound of where he was sheeting himself in your pussy. Circling your clit, he hums in satisfaction at the mess he’s made, “Now I can ruin you exactly how I want.”

You open up so pliant for him, massaging every bump and ridge along his long, long length while you let him skim past. Being split open so well. So maddeningly. 

Like you wanted to be ruined. 

And just the thought of it is enough to push Nanami over the edge of his sanity - and to push the entirety of his raw, needy cock inside your tight pussy. Finally. Finally bottoming out.

“Ngh- shit-” he lets out a long breath, sharp canines puncturing at the sensitive skin on your neck. Hips stuttering and getting sloppy with each jittery push deeper inside. Even when Nanami feels your hips fucking back into his to meet the brick wall of his toned abs. His twitching balls sensitive against your ass. “Now, lemme tell ya how how it’s been a-” Just slamming his hips into yours, a ruthless depraved cadence. Fingers ruthless on your clit. “-long fuckin’ day without you.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Till m’stupid!

“P-please!” you try - and fail - to pull off his need mouth from your poor, overstimulated cunt. Fingers clasping desperately onto his long, inky hair. “I jus’ wan’ you in me- hah-”

It’s around your fourth orgasm that night when you’re finally crying out in surrender, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks with each high, legs spasming and trying to run away from Geto Suguru’s mean mouth. Your breath catching in your chest when he only hums around your ravaged clit in answer. 

“I dunno, gorgeous.” Geto teases, sloppy tongue darting around your pulsing hole. Stretching. Lapping up each and every drop of your syrupy cunt. “Don’ think she’s ready to take me, yet.”

Fuck, you knew what that meant. 

You knew that meant another few sweet rolls of Geto’s tongue against your clit, another few bullying praises spat into your sensitive cunt while he dragged you through another high - another orgasm that wasn’t on his swollen cock. 

And despite how much you loved the way your boyfriend teased and toyed your needy cunt with his mouth - you needed more. 

So you tug once again on his dark locks, tongue getting loose with delirium, “You’re so mean, Sugu. So what if I j-jus’ wan’ your cock.”

Oh how he loved to have you begging.

At this, his glassy eyes meet yours right from where Geto was still making out with your pretty pussy in a slow, languid kiss. The squelches and suckles ringing in your ears over your own words. His brow quirks, already with the nickname, huh? Interesting. 

“Can’t cum a-as good if it’s not on your cock.” you plow on. Oh, now it’s flattery? How cute. You manage to sputter out while your words don’t even slow him down, “And! And if you don’t-” Ah, Geto muses, this one’s probably the threat. What will it be? Last time it was making him do all the dishes. The time before that it was buying you that handbag you really loved- “-m’gonna go on a sex ban!”

Oh. 

Oh fuck. 

Now, if there’s one thing you know to never threaten Geto Suguru with, it’s a sex ban. But, alas, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

So here he was - face wrenching away from the honeypot of your sweet cunt like it hurt to leave. Eyes wide as he scrambles to meet you, your slick glistening down his gaping lips, his burning cheeks - fuck, he’s never looked prettier. 

“My baby…” Geto purrs into your ear, coming up to graze his lips against your in a messy crash of teeth and tongue. “Gorgeous, you never thought I’d be serious- right? Hah- sex ban my ass. You’re funny, real fucking funny.” But for all how confident he was, Geto was soothing out his words with the slightest tremor. Hastily sliding his furiously leaking tip between your sopping slit. Up and down up and down up and- “-cuz who said I could live another second without being in this cute pussy?”

As if to prove his point, Geto’s sliding his fat head past your puffy folds, stretching out your entrance so taut around his thick cock. 

A big hand of his finds its way onto the small of your waist, and in a split-second Geto has your position flipped so that he’s splayed out on the mattress instead. Your limp body now toppling precariously where you were sat on his swollen cock. 

“Oh.” his pretty mouth falls slack when his hazy eyes lock down at where the two of you were connected. Your pussy lips spread and sucking him up so well. He marvels, “Oh shit look at you. You always take it so well when you’re cockdrunk like this.”

And it’s true - Geto could barely feel that familiar little resistance of muscle. Instead, you’re letting his vein poke at your cunt welcomingly. Bullying himself inside.

You’re keening when an experimental thrust has Geto plunging in even deeper, throbbing veins massaging every nook and cranny of your gummy walls. You could feel him everywhere. And it’s like he could see the strain to take him. To milk him even greedier. 

“S-Sugu-”

“Shhh, this is what y’wanted, right?” he’s breathing, strained - like he’s at the end of his sanity with each inch you’re bouncing down his length. “To be fucked on my cock? No matter how big?”

You don’t even have the ability to respond at this point - just the way he liked it. That smart mouth of yours too drunk to think of anything other than him. To only whine when he pools your salty tears on his tongue, murmuring into your skin, “Now now, ‘nough with the cryin’ hah- you wanted to be fucked stupid- n’that’s exactly what m’gonna do.”

Ah, he loved this part. 

Loved how all those previous orgasms were crashing together to render you barely lucid when he’s shoving his entire cock up into your slutty hole. Glossy lips trembling when he hits the back of your cunt- already? Shit, that last orgasm must’ve hit you harder than he thought. 

That slightly upwards curve of his dick was driving you wild now buried to his hilt. And only shoving himself deeper with each grind that Geto was bucking up to. Until his heavy balls rested behind your ass, neat black happy trail rubbing up against your skin. Until it was impossible to go any deeper.

Your drunken eyes are snapping up in surprise when feeling him grow even thicker inside you, the rough girth shaping out your sloppy hole. He rasps out a chuckle, “Wonder how loose you’ll be after a fifth one, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Make him break!

Now, Choso knew your dirty lil’ tricks, he knew not to trust that sultry curl of your lips when you called out to him. That dangerous little glint in your eyes when you begged him to go deeper, one he almost misses with the way your heavenly cunt was trying to suck him up greedily. Almost. 

Always playing with his sanity. 

Always asking for more. 

“But, baby.” he whines, pressing a concerned little peck to that adorable pout on your lips. Breath catching in his chest when you tug stubbornly on his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna- hah- don’ wanna hurt you, y’know?”

In response, you’re only wrapping your legs around his toned waist tighter, sure to leave sinful little marks at those dimples at the bottom of his spine. “I know what I want- n’ what I want is-” your elastic walls squeeze around his girth. Hard. “-more.”

Choso can’t help but let out a slow, hoarse drag of your name. Dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead when he throws his head back, hips grinding down, down, down-

“Hah! You- oh-” his hazy eyes are flying open when he realizes he’s playing right into your evil hands. Biting his sharp canines down on your pulse - a little warning. “You know what happens when I go all the way, baby. M’not gonna fit- m’gonna lose control. M’gonna-”

“Please?” you hum sweetly.

He was about halfway in now - mouth watering at the way your pussy was spread open so shamefully for him. Already bulging and leaking onto the drenched silky sheets below with the struggle to take him - and you wanted more? 

“Tha’s right.” you hum, and it takes his saturated mind a second to realize he said that out loud. And even longer to blink up and meet your hungry gaze, “I want more, Cho.”

Fuck, and it was so unfair. Maybe it’s the nickname, maybe it’s the way you buck your hips up sloppily, lewd squelches ringing in his ear when you bully his swollen cock just an inch more. 

Maybe it’s just you. .

But that’s all it takes for him to gasp, eyes snapping wider - crazed even - hips stuttering so messily forwards before-

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut, baby.” And before you know it, Choso’s ramming his hips forwards. Letting the loud smack of skin-on-skin sound across the heady air, bruising. Painful, even. “Such a greedy little bitch-” Watching his throbbing length disappear, he’s sure it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, toned pelvis against your thighs, fat cockhead hitting at your cervix. “-N’ s’what you’re gonna be treated like.”

It only takes one kiss of Choso’s leaky tip right against the bottom of your snug pussy before he’s cumming and cumming so hard you can almost feel him twitch at your lungs.

Not waiting for you to adjust, not even waiting for his high to bate. no, don’t make him laugh. Just spearing you on his long length, barely even easing your poor, quivering cunt into it before he’s fucking you into the mattress. 

Fully bottomed out now - exactly as you knew would happen.

“No- no no no hold on.” Choso holds both your thrashing legs still with one of his, pushing past that feeble resistance while he finds his rhythm at your gaping hole. “This is- hah-” he groans, voice shot over your wrecked ah! ah! ah! Plunging inside you like he was molding your pliant walls to his shape. “Told you m’gonna break ngh-”

He was massive already - barely even managing to squeeze past and massage your dripping cunt. But oh the sweet overfill of his seed had you keening, scrambling to grab onto the sheets, the headboard, his shoulders to keep even an ounce of your sanity.

“Ngh- fuck!” you whine at the feeling of rope after rope of his thick cum sloshing around inside your plush walls. His veins throb! throb! throbbing! against your sensitive spots to make such a mess of you below. “Fuck- jus’ like that, Cho- keep- hah- keep goin’”

And you didn’t even have to ask. As expected, your boyfriend’s brows after knitting together, pushing your legs so far apart it burned. Abs flexing as his hips moved in jagged, desperate pistons to massage your gummy walls. 

This was what you wanted so badly - the way he always breaks like this.

Always. 

“Y’asked for more n’ you’re gonna get it.” his voice stutters, cracking ever so slightly with each smash into that spongy bundle of nerves. “More- hah!” Letting out a humorless, almost-shrill laugh, “You knew this would happen, huh?”

You’re just batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, pressing a honeyed peck to Choso’s snarl, “I highly hah- doubt-”

“Look at you.” he spits at your bumbling retort, “Can’t even speak.” Two thick fingers coming up to circle the thick globs of seed pooled at your ravaged clit, purposefully grazing against the sensitive nub. “Fuckin’ wanted more and you’re gonna- get it.”

Slamming into you fast. Out of control. 

You open your mouth - no doubt to spit out some other taunt - but before the words leave your lips, he’s shoving his now-sloppy mess of his index and middle finger inside. Forcing the salty taste of his cum spilling out with each thrust, and the cool metal of his thick metal rings. You wanted to break him - and that’s what you’re gonna get. 

“So you hah- better shut up that pretty mouth of yours unless I break the bed again and you along with it”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Twin bitches, twin bitches

“Enough admirin’ me.”  Sukuna chuckles darkly from above you, reaching down to cradle your dazed head with a large, clawed hand of his. “The faster ya get back to doing yer lil’ job, the sooner that pretty cunt can take me.”

And it’s all you can do to heave for air, looking up defiantly at the two massive cocks kissing at your mouth. Barely getting a few breaths in before Sukuna’s hips thrust forwards once again to spear your heavenly mouth one of his swollen lengths. Smirking at the way your glossy lips bulge around him, “Yeah yeah, what? Got somethin’ to say, brat?”

You’re squeezing your soft palm up and down the drenched hilt of his other cock. Managing to gasp out, “I- want you-” Before your mouth is being fucked again like some little fucktoy - by both of them. Over and over. Taunting, “I want- you- now.”

“Now?” And Sukuna sounds genuinely surprised, baring his sharp canines in a shocked grin. “Y’think you can hah- already take me now?” Hissing as he drags your sloppy mouth up and off his sensitive lengths, only to question. “You sure about that?”

This angle gives you the perfect view of his intimidating cocks - massive, painfully hard. Fat tips flushed the same shade of pretty pink, angry and weeping all over your swollen lips. Twin veins throbbing urgently at your hot breath, both swollen lengths twitch so animalistically when you spit. Once. Twice. 

“Heh- you always do surprise me, lil’ human.”

And shit you were goading him into it - toying with him. 

But you didn’t expect that in all of two seconds, Sukuna would be lifting you easily off the ground with two big arms, wrapping your boneless legs around his waist to fit you snugly like a puzzle piece against his muscled body.

“Wh-what-”

“Y’asked, my girl.” he whispers, ragged at what a needy lil’ slut you were being for him right now. His other two free arms aligning both leaky tips at your quivering cunt. “N’ since you’re so fuckin’ spoiled, guess I gotta always hah- give ya what you want, huh?”

“You mean- oh-” It’s right around this time that you can’t think - you can’t even breathe. Can’t do anything but surrender to the two massive lengths bullying past your stretchy ring of muscle. Molding the entrance of your cunt to the shape of his cocks.

“Mmm fuck m’never gonna get tired of this stretch.” he’s groaning throatily, humming with each little half-thrust inside you. Just barely a push and pull. “So wet n- how the fuck hah- are you this tight?”

You scoff, mouth sharp even when it feels like he’s splitting you in half, “I can think of ngh- t-two reasons.”

And then Sukuna has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - loud and baritone, the force of his chest rumbling having you slipping deeper and deeper down his massive cock. Losing your barely-there footing with each inch he’s feeding into your needy cunt. 

You sputter, “Ngh- f-fuck you’re in so deep.”

“F-f-fuck you’re in so deep.” Sukuna mimics your moans in a pitch much higher than his own. Giving the fat of your ass a sharp smack! as he massages your way down. “M’not even hah- halfway in yet so ya better buckle up, brat.” 

And it was true - he was still pushing in desperate, purposeful ruts upwards of his hips. Short strokes that you’d never have the king of curses do - unless he was feeling particularly nice. 

Your legs dangle in midair, nails digging into his tan skin with each smack of his heavy set balls with each movement, leaving a smear of precum and spit. Sliding you down so much easier than he thought it would. Down, down, down…

“Ya feel me in here?” you’re gasping at the pressure of one of his sharp nails. Dangerous. Trailing down, down, down to draw an imaginary line on your stomach. One. And another one not too long aways, “And here?” At your cockdrunk little nod, he smiles - dark and wild. “Use your words if you ah- want what’s comin’.”

He feels you milk his cocks even harder at that, like you’re trying to drag out something delicious when you squeal, “Can feel you- can’t feel anything but you-”

The tip of his thick finger dances higher and higher. And he gruffs out, “Well, soon enough m’gonna be- hah here!”

That deep promise is all that runs through your oversaturated mind before Sukuna’s ramming into you - no mercy. Just shoving you down his throbbing cock until he could see them bulge outwards from your supple skin, leaving a lewd little mark right where he predicted it would be. 

Bullseye. 

“Oh fuuuuck, so nice n’ tight f’me.” Sukuna whimpers - he whimpers. Fuck, the feeling of your walls trying desperately to take shape to his cocks so addictive. So dizzying the way he can feel himself rubbing against one another, bulbous veins throbbing in time to an erratic staccato. “So nice and- and-” he’s losing his words now, slurring with each languid half-thrust up into your cervix. “-mine.”

The word seemed to have made something so feral and dark poke its head out of Sukuna’s exterior. Because then he’s dragging you sloppy cunt like he owned her, all the way from his weeping tips down until your clit was scratching against those tufts of pink at his hilt. 

Slamming into you promisingly until you see stars, until you’re cumming. Electricity running through your veins just at the feeling of being so full. 

Fucking you through your high, Sukuna only taunts, “Now this is where the real fun starts.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - NO CONTROL

“Why the- why the fuck-” your gasp is drowned out by the sharp rip! of fabric echoing across your boyfriend’s luxurious childhood bedroom. Pieces of your poor panties currently laying in tatters on its hardwood floor, “-do they make these things so easy access?”

As if they could be anything but easy access. 

Not with the way Gojo had you bent over the nearest desk he could find, your wrists pinned, skirt bunched up, cunt slobbering and already struggling around where he was just dipping his fat head inside. 

Yet, you still manage to hiss over your shoulder, “If- if it’s so ‘easy access’ then why the fuck did you hah- rip it, you fool?”

But ah you should’ve known better than to give Gojo Satoru one of your glares. Because that along with your honeyed insults have him twitching ferally inside you, the curve of his cock jolting perfectly against your hidden sweet spot. Of course. 

“Because.” he gives you a sly chuckle, the very tip of his aching cock dragging along your gummy walls. “You should know this by now.” Nipping at the shell of your ear, “M’so big that even those panties are a problem, sweetheart.”

And oh the smug bastard, he’s pushing into your heavenly cunt in languid grinds. Savoring. Hypnotic. 

You’re gasping when one of his calculated thrusts mashes against your sensitive areas, the slow push and pull having your nails almost digging into the wooden desk. Scrambling onto your very tip-toes to glide your gummy walls against his thick length.

“Toru…” you moan, hissing in warning. “Y-you better be quiet or else your hah- your parents are gonna hear us.”

“Hah! Me? Me?” he cackles, drinking in your bleary gaze, the way your mouth was falling slack with each tempo of his hips. “Think you should be more ngh- worried about yourself, sweetheart.” He’s pressing a hot mess of a kiss one your swollen lips, your shoulders. Down, down, down wherever he could reach down your arched spine, “Besides. We’ll be s-sneaky, m’jus’ puttin’ in the-”

And perhaps for the first time in his life, the great Gojo Satoru is utterly speechless. Words catching in his chest at the sinful sight right below him. 

Your legs spread, shaking. Inner thighs smeared with the glossy sheen of the mess he’s making of your poor cunt. And you pussy- oh fuck, your pussy. With your puffy folds spread, bulging even with the effort to take it just past his fat head. Quivering and struggling with each experimental grind. 

Fuck, it was hard to look at it, too. It made him throb so painfully - it made him grow bigger. 

“Ngh! What the fuck-” you spit at the feeling of that familiar burn, your syrupy walls being stretched to their absolute limits. 

“Shhh shhh- change of plans, sweetheart.” Is all Gojo grunts in response, bending his long, long legs at the knees to bully himself inside easier. Two big arms wrapping around your middle, reaching over to give your clit a determined swivel of his fingers. “M’gonna go about- halfway? Yeah, halfway.”

And yet, he sounds unsure himself. Voice just a pitch higher, breathy, like he was losing more and more of his sanity with each little half-thrust he’s gifting your poor cunt with. 

Just quick, methodical little kisses of his hips to yours, heavy balls smacking against your thighs with each inch your greedy cunt is swallowing up. Milking the absolute fucking soul out of him.

“F-fuck!” you keen when that thick vein of his down the middle massages your good spot. The adorable sound making Gojo’s eyes light up, smirking as he hikes his knee up higher to piston deep into your dripping pussy. Heady with the squelches from below. “Th-this is hah more than- half Toru-”

Fuck, was it? 

Gojo hadn’t even noticed - too drunk on the way you were squeezing his poor, overworked cock so tight. Until it was almost difficult to plunge into your dripping cunt - to split you apart on it exactly the way he wanted. 

But, well, now that he was taking a long, hard look - he was just a bit more than halfway through. Brows raising in delight at the way your hips are pushing back in mindless little swivels for more. 

“Then, I guess-” he trails off, two large hands of his coming to rest at your waist. A disappointed whine rips from the back of your throat when his ruthless hips slow down to a still, pulsing with anticipation. “-might as well finish the job.”

“Oh- what- you fuckin’-” The rest of your sentence is swallowed up in the way he rolls his hips forwards - fully. Inch by fucking inch. Catching in your ring of resistance less than all the way through, but still pushing. Still rutting forwards so animalistically. “Toru—” You whine at the stretch, the pure dizzying feeling of him shaping your cunt to the thick girth of his swollen cock. “S’too big- I can’t ngh-”

Pretty pink lips shut up your babbling mouth, murmuring deeply, “No no no no- no you can take it- you can oh.” Long, slender fingers coming up to roll against your poor clit, loosening your feeble reisstance, “Look at the- fuck jus’ look at the way you want me.” And you’re barely registering the hand smushing your cheeks together in an embarrassing pout, forcing you to look down at the steady, lazy torture of him splitting you apart on his massive cock. “This isn’t even fuck- me. Look at how you’re fucking back. How you want me so badly.”

And, usually, you’d snap at Gojo - tell him he’s too cocky for his own good. 

But it was true. 

You were meeting his sloppy, untimed bounced halfway through. Helping yourself be fucked into that expensive desk. And he’s pushing - so persistent. 

So utterly wrecked when his leaky tip nudges against your spongy cervix, stars behind his eyes when his heavy balls smack your thighs. Unstopping - not until your ass was settled snugly against those tufts of white at his base. Finally, all the way in.

Through it all, he manages to rasp out, “Hey, did ya know the walls in his house are soundproofed?”

“...”

“So why don’t we go a proper round, sweetheart? Or five?”

A/N. I did NOT expect these to get so long but yk what I’m not upset.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[reignpage]

College student!Sukuna

21:47pm: his dirty secret

Warnings: 18+ mdni, panty stealing, panty sniffing, masturbation, dubcon, yandere themes

college student!sukuna is infamous around campus. every girls’ wet dream and every man’s competition. he just so happens to run in the same circle as you; close friends with a friend of a friend, you can’t help but see him everywhere. 

college student!sukuna is a huge guy, with hulking muscles, tattoos that peek from his torso, and bright pink hair. you could never miss him. no one could. not with his shit-eating grin or deep laugh that always makes you feel like he knows something no one else does. 

you and him are kind of friends. once in a while, when gojo says something stupid or toji inevitably picks a fight with some random guy, you find yourself sharing a knowing look with college student!sukuna , who flashes you a grin that sends shivers down your spine. 

college student!sukuna is touchy as hell. he brushes past you with a hand on your waist and a pat on your hip. he leans in close, breath warm against your cheek, as his lips graze your ears in a whisper, a snarky comment about how the guy you’re talking to has a small dick so don’t waste your time with that loser. 

and although college student!sukuna is known as a ladies’ man and there doesn’t seem to be a single girl on campus who hasn’t fucked him, you never actually see him with a broad. doesn’t bring a date to gojo’s party, not a single mention of his latest fuck when the guys are bragging, and he certainly doesn’t seem to notice the hoard of girls begging for his attention. 

no, college student!sukuna only has eyes on you. he watches the way you sway your hips to the shitty techno music, how your hair flips with every twist and turn, and sees the flutter of your eyes when you meet his gaze through the thick crowd of gyrating bodies. 

it’s only recently that you started to let yourself feel something for college student!sukuna . before that, you chalked up the lingering stares and heated sweeps down your body as alcohol induced lust. but now, you allow yourself to entertain the idea that the pink haired man might actually like you. 

college student!sukuna does. he doesn’t want to cave first; his ego can’t take the hit, is what he tells his dumbass best friend, toji. the real truth is that he doesn’t want to be rejected. not when you’re the only girl who laughs at his jokes and knows that he never means the cranky and sarcastic comments. 

especially not when you’re the girl he envisions every time he needs to cum. he wraps his big hand around his even bigger dick and strokes it to the pace he thinks you’ll use against him when he finally brings you to your knees. when he strokes his tip, thumb running across the slit, he thinks of your plump lips wrapping around his head, stretching to fit as much of him as you can. 

when he shudders through an orgasm, he imagines you sticking your tongue out as he spurts all over your face, the pearly white droplets painting your skin, and it has him groaning into his fist to keep quiet, lest you find out he’s snuck into your room when the whole gang had come over to celebrate your roommate/best friend, shoko’s, birthday. 

college student!sukuna doesn’t know what he’d do if you burst into your room and stumbled upon him with the hem of his shirt tucked between his teeth, jeans unzipped, one hand wrapped around his dick and the other holding your dirty panty to his nose. 

hell, maybe you’d like it. maybe it’ll make you soak the ones currently between your legs. perhaps you’re just as dirty as he is, just as deprived and desperate. but he’ll have to find out another day, because you’re all in the living room dimming the lights and setting the cake down. 

so college student!sukuna settles for the fantasy of you and he pockets the soiled fabric, and another from the laundry basket for good measure, saving the thrill for another lonely night wishing his fist was your pussy. 

[mostly-imagines]

The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back. 

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you. 

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea. 

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission. 

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips. 

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead. 

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you. 

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long. 

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs. 

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides. 

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. 

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before. 

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now. 

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless. 

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst. 

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

[augustinewrites]

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

The Hands That Hold You

Yandere Assasin Harem x Oblivious Fem Reader

TW: Somniaphilia, uncomfortable themes, yandere, stalking, mention of size difference, potential of being held captive, cunninglingus, smut, etc

The town of Rellikhold, a peaceful town filled with quirky citizens. Each with a mysterious past and lack of warmth. And you had received a special invitation by the government to live in this new town! Aren’t you lucky?

Poor little you had no clue that this town was filled with ex-contract killers who’ve never felt warmth nor kindness in their life… they were all a moth to your flame. Each one wanting to stake a claim on you, even if it was at the expense of another’s life. You belonged to them.

Callum: Scotland (Florist)

Callum is a massive man with a soft yet muscular build. He has a thick red beard that he keeps trimmed and a mustache he keeps curled up. Callum also has red chest hair and arm hair (the curtains definitely match the drapes). He is 35 years old and a retired sniper. Callum has a heavy Scottish accent and he’s the warmest of the villagers.

This big, muscular red head was shocked when you waltzed into his shop. You were so small and your steps were so clumsy like a newborn fawn. Yet it was your eyes that caught his attention. He’s never seen someone’s eyes filled with such innocence. It intrigued him.

Callum is easily flustered with from your bright smile and warm personality. Yet he can’t help the intrigue he felt from your arrival. From one glance, he knew you were just a regular civilian… what on earth were you doing here? This place was so dangerous.

Yet you’re oblivious to everyone’s past and treat him no differently from a regular man! Your interest in his flowers warm his heart… Callum is immediately taken to you. You’re so cute and you’d fit so perfectly in his arms… he’s never felt this way before.

Callum often looks forward to your visits to his shop. The red head often reorganizes the flowers just to make sure they’re to your liking! Callum always makes sure his beard is well trimmed and his long curls are pulled up into a bun. He has to look presentable for his little lady!

Often lingers around you like a shadow when you’re in the shop. Callum would lose his marbles if you ever came into his shop with a visible wound or bruise. He’s extremely obsessed with your well being.

Callum often offers you his jacket and holds doors open for you, he’s a total gentleman. A gentleman who believes you’re his. He sees no other logical explanation on why you visit him so often. You have to have a crush on him, right?! Don’t worry… he doesn’t mind that you’re shy. He has no trouble taking the lead.

It will take a total of four months until he’s trying to be more physically affectionate towards you. Callum believes the two of you are dating. His large, calloused hands often brush against yours or he’ll grab your waist to steer you in another direction. He cannot get over the size difference.

You’ll often have free bouquets delivered to your house with cute hand written notes. Which are often accompanied by Gaelic terms of endearment. “M’eudail. Mo chridhe. Etc.”

And if Callum ever spots you with one of ten other villagers? His stabs at affection take a turn to be more bold. In his mind, you’re trying to make him jealous… not to worry! Callum will give you more of his time! Whatever you want, he will give you! Even the heads of your enemies neatly arranged in a bouquet.

Callum I willing to do anything to keep you happy and satisfied. He’s the least selfish of the others. If you want to have a sexual relationship with him, he’d be more than happy to oblige!

Callum will have you bent over every surface and even his shop (with the curtains pulled down of course). Just so he can stuff you with his thick fingers and fat cock. He’s extremely giving and he’s more than happy to perform cunninglingus on you.

One day, you went into his shop and were filled with such fright, it made his heart ache!

“What are you so scared for, m’eudail?” Callum husky voice asked. The large man made his way over to your disheveled form. “Has someone frightened you?”

Callum bent down to your level and held your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs brushed a few tears from your cheeks as he shushed you.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Günter: Germany (Police Officer)

A tall, muscular blonde riddled in scars from head to toe. His blonde hair is always cut in a military cut and he’s extremely stoic. No one can ever tell what he’s thinking and he hardly speaks. Günter is Char’s identical twin brother and also an ex bounty hunter. The pair are both 29 years old and very feared members in the community from their reputation.

Günter was extremely wary of you at first. He isn’t used to people taking notice of someone like him or being warm to him.

Günter is extremely stiff when you interact with him. He often glances the other way if you stare at him with your pretty eyes for too long. He’s unsure of why his heart flutters whenever you’re around. Günter has never been in a relationship in his entire life. He’s so awkward and quiet around you, but his stoic expression never shows it.

You once grabbed his hand when you tripped and Günter swore he was electrocuted. He was quick to help you up onto your feet as he silently checked you over. His heart thrummed in his chest when you gave him such a sweet, grateful smile. It’s how Günter realized he’s smitten with you.

Günter often offered to walk you home to keep you safe. He’s the least delusional of the others and a rather lucid yandere. He is aware of the difference of reality and his fantasies. Which is why he will never act upon them on you. Everyone else is free game.

If someone upsets you even the slightest bit, they are instantly on his shit list. And if they make you cry or try to harm you? They’re as good as dead. He’s the town’s cop and the most prolific killer of them, so what can they do to stop him?

Günter is very aware of the others’ twisted feelings towards you, especially Char’s. He often hides around the corner as he watches his sister wash your hair. He’s a bit jealous of the intimacy, but he knows better than to be greedy. He’s a cop, not a hairdresser.

He’s usually quite silent but he often shows you his soft side. Soft smiles and tender touches. Günter is incredibly gentle despite his massive height.

Günter would be over the moon if you wanted a relationship of any kind with him! If it’s sexual, you sadly won’t be doing much walking. Günter tries his best to be gentle, but he soon finds himself blowing your back out while he whispers German pet names in your ears.

Günter also secretly has a breeding kink so keep an eye on him. If he’s in the heat of the moment, he will whisper his darkest desires in your ear. Of how he wants you round and fat with his kids with a ring on your finger.

And Günter will not share. So don’t even think about sleeping with anyone other than him or he will make several attempts to baby trap you.

“Meine Liebe, why do you cry?” Günter asked you softly with a frown. The police officer sat beside you on the park bench, his muscular arms now wrapped around you in a hug. “You know you can tell me anything… did someone make you upset?”

You just rest your head on his chest which made Günter melt into a puddle. He’s quick to scoop you up into his arms. “Do you want to head to my home, meine liebes Mädchen? It’s getting dark out and it can get dangerous at night.”

And the instant you nod your head, you’re swept off your feet in a bridal carry. His normally stoic face now had a small smile on it.

Finally… you were finally coming home where you belonged.

Wan: China (Photographer)

Wan is an average height man of Chinese descent. He’s quite feminine appearance wise, but don’t like that fool you. He’s one of the most dominant of the villagers.

Wan typically keeps to himself. Hes not as massive or intimidating as the other men. His long black hair is typically pulled back into a braid and he usually roams the village’s park or beach.

Wan is a bit shocked when he first met you since he can tell off the bat that you’re a regular civilian. Did the government send you as some sort of social experiment to see if their retirement was successful? To see if a group of ex- bounty hunters can integrate into society without a hitch? How peculiar.

Wan often trailed you home to see if you had any attachments to any governments. He didn’t want a government spy ruining his idyllic life and he was not afraid to eliminate you if that were the case… but you were clean! Annoyingly so.

You had simple hobbies and a permanent smile on your face. You were friendly and warm like a dog… like a pet. It made Wan’s mind wander to more promiscuous thoughts. Would you enjoy a collar and a leash while he dominated every aspect of your life? Perhaps you would since you always greeted him with such a warm smile and baked goods. You must have some sort of attraction to him, right? Why else would you bake for an acquaintance so often? (Wan had no clue you did for all of your friends).

Wan often invited you out for walks with him on the beach while he snaps photographs. It’s when you accidentally enter one of his shots that turn his whole world upside down. How could someone be so beautiful?

Wan started to snap photos of you smiling and dancing when in his company but it wasn’t enough. These simple photographs simply wouldn’t do for him anymore.

What started off as innocent photography took a quick, dark turn into obsession.

Wan began to slip behind you in the shadows to follow you everywhere. Whether you were simply enjoying a meal or beverage, or even sleeping, Wan captured it all behind his lens. Wan wanted more! More. More. More. More!!

His photography room was now covered in photos of you. There was not a single empty space left of the wall or ceiling that wasn’t adorned with your being. His darkroom still had thousands of photos developing as well. Wan simply couldn’t get enough.

When Wan found out there were others, he was extremely upset. What on earth did you see in Callum or Günter? They weren’t nearly as impressive as him! Wan was slim and far more flexible. Wan could bend your body in ways it’s never been before.

Wan often snuck into your room to lay beside you. To inhale your scent and to caress your soft, pliable body. Would you freak out if you woke up to see him or would you submit to his desires? This risqué game of his never grew tiring…

If you begin a sexual relationship with Wan, he’s incredibly rough. He has incredibly sadistic tendencies such as pulling hair, choking, licking up your tears, and harsh spankings… but he will talk you through it.

Slender fingers stroked your cheeks as you slept soundly. Wan smiled at how unaware of your surroundings you were. How could someone be so cute?

“Lǎopó, you’re so precious…” Wan bent forward and tenderly pressed his lips against yours. In his eyes, you were his lover. His and no one else’s. “I just want you to be my beloved pet, bǎobèi.”

Wan pulled your covers over your shoulders and over his body while he spooned you. This was the only time you were all his and no one else’s… and that’s the way he preferred it to be.

Amari: Thailand (Musician)

Amari is an amab individual but prefers to go by they/them. The twenty four year old often enchant others with their ethereal beauty. They have sun kissed skin and long black hair that frames a symmetrical face, one would think they were carved by the gods themselves. Yet Amari is partially blind due to their final assignment so they were forced into an early retirement compared to the others. Yet they pretend they’re fully blind to appear weaker to the others. They’re one of the most dangerous of the villagers due to their unpredictable mannerisms.

Amari can often be found in Belladonna’s restaurant playing the khene. Their mystic melody is as intriguing as they are which often captivates their audience.

Amari is incredibly shy and will be startled at first if you talk to them. Yet they’re eager for the companionship. Amari is the easiest to get close to compared to the others due to their young age. If you compliment them, they’re completely enraptured by you. You think they’re beautiful?! You love their music? Amari cannot get enough of praise.

Amari often trails after you like a lost puppy. They will often play the ‘helpless blind’ card just so they can hold your hand. They can’t get enough of how soft you are. Oh what they wouldn’t give to be able to see you… there was not a doubt in their mind that you were lovely.

Amari will play their khene for you and sometimes they’ll even sing. They’re your own personal song bird! They’re willing to perform any song for you so long as you eagerly listen to them just like they eagerly wait for your praise!

Amari will want to spend every breathing moment by your side. They’re stuck to you like velcro and unmovable. Suffocatingly clingy due to them never receiving warmth, Amari cannot get enough of your sweetness. They want you all to themselves.

They cannot stand you giving your attention and affection to the others. Look at them! Listen to their music, you said it was lovely! Just be theirs! Please. Please. Please. Please.

Amari will pathetically beg for your love on their hands and knees. They will use every card in their deck to manipulate you into their hands. They will not share and they will not surrender you.

No matter how puppy like they are to you, they’re a monster the others will not go near. Being involved with them is like being trapped in a spider’s web. You were doomed from the first interaction.

They’re one of the only ones who will stoop low enough to take advantage of you in your sleep (besides Wan). Their mouth is always buried between your legs as you sleep completely unaware of their efforts to get you used to them. They can’t get enough of how sweet you taste. Of how your body contorts and your toes curl in pleasure. Sometimes if the moonlight hits your face just right, they can see your face. And they make sure to burn that image in their memory forever. Oh what they would give for you to know it was them.

Amari pressed kisses up and down your thighs as your back arches in pleasure. So beautiful… so unaware. You’re just like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.

“I love you…” Amari whispered against your skin, the assassin ran a tanned hand through their long locks in an attempt to reel themselves in. It was easy for them to get lost in the moment, but they needed to be patient. “And I know you love me too.”

Amari pulls themselves away from in between your legs and rests their head on your stomach. A soft hum escaped their thin lips in thought. It was such a beautiful night and they were happy to spend it with you.

Char: Germany (Hair Dresser)

Char is Günter’s identical twin and they couldn’t be more similar if they try. It’s easy to confuse one for the other since Char looks incredibly masculine. The only difference is their placements of scars and her blonde hair is just a little bit longer.

It takes awhile to earn Char’s friendship. She’s quite self conscious of herself since she looks so much like a man. Compliments will win her over and make her blush. She’s quite fond of being called handsome or beautiful.

She enjoys washing and trimming your hair for you. She cannot get over how soft your hair feels between her fingers…

It doesn’t take long for her to fall for you compared to her brother. She’s another sucker for praise, but she gives praise even more. Char is the queen of pet names.

Char is incredibly protective of you, just like Günter. The difference between them is that Char collects little keepsakes from you. Oh yes, she has a shrine dedicated completely to you.

Char is obsessed with you. She collects the trimmings of your hair and any utensils you had used in her salon. She tells herself it’s to keep herself from acting on her impulses, but that’s a lie. She’s simply obsessed with you.

If you ever vent to her about any one in the village, especially new comers, she will get rid of them for you personally. Typically in a rather brutal fashion. Anyone who upsets you simply doesn’t deserve to live.

If you’re ever curious about her past, she will tell you. She’s the least secretive and the most honest. Char will even admit about her shrine of you if you ask. She wants to be an open book that you can read at anytime. Trust her.

Char will often flee to the back room of her salon if she gets a bit too riled up from her interactions with you. If you follow her to the back because you’re worried, there’s no guarantee she won’t have you bent over the break room table with her lips eagerly pressed against yours and her fingers yanking at the waist band of your pants.

Out of everyone, Char is the most obsessed with your pleasure. She’s incredibly giving. It doesn’t matter the time or the location, if you’re a bit moody she will pull you into the nearest room and go to town. Be as loud as you want as she pushes your body to the point of overstimulation, she wants the others to know you’re hers.

“Meine Liebe…” Char whispered as she presses kisses all across your fear stricken face. An expression you always wore due to how passionate of a lover Char was. “I’m sorry I got carried away again.”

You nuzzled into your lover, who only peppered you with more kisses. “Mein liebes Haustier, I love you so much… how about you just stay in mein arms forever?”

Belladonna: French (Chef)

Belladonna was once a renowned poison specialist, hence her name. She’s a tall, slender twenty nine year old woman with fawn brown hair and sharp, feline like features. Belladonna is heartless and cold, just like the deadly poisons she once used. She’s a closeted lesbian and a very open misandrist.

Belladonna is the owner and head chef at Le Jarden. She’s quite prideful of her cooking and she only prepares the best cuisine. Belladonna has a tendency to be quite pretentious and she’s very rude if your French isn’t adequate.

Belladonna does not like Ignacia, to others it looks like she singles out Ignacia a lot, but they have a very complicated past. Belladonna is incredibly critical of others and holds herself at the highest standard. She’s also quite the bully.

Belladonna will chase out male customers from her establishment. They are not allowed in Le Jarden, no matter who they are. (She often gets into arguments with Callum over his floral choices).

If you catch her attention, it’s because you stood up for Ignacia when Belladonna gave the poor woman a verbal beat down. Belladonna immediately takes your defiance as a challenge.

Belladonna will often pick verbal fights with you, but she’s intrigued by you. You were a regular civilian and yet you stood up to her of all people? You had some guts. Plus, you still tried to be kind to her. It frustrated the chef to no end. Belladonna always feels conflicted when it comes to you.

Belladonna’s words often cut like a knife but you’re surprisingly quick witted with your comebacks. She enjoys the back and forth. To her, it’s like a game. And Belladonna wanted to win.

Her hostility increases the more she interacts with you since Belladonna has never experienced feelings of this magnitude before. Belladonna could not differentiate between love and hate. You confused her and made her mind in constant disarray…

You’re sweet to the point you make her teeth rot and she hates it… or at least she tells herself that.

Belladonna hates when you interact with the others! Especially the men (and Amari). She’s much better than them- wait… why did she care so much about what you did?

Your once pleasant words soon become sour whenever she enters your peripheral. You no longer try to smile or wave at her, only scowl. It confused her even more. Why did she care whether you liked her or not? You were just a civilian… right?

You eventually snap sense into her when you tell her you despise her. You… hate her? No… she didn’t want to be hated! No. No. No.

Belladonna loses her mind when you constantly reject her. You won’t come to her restaurant and you won’t accept the many, many bouquets she leaves on your doorstep. Why won’t you forgive her? She never apologizes, so she truly means she’s sorry. Please forgive her, she can be soft. She can be soft.

She will kiss you until your lips are swollen and bruised. Until your lungs are nearly out of air and you’re breathless. Belladonna could be your oxygen! Your reason for being! She can do everything the others do, if not more! She has access to various poisons and other plants, some that could take you to pleasures of immeasurable heights! Just let her worship you…

Belladonna will go to extreme measures if you continue to ignore her desperate attempts at reconciliation. And that includes poisoning you so that you’re briefly paralyzed.

Belladonna’s slender hands hold your cheeks as she quietly sobs from above your still form. She knows you’re afraid, but this was your fault! You pushed her to do this!

“All you had to do was forgive me… Je t'adore. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal…” Belladonna slipped into her first language while the waterworks began. She was so conflicted and confused. Her new feelings were overwhelming and concerning. Belladonna was usually level headed, but when it came to you? She was a dumpster fire.

Belladonna pressed her forehead against yours, her tears now mixed with yours into a long stream down your face.

“Je n'ai jamais ressenti ça auparavant, mais je suis sûr que je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement, ça me rend fou.”

Ignacia: Nicaragua (Writer)

Ignacia always wears a steel mask over her face and completely covers her body. No one knows what she looks like under there and she prefers to keep it that way… she was a twenty seven year old bomb specialist. At least until the accident. Her entire body is now covered in third degree burns. She is no longer beautiful so she hides herself away in order not to scare anyone. Her accident landed her in an early retirement as well.

Ignacia is biromantic and asexual. She’s always been more interested in books than people. Fictional characters comfort her more than real people.

A few years ago, she had a mission to take down a French politician and ended up destroying Belladonna’s secret hide out. Which is why Belladonna despises her. Ignacia isn’t too bothered by it though since she’s the one who received the worse end of it,

Her English isn’t the best so she rarely speaks. She often observes others from the corner of every room. Through the various interactions she observes, Ignacia created a fictional world for her characters in her stories. It was an escape from her harsh reality in the real world…

She’s so shy when you come up to her. Don’t you know she’s a beast under this mask? That she’s not as picturesque as the others?

Yet your kindness makes her knees turn to jelly and her heart leap in her chest in hopes it will escape its prison made of bones. Perhaps you were her chance at real life romance rather than the comforts of the printed texts in her books?

Ignacia is delusional. She overthinks every interaction you have with her. If you touch her hand on accident, she believes it’s because you’re shy! She’s shy too! If you compliment her eyes, she will try to wear masks that show off her eyes more. She’s so ecstatic that she shakes whenever she receives words of praise from you. It’s so exciting! Ignacia is living out a fairy tale romance!!

Ignacia began to build a perfect image of you in her head. To her, you were the perfect princess in a fairy tale book and she was the knight that would save you from the monsters (the other villagers). You were kind and sweet, the kind that needed to be locked away so nothing could harm you.

Ignacia begins to decorate your future home with her! She will ask more questions and bout your hobbies and interests so she can make it all perfect for you! She will incorporate your favorite colors and themes just to make it into your dream space! A pretty cage for her pretty princess!

Ignacia simply wants to keep you safe from harm. She doesn’t want you to ever injure or harm yourself. Her carelessness had landed her in her own predicament and she wouldn’t dare let you suffer the same fate. Ignacia was your knight in shining armor!

“Buenos díaz, mi amor!” Ignacia beamed at you while she handed you some breakfast. You were confused on your whereabouts, but Ignacia simply crinkled her eyes up from under her mask (she smiled). “Did you sleep well, mi princesa?”

“Ignacia? Where am I-“

“¡Estás en casa! !Donde perteneces!” Ignacia giggled as she affectionately pressed her mask into your cheek. Home? What did she mean by home? “Estás a salvo aquí, mi princesa. Para siempre.”