#they will have him one but it's barely noticable in comparison

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: Nagi never made a big deal about the holidays, not something he had partaken in, but there was one tradition you had started with him that he could never resist. I mean what were the holidays without some sweets after all?

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻: Seishiro Nagi (Blue Lock)

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2.3k

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼: Nagi x Fem!Reader 𝓒𝔀: Minor food play (icing), praise, use of petnames, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, marking, written with plus sized reader in mind.

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: Happy Holidays loves! This is my entry for the @pixelcafe-network's Secret Santa event as a present for @nagis-wife. The way I was so EXCITED to write this for you bambina I tried real hard to keep it a secret ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა Honestly Nagi was so much fun to write for and I hope you enjoy my love!

Nagi catches a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye, the subtle way your tongue pokes between plump lips, a total look of concentration decorating your features as you pipe a line of icing on the border of your gingerbread house. Nagi’s parents had taken the “hands off” approach to parenting, meaning the holidays were often not something to be made a big deal of with their constant travel. Christmas had not really been anything more than some presents arriving at the doorstep of his apartment. So even into his late twenties, as he was now, he had never made the most of the holiday. The most he got was a paper star that sat on top of his cactus with some string lights.

You, yourself, hadn’t been the most festive person in the world. But the idea of Nagi having never engaged in any holiday festivities pulled on even your grinchy heartstrings. Your family may not have had much, and maybe the most you had to look forward to on Christmas was the tradition of your mom’s pancakes, but you wouldn’t give that up for all the presents in the world knowing what you could have been missing out on. So here you both sat, fully decked out in festive attire at your dining room table decorating gingerbread houses. It had become a tradition for you both throughout the years of your relationship, a little competition of sorts. Feeding into his ego to have a friendly wager to who could make the best house.

It was almost comical to look over at your boyfriend, his white hair fully pulling together the Santa suit you insisted he wore for the evening. While you looked at him with mirth, he was looking at you with a hunger for more than the sweets scattered across the table. The short elf costume dress hugged your curves in a way he couldn’t simply disregard. His mouth all but watering as he let his gaze slide down your form. The elastic of the red and green striped thigh high socks that you wore rested against plump thighs, making the flesh at the top more accentuated in such a way it made his heart race in his chest.

“Shiro? You’ve barely touched your house, at this rate I’m gonna win!”

Your voice held a teasing edge, completely unaware of the war waging in Nagi’s mind, his self control hanging by a thread. His cookie house was barren in comparison to yours, him too distracted by the way your finger slipped past plush lips to clean some icing that had dripped onto your skin. His daze broken by the sound of your phone blaring with an alarm, notifying you both that the gingerbread men that had been baking, the final touches to your houses, were ready to be pulled from the oven. Nagi watched with rapt attention as you sauntered your way to the oven, your outfit swaying with your movements, lis tongue slipping past his lips to moisten the dry skin as you bent over to retrieve the cookies from the oven. Eyes locked on the subtle lift of your skirt revealing more of the delicate skin of your thighs, the same ones if he really focused, he could see the faded markings between them that his mouth had left a few nights prior.

As if on autopiliot, Nagi stood to his feet, stalking behind you in the kitchen. You couldn't help but notice the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes seemed to drink in every curve of your body.

"Those do smell amazing," he said, stepping closer to you. He leaned in behind you as if all at once, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. "Almost as amazing as you look right now."

His hand brushed against your lower back, sending a shiver down your spine. You straightened up, turning to face him with a blush on your cheeks.

"Seishiro, they’re hot you cant have them they’re still hot.”  you said, playfully swatting at his chest. "Now, let's decorate these babies. I have sprinkles and everything."

You said, a weak attempt to salvage your evening, knowing by the way his tone had dipped that the cookies were the last thing on his mind, You set the cookies on the counter with shaky hands as Nagi fully moved in behind you, his body pressed against your back effectively pinning you to the counter. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the strength in his arms as he reached around you to grab the icing bag that rested on the counter.

"I have a better idea," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Why don't we decorate each other instead?"

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers teasing the hem of your skirt. His large hands rested on your hips, turning you to face him. You gasped, your heart racing as you turned in his arms to face him. Your eyes met, the air between you charged with tension and unspoken desires. "Seishiro..." you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What are you doing, Shiro?" He smiled at your response, lips curling in satisfaction at the tremble in your voice,  his eyes dark with desire.

"What do you want me to do, princess?"

His hands reached up as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. He can see it, the way your eyes drop to his lips. Can hear the way you swallow heavily in anticipation before he closed the gap separating you both. Nagi’s lips claim your own, his hand curling around the base of your neck to pull you even deeper into the embrace. The kiss was filled with need, desperation to feel your skin against his own. But this wasn’t a primal need, he felt it down to his molecules. He wanted you, needed to keep his hands on you, whether that was just in a simple holding of your hand or something more he couldn’t care less he just knew that he didn’t want you to slip through his fingers. Didn’t want to risk not feeling the euphoria of kissing your lips. It almost pulls a whine from his lips when you pull away, resisting the urge to surge forwards once more.

Hie eyes stared into your own as they fluttered open once more, hands slipping beneath your knees to perch you on the countertop, reaching behind you to grasp the bag of icing A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he used the other hand to guide your head back, exposing the delicate skin of o=your neck to him, piping a trail of icing along the column of your throat. Dipping his head down, he wastes no time letting his tongue follow the work he had just created. The sweetness of the icing combined with the taste of your skin had him rolling his eyes back. The feeling of your hand pushing the hat from his head as your fingers entangle themselves in his hair. Graning against your skin, Nagi laps up all of the sweetness that once coated your skin, trailing his lips down further, his free hand curling against the hem of the skimpy dress that concealed your breasts form the descent of his hungry mouth. Tugging down the fabric in one swift motion, he groans, pulling back to admire the exposed skin of your chest.

“So fucking beautiful, bunny.” He growls, eyes devouring you as lust swims in their stormy depths. He relishes in the way your nipples pebble due to the exposure to the cold air.

“And all fucking mine.”

As if to emphasize the sincerity of his words he brings the icing bag to the skin that lay right above your breasts, sloppily writing out the kanji of his name before tucking down and capturing a perked bud between his lips, tongue lolling against it, coming to a point to flick at the sensitive area before letting his teeth capture it. Pulling his head back to tug until releasing, pupils blows wide seeing the bounce of the plush flesh he was rewarded with. He was quick to give the other nipple the same treatment. Hands trailing from your ankles to your knees, forcing your legs apart further under his strong grip. He groans into your chest as he feels your hands on him hand making a trail up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the hood of your clit before rubbing slow agonizing circles against your drenched center. His lips pull from the swell of your breast kissing up a trail to your ear, making no move to touch the icing that marked your skin.

“I was gonna be a nice boyfriend and get you all prepped to take my cock, bunny.”

He groans, pushing your panties to the side and sliding two fingers past your entrance with ease, curling them in just the way he knows would have your back arching. “But with the way this greedy cunt is sucking in my fingers I don’t think I’ll even need to do that will I baby?”

His chuckle is deep and almost cruel in your ear, Nagi wasted no time pushing the band of his sweats down to his thighs, cock springing against his abdomen, twitching at your following words. He leans forward palm resting against the counter as he cages in your form. Using is other to grab his cock at the base, rubbing it past your slickened folds, swiping the mushroom tip up your slit collecting your wetness, not that he needed the aid to slide in, being sure to nudge your clit with each pass. Having had enough of his own teasing he slides into your opening. Head falling back deep groan stumbling from his lips With one roll of his hips he was buried to the base feeling your walls suffocating all of him, head falling to the crook of your neck as he groans.

“Fuck princess, she’s sucking me in so good, god this cunt was made for me wasn’t it baby?”

Now that he was sunk completely in hie gives an experimental snap of his hips, the resulting pleas falling from your lips guiding each motion of his hips. He picks up the pace, angling his hips just right to nudge your clit with his pelvis. His hands hook under your knees, pulling you toward him until your ass was hanging off the counter so he could lay you back. Taking advantage of the new angle, Nagi presses your knees to your chest. The deeper angle also allowing you to be even more exposed to his hungry gaze, eyes locked on where you both met. Mesmerized by the mouth watering sight of his cock disappearing inside of you with each passing surge of his hips. Groaning a long growl of your name and a slew of profanities as the sound skin against skin and the squelching wetness of your cunt fills the kitchen.

“You hear that princess? How wet my cunt is for me angel?”

His hips don't falter, he keeps up his speed, though each snap of his hips hitting deeper with each pass, angling his hips just right to find that sensitive spot deep inside your walls, grinning maliciously when he does so, stealing any response you could have formed from your lips. He removes one hand from your knee, thumb swiping some of the icing that dripped down your skin. Once coated, slotting itself between your lips, eyes rolling back when your tongue circles the digit instinctually. His eyes roll back as you look up into his own, making a show of cleaning the digit and effectively coating it in your saliva.

“So sweet Sei, fuck. Need more daddy please.”

The desperation laid in your tone is more than enough to inspire his movements, especially when spoken around the skin of his digit still lodged between your lips. He slides the finger from your mouth, using the coated wetness as lubrication to rub tight circles on your clit. Hips picking up pace in time with the kneading. His lips leave your throat capturing a sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking on it harshly, aiming to overstimulate all of your sensitive spots in tandem. Nagi out a loud growl of your name as the drag of your nails incorporated pain into the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling. The coil had been tight in his abdomen, but he would hold out, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall over the edge before you had. He picks up the pace once more, thrusts growing sloppy under the pleasure. His thumb quickens its pace pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. Gon on princess, come for me wanna feel those pretty walls clamp down on my cock.

“Fuck, bunny, just like that princess… Go ahead, come for me angel, gonna fill this pussy so good baby, gonna have you dripping. Go on baby fucking.. come. for. me.”

He accentuates every word with a deep harsh snap of his hips. He groans loud and deep feeling your walls slam down on his cock eyes rolling back as whines and whimpers fall from his lips as your own release triggers his own. His body trembles violently as he topples over the edge painting your walls white. He slows his thrusts, body shaking as he overstimulates you both just a little bit before his hips finally still. He releases your legs, quick to readjust your form wrapping you around him pressing a long loving kiss to your lips. He grips your thighs in strong hands, carrying you with ease back to the couch, resting you against him. Fingers carding through your hair as you rest against his chest, pressing a loving kiss to the dip of your temple.

“So, did I win our little decorating contest, or do you think we need a rematch?”

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics & @/cafekitsune.

[muiitoloko]

Sidelines of Love

Summary: A charismatic father and his fiercely protective wife share humor and heartfelt moments while cheering on their son’s football journey.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: I still don't know why I wrote this.

Also read on Ao3

Lionel adjusted his sunglasses, his hooked nose catching the sunlight as he leaned casually against the wooden counter of the drink stall. The heat of the day was mitigated slightly by the shade of the awning, and his baritone voice hummed faintly as he exchanged a few flirtatious words with the woman standing beside him. She was a single mother, her easy smile and bright eyes a clear indication that she was charmed by his cheeky demeanor.

"Well," Lionel drawled, his mischievous grin widening as he handed over a bill for the drinks, "it’s not often I find someone as captivating as the view out here."

The woman laughed softly, brushing her hair back in a gesture that was almost shy. "You have quite the way with words," she replied, her cheeks flushing.

"I've been told," Lionel quipped, giving her a small wink as he collected the sodas from the counter. "But I fear my wife would have a thing or two to say about it."

Undeterred, the woman quickly grabbed a napkin and scribbled down her number, folding it neatly and handing it to him with a small, hopeful smile. Lionel accepted it with a gracious nod. "Well, aren't you bold," he said smoothly. "Thank you for that."

He tipped an imaginary hat as he turned, the napkin clutched lightly in his hand. By the time he reached the trash can, Lionel glanced at the number briefly before tossing it in with an almost playful flick of his wrist. "Not today, darling," he murmured to himself, a smug grin playing on his lips.

Climbing the stands to join you, he caught sight of you cheering animatedly for your son, Liam, who was darting across the field as the midfielder for his junior football league team. Lionel admired the way your sunglasses perched on your nose, your voice cutting through the crowd with pride as you called out your son's name. You barely noticed Lionel approaching until he sank into the seat beside you, holding out your drink.

"Miss me, darling?" he asked, his baritone voice laced with teasing as his arm slid around your shoulders. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the warm air, a scent that always managed to disarm you.

You glanced at him, a knowing smile curving your lips as you accepted the soda. "Not much," you replied, taking a sip. "Though you did take your time. Flirting, were we?"

Lionel’s grin widened, his hooked nose twitching slightly as he feigned innocence. "Me? Flirt? Perish the thought." He settled into his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with a theatrical flourish. "I may have exchanged pleasantries with a delightful woman, but I assure you, she pales in comparison to you, my lioness."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped you. "Is that so?" you challenged, glancing sidelong at him. "And yet, here you are, back by my side."

"Always," Lionel said smoothly, his arm tightening around you as he watched the game with you. "What can I say? The pride calls."

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly as the two of you turned your attention back to the match. Liam was moving skillfully across the field, his energy and determination evident as he passed the ball to a teammate.

"You didn’t miss much," you murmured, your voice softening as you watched your son. "But he’s playing beautifully, isn’t he?"

Lionel’s gaze softened briefly, his usual cheekiness giving way to genuine pride. "That he is," he agreed, his baritone voice quieter now. "He’s got the heart of a lion, that one."

As the crowd roared in applause for a particularly impressive play, Lionel leaned closer to you, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, "Though I dare say he gets it from his mother."

You smirked, tilting your head to look at him. "Flattery won’t save you from explaining what took you so long at the stall."

Lionel chuckled, his mischievous grin returning. "Oh, my dear, I’ve nothing to explain. But if you insist, I’ll confess—there may have been a napkin involved. And it may have found its way into the trash where it belongs."

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you turned back to the game. "You’re incorrigible," you said affectionately.

"And you love it," Lionel replied, his tone smug as he settled back into his seat, one hand casually resting on your shoulder as the two of you watched Liam dominate the field.

You nudged Lionel gently, tilting your head toward a man standing a little way off in the shade, clipboard in hand, his glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was watching the game with an intensity that set him apart from the other spectators.

“See that man over there?” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “I overheard some parents saying he’s a football scout. Do you think Liam has a chance of becoming a professional player?”

Lionel followed your gaze, his hooked nose twitching slightly as he studied the man. Adjusting his sunglasses, he took a long sip of his soda before responding, his baritone voice thoughtful but still laced with his usual playfulness. “Well, the boy’s got the heart of a lion, hasn’t he? If anyone could make it, it’s him. But it’s not just about talent, my darling. It’s about wanting it. Really wanting it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but a shrill whistle from the referee cut through the air, halting play. The sound was followed by a collective gasp from the crowd as Liam hit the ground hard, his small frame crumpling under the force of a foul.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you jumped to your feet, your voice ringing out across the field. “Careful with my baby!” you shouted, your hands clenched tightly at your sides.

Liam, sprawled on the grass, turned his head to look at you. Even from a distance, you could see his cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. His hazel eyes flickered with determination as he pushed himself up, brushing off the dirt and waving away the coach who started toward him.

“He’s fine, love,” Lionel said smoothly, his mischievous grin spreading as he watched Liam’s reaction. He leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of his soda. “Though I dare say he wishes his lioness weren’t quite so vocal about her concern.”

You shot Lionel a look, your cheeks flushing slightly. “I can’t help it,” you said defensively. “He’s my baby.”

“And a fine cub he is,” Lionel replied, his baritone voice rich with amusement. “But he’s a Shahbandar, my dear. He’s not going to let a little tumble keep him down. Watch.”

Sure enough, Liam was back on his feet, shaking off the foul with a steely resolve that made your heart swell with pride. The referee signaled for the game to resume, and Liam immediately fell back into his position, his focus sharper than ever.

Lionel tilted his head, watching his son with a glint of pride in his eye. “He’s got it,” he said softly, almost to himself. ���That fire. That hunger. Just like his old man.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s just hope he inherits your talent and not your cheek.”

Lionel chuckled, his arm slipping around your shoulders once more. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, his hooked nose brushing against your temple, “he’s a Shahbandar through and through. The world had better prepare itself.”

As the game continued, the scout scribbled something on his clipboard, his gaze flicking to Liam. You glanced at Lionel, who raised his soda in a mock toast, his expression confident and smug. “One day,” he said, his baritone voice dripping with certainty, “we’ll be sitting in a stadium, watching him on the big stage. And you’ll still be shouting for them to be careful with your baby.”

“And you’ll still be flirting with drink stall attendants,” you shot back, grinning as he laughed, the sound rich and warm.

“Guilty as charged,” Lionel said with a wink. “But don’t worry, love. There’s only one lioness who truly holds my attention.”

The two of you shared a smile before turning back to the game, your hearts full of pride as Liam charged across the field, his passion and determination lighting up the pitch.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, and the scoreboard lit up: 2–2. The match had ended in a draw. Liam, drenched in sweat and scowling, kicked the dirt beneath his cleats as his teammates filed off the field. The boy’s frustration was palpable, his hazel eyes narrowed with irritation as he marched toward you and Lionel.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you began gently, kneeling slightly to meet Liam at eye level. “You played so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Liam shrugged your hand off his shoulder, his face scrunching up in frustration. “Mum, stop,” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re embarrassing me. I could’ve scored the winning goal if it wasn’t for that stupid foul.”

You froze, taken aback by his tone. Before you could respond, Lionel stepped forward, his hooked nose wrinkling slightly as he tilted his head. His hand reached out to lightly tug on Liam’s ear, a playful but firm gesture that made Liam wince.

“Careful with that tone, cub,” Lionel said, his baritone voice calm but edged with authority. “Your mother’s not the enemy here. She’s the one who’s been shouting herself hoarse cheering for you all game. Show a little gratitude.”

Liam yanked his head away, glaring up at Lionel. “I don’t need you calling me ‘cub,’ either,” he muttered, his voice laced with defiance. “I’m not a baby.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he crouched down, bringing himself to Liam’s eye level. “No, you’re not a baby,” he agreed, his voice low and deliberate. “But you’re still my cub. And as long as I’m the lion in this pride, you’ll show your mother respect. Understood?”

Liam opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it, his hazel eyes flickering with hesitation. He scuffed the ground with his cleat, muttering, “Fine. Sorry, Mum.”

You smiled softly, ruffling Liam’s sweat-damp hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you’re upset. But you were incredible out there. A draw isn’t a loss—it’s a chance to learn and get even better.”

Liam sighed heavily, his frustration still evident but his temper softening. “I guess,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

Lionel stood, his imposing frame towering over Liam as he adjusted his sunglasses. “Let me tell you something, lad,” he said, his baritone voice taking on a more playful tone. “Even lions don’t win every hunt. Sometimes they fail. But they don’t sit around sulking. They learn, they get stronger, and they come back fiercer than ever. That’s how you dominate.”

Liam’s lips twitched slightly, the beginnings of a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?” he asked, looking up at his father.

“Really,” Lionel confirmed, his hooked nose twitching slightly as he grinned. “And if you’re lucky, you’ll inherit your old man’s charm to go along with that fire.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, because charm is exactly what he needs right now,” you teased, nudging Lionel lightly with your elbow.

Liam finally cracked a smile, his frustration giving way to a flicker of pride. “Maybe I’ll just get Mum’s yelling skills instead,” he quipped, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lionel laughed, ruffling Liam’s hair. “A dangerous combination,” he said, his baritone voice rich with humor. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, cub. You’ve earned a proper feast.”

As the three of you made your way back to the car, Lionel’s arm draped over your shoulders, and Liam’s excitement for his post-game meal began to replace his earlier frustration. Watching them together, you couldn’t help but smile, your heart full of love for your little pride.

Lionel unlocked the BMW with a casual flick of the key, his hooked nose casting a faint shadow in the golden afternoon light. With practiced flair, he opened the passenger door for you, a mischievous grin teasing his lips as he gestured grandly. “Your chariot awaits, my lioness.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped in, your heart fluttering slightly at his old-fashioned charm. In the back seat, Liam slumped into place, still grumbling under his breath about the game. Lionel leaned down to close your door when a sharp voice called out, halting him mid-motion.

“Mr. Shahbandar! Mrs. Shahbandar!” The coach’s voice carried across the parking lot, and beside him was the man you’d noticed earlier—the scout, clipboard tucked under his arm.

Lionel straightened slowly, adjusting his sunglasses with deliberate ease. His baritone voice was light with curiosity as he turned. “Ah, Coach! To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

The coach jogged over, the scout following close behind. “Could we have a word? It won’t take long.”

You glanced at Lionel, raising an eyebrow. He caught your look and winked subtly, clearly amused by the interruption. “But of course,” he said smoothly, stepping aside to close your door. “Wait here, darling. I’ll see what our good coach has to say.”

As Lionel sauntered off with the coach and the scout, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, Liam leaned forward, his hazel eyes wide with concern. “Mum,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “do you think they’re going to kick me off the team?”

The fear in his voice tugged at your heart. Turning in your seat, you reached back to gently stroke his damp hair. “Oh, sweetheart, no,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm. “That’s not what this is about. I promise.”

“But why do they want to talk to Dad?” Liam’s voice cracked slightly, his anxiety palpable. “Did I mess up too much?”

You smiled, cupping his cheek gently. “You didn’t mess up at all, Liam. You played your heart out today, and they saw it. That’s why they’re talking to Dad. They’re impressed with you.”

Liam frowned, his small hands gripping his knees tightly. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently. “And even if you did make mistakes—and everyone does—it’s how you learn from them that matters. But trust me, you were amazing out there.”

Liam hesitated, his hazel eyes searching your face for reassurance. Finally, he nodded, though his grip on his knees didn’t loosen. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” you replied warmly. “And you should be proud of yourself. I know your dad and I are.”

At that, Liam’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though his eyes still flickered nervously toward the trio standing a few feet away. Lionel was gesturing animatedly, his baritone voice too low to hear but clearly dripping with his usual charm. The scout scribbled something on his clipboard, nodding thoughtfully.

You turned back around, keeping an ear out for Lionel’s return while sneaking glances at your son in the rearview mirror. He was watching his father intently, his small brow furrowed in concentration.

After a few more minutes, Lionel returned, his stride confident and his grin smug as he opened the driver’s side door and slid into his seat. He didn’t say anything at first, simply adjusting his sunglasses and starting the engine with a dramatic flourish.

“Well?” you prompted, glancing at him expectantly.

Lionel finally turned to you, his hooked nose wrinkling slightly as his grin widened. “They wanted to discuss our little cub,” he said, his baritone voice practically purring.

“What about me?” Liam piped up from the back, his voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

Lionel twisted in his seat to look at his son, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Seems the scout was rather impressed with you, lad,” he said smoothly. “Wants to keep an eye on you for future opportunities.”

Liam’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly. “Really? Like… professional football?”

“Exactly that,” Lionel confirmed, his tone proud. “But don’t let it go to your head just yet, cub. There’s a lot of work ahead if you want to make it big.”

Liam’s face lit up, his earlier frustration replaced with pure excitement. “I’ll do it! I’ll work hard, I promise!”

Lionel chuckled, reaching back to ruffle his son’s hair. “That’s the spirit. Now sit back and relax, cub. Your mother and I have earned a quiet ride home after all the yelling she did today.”

You swatted his arm playfully, laughing as Liam grinned from ear to ear. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Lionel’s hand found yours, giving it a light squeeze. His cheeky grin softened into something more genuine, and for a moment, the three of you basked in the glow of shared pride and love.

[giving-myself-to-ashes]

I've been avoiding toh on tumblr bc I only just watched Watching and Dreaming so I'm pretty sure someone has already said this

but they all have MATCHING FLAPJACK TATTOOS

Edit: Found it! I rewatched the end scene without credit text and noticed it this time. It's right after Luz goes through the portal.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 1.1: Unfamiliar.

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Gavriel Huffman’s consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his body with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.

His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.

The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.

It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didn’t belong in.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.

He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?

Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.

He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely weren’t his. The worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything he’d ever put on.

He frowns at this. Gavriel didn’t trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadn’t been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.

With a grunt, he forced himself upright, teeth gritting as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.

His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to… what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.

He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.

But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didn’t do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.

Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?

His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.

All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger.

The dull ache of his wounds, the confusion of being in this unsettlingly mellow room, and the disorientation of having just woken up alive when he very well should've been dead in an alleyway somewhere. It all pressed down on him heavily. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadn’t bled out in that alley.

He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldn’t have done much to stop the life bleeding out of his dying body.

Yet here he was, hurting but very much still alive. He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasn’t until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.

Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon genre.

It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a moment’s comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.

He couldn’t be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasn’t so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.

Gavriel’s hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.

He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.

It didn’t change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.

Then Gavriel hears the door click open.

---------------

Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't already gone cold by the time he awoke.

Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.

“Huh?” Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.

"Hugh!"

Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.

Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.

The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.

The hand holding him didn’t need a weapon.

It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.

The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldn’t even force out a sound.

Jack felt his breath hitch as the man’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jack’s mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.

"I-I’ll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-don’t move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sir…"

With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jack’s words, yet the grip around Jack’s neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.

Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.

His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.

But as Jack’s heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavriel’s wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jack’s chest, but something else was too.

Concern.

The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldn’t help it. Despite the terrifying glare, despite understanding that this man could kill him if he wanted to, Jack’s eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.

Gavriel’s glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. “Answer my questions,” he ordered.

Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavriel’s side, pooling on the floor in droplets.

Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.

Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.

Don’t come any closer.

Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. “I just… I just want to help.” His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.

For a moment, Gavriel didn’t move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.

Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised, palm facing upwards to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavriel’s features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.

Finally, he reached the man’s side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didn’t stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened… Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.

Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavriel’s face showed no change, Jack didn’t miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.

“Okay… okay.” Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.

With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.

[shomatoriashi]

12/06/24; 05:00pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you have a wet dream about them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

warnings: somnophilia.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

your breathing becomes uneven and labored when sylus smirks down at you, admiring your helpless form as you remained tied to the bed post. each one of your limbs remained spread wide open for him as you helplessly pull against the ropes that hindered your every movement.

never before had you been left in such a vulnerable position, feeling the heat against your cheek when sylus could see every clench of your aching cunt. he licks his lips at the sight while lazily stroking at his cock, “kitten, may i just say how delectable you look right now?”

he basks in your embarrassed expression, taking pleasure in how you were unable to meet his gaze. with a shake of his head, sylus slowly joins you in bed while letting out a soft coo of your name, his powerful body already laying on top of yours, taking complete advantage of your immobile state when he descends upon you. hungry lips swallow your moans as you felt the tip of his erection brush against your entrance, teasing you while simultaneously distracting you with his kisses. your soft mewls were like music to sylus’s ears when he inserts a thick finger into your slick walls.

pumping his fingers in and out of you, your soft mewls immediately turns into moans of desperation for him, with your body writhing against your bindings when he adds another finger into your heat.

“you always feel so good around me, kitten.” his hot breath causes shivers to run down your spine as you felt your release quickly approaching-

you wake up with a start, heart pounding within your chest as your mouth turns dry at having such an intense dream. trailing your eyes toward the clock, you saw that it was barely past midnight-

and there was a considerable ache felt between your legs.

whimpering softly to yourself, you place a hand within the waistband of your panties, feeling the way your arousal causes an uncomfortable moisture to collect against them. letting out a soft moan, you trail your gaze toward the lone figure settled next to you on the bed, seeing sylus still in a deep sleep. your mouth goes dry upon seeing the upper half of his body utterly bare for you as a surge of need courses through your veins.

filled with a desperation to continue where your dream had left off, you shrug out of your shirt and panties, leaving you naked when you decided to climb onto sylus. the sight of bare abdomen makes your clit harden in response as you straddle him, planting your hips on his chest before grinding your cunt against his hard wall of muscle.

so caught up in pleasure, you remained blissfully unaware of how sylus had woken up the moment you mounted yourself onto him, letting out a string of soft curses when he feels the stickiness of your arousal staining at his skin. the onychinus leader feigns sleep for a few more minutes, only reaching his breaking point when you finally released yourself on him.

“hah… hah…” when you finally reached your own gratification, you planned on getting off of sylus-

only to be stopped by his large hands felt gripping at your waist.

“and where do you think you’re going, kitten? after giving me such a delicious snack, you think i’d let you stop before getting to the main course?” your eyes go wide upon seeing the noticeable tent against the blankets, a clear indication of how sylus had witnessed your sinful acts and had a response to it.

you were given no chance to tell him about your dreams and how needy it made you when sylus leads your pliant body over his cock, allowing the tip of it to brush against your heat before pushing you down on him while setting a rapid pace.

needless to say, your dreams paled in comparison to the real deal.

“zayne…!”

you cried out to him, feeling zayne thrusting his cock in and out of you with a sense of desperation. never before had you felt such displays of passion from your lover, feeling as though he were fucking you into the bed.

each time his hips meet with yours, you were left seeing stars, clinging to his body with a newfound urgency. your copulation felt more like a mating ritual with how zayne skipped the foreplay and went straight to impaling you with his cock.

but truly, you needed no extra methods to prepare yourself for zayne’s lovemaking, for witnessing how he takes control while between the comfort of your sheets was enough to make the moisture flood from between your legs.

“ngh…ngh…ngh!” each one of his thrusts was paired with a grunt that was far too hot for your body to handle, making you feel the familiar tightness in your abdomen as it was on the brink of snapping-

you gasp for air, nearly choking on your saliva when you suddenly woke up from such a pleasant dream. a light sheen of sweat was felt coating at your skin, along with a familiar dampness settled between your legs.

with your panties ruined and a newfound ache, your body was running on autopilot, feeling more than a little frustrated when you were unable to fully climax after experiencing such a vivid dream. your gaze lands on the other side of your bed, seeing zayne still in a deep sleep while you were left feeling the throes of passion left in the wake of your dreams.

i can’t do this, i need him.

pulling up your shirt, you hurriedly take off your soaked panties and climb on top of zayne. he stirs in his sleep, letting out a groan when you attempt to pull down the waistband of his grey sweatpants. he opens his eyes just in time to see your hands pulling out his limp cock.

“c-can i borrow this?” you ask him while letting out a breathless moan, making your lover grunt when he arches his body against the bed, already going hard for you.

“of course, but why so-“ zayne gasps the moment you manage to stroke him to full hardness before sliding down his cock, completely sheathing the entirety of his length within your walls. you felt him pulsating and twitch inside of you, making you let out a sigh of relief before moving against him.

“hah… sorry… i just… had the hottest dream about you. don’t remember much of it, only that your cock felt too good to ignore.”

zayne was given little choice but to lay back in bed, subjected to the onslaught of pleasure you had oh so willingly gifted him while thinking of ways to make you dream even more about him-

especially if it lead you to bouncing up and down his cock like your life depended on it.

you basked in xavier’s soft moans of your name the moment you went down on him, taking every inch of his cock within your eager and awaiting mouth.

there was something oddly addicting to the taste of him, with you licking away the beads of precum that escapes from the cute tip of xavier’s cock. he gasps each time you move your head back and forth against him.

xavier’s hands were suddenly felt gripping at your hair as his voice cracks a bit. keeping your head still, xavier was felt thrusting his hips in and out of you mouth, his grunts and moans raising a few octaves as he sought his release.

“please… i’m gonna… i’m gonna…!”

the familiar twitch was felt against your tongue, and you willingly swallowed all that he had to offer before pulling away from him all while licking at your lips…

you awaken suddenly, heart pounding as you licked at your lips, trying to moisten them. letting out a soft moan, you cover your eyes, feeling the way your heart pounds in tune with the familiar ache between your legs.

turning your head to the right, you saw xavier was still asleep, true blue eyes hidden beneath shaky lids as his chest rises and falls in tune to his steady breathing. biting down at your bottom lip, you tried to be a good lover and go back to sleep-

however, the images from your dream kept flashing within your memory, keeping you awake as you knew that you had to act on your desires now.

letting out a sigh, you take off all of your clothes, remaining bare before gently pulling down the comforter, revealing xavier in his plain shirt and white sweatpants. your gaze was completely focused on the waistband of his pants, with your hands slowly pulling them down to reveal his plain boxers.

you got on top of his legs, pulling down his boxers in one swift motion to reveal his limp cock. licking at your lips one last time, you moisten them before descending upon his cock, placing it within your hot mouth while expertly moving your head up and down his length.

within seconds, xavier turns hard for you, making you smile around his hard cock as you traced the tip of your tongue around each pulsating vein.

“ngh…!” xavier lets out a broken moan of your name, already sitting up in bed when he feels you giving what had to be the best blow job of his life. your hot mouth truly felt like bliss around his cock-

but it could never match with your slick folds.

unable to take it much longer, xavier manages to remove your hungry mouth away from his cock. you were still in a daze, seeing the way it twitches momentarily before he mounts you on top of it.

“your kisses on me feel so good… but this feels so much better.” xavier admits to you in a breathless whisper, already bouncing you up and down his length as you allow all coherency to be tossed out the window-

perhaps reality were better than dreams after all.

rafayel was simply settled back in bed when he allows you to ride his thighs.

“that’s it… you’re doing such a good job, princess.” the lemurian was practically purring now, feeling the way your arousal stains at his skin the more you ground yourself against the top of his thighs.

your breathy moans and gasps echo throughout rhe room. his thighs kept on clenching at all the right moments, causing you to cry out to him each time he hits your clit. the friction was almost too much to bear as your movements became sloppy and needier.

yet rafayel encourages you every step of the way.

he admires your gorgeous form and the way you writhed against his body, licking his lips while saying your name in a husky manner. when you felt as though you were on a brink of experiencing your release, rafayel leans forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hand already traveling down to the spot between your legs while giving your hardened clit a pinch-

you wake up with a gasp, eyes going wide upon feeling an almost painful ache between your legs. the dream left you feeling unsatisfied and utterly disappointed at how it wasn’t real-

but that didn’t mean you couldn’t make it real.

the sounds of someone’s gentle snores breaks you out of your needy reveries, with your gaze meeting rafayel’s sleeping features. biting down at your bottom lip, you weighed the pros and cons of waking up your lover-

yet decided to simply follow your body’s desires instead.

lifting up your nightgown, you crawl toward rafayel’s body, pulling down the sheets before settling yourself on top of his thighs. planting your hands on top of his abdomen, you remove your panties, allowing them to hang over your ankles before placing your wet heat over your lover’s sweatpants.

the sensation of pleasure was immediate when you grind your pussy lips against his clothed thighs, quickly getting drunk off of the pleasure as you rode him with a desperation. you were so caught up in your pursuit of pleasure that you didn’t even realize rafayel had woken up.

“well well well, what’s this?” his lazy voice makes you clench your legs in response, yet you were too far gone to care. your hazy eyes meet with his playful gaze, noticing the way his lips were upturned in a smirk, “is my princess having fun without me, humping my thighs like a puppy in heat?”

you purse your lips, feeling embarrassed yet so utterly needy for him. basking in his teasing words, you continue riding his thighs, earning a rich chuckle from him as he continues watching you, behaving very much like the rafayel in your dreams when he remains in his laid back position in bed.

“you’re lucky that i don’t mind spoiling you, princess. i’ll let you have your fun before allowing you to do the same to me on my cock.”

end notes: hhhhh wet dreams coming true with the lads men wet dreams coming true with the lads men wet dreams coming true with the lads men wet dreams-

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[mee-op]

Facts about in-game Yuu (Twisted Wonderland):

NOTES:

This is an ongoing list and will be updated with new information. I'm not caught up w/ chap 6 and I'm not very perceptive. This list is so long because of all the people who commented/sent asks, so thank you Last but not least, some of these might be a stretch/be slightly incorrect so bare w/ me plz :] More Yuu facts [ ONE / TWO ] <- not mine

They've been good friends with Heartslabyul ever since Book 1.

They're forgiving/don't hold any bad blood with the people who've overblotted (at least on the outside).

According to the Harveston event, they can play the flute.

They don't like mentioning that they might return to their world (Deuce's Wishing Star vignette).

Many people consider them a "goody-two-shoes" (Leona, Ruggie).

A good listener.

Based on Malleus' interactions with them, Yuu talks to him a lot more off-screen as he states that he values their opinions.

Loves Grim to hell and back.

It's implied that Yuu invites Malleus over frequently enough that he visits unprompted.

They can be snarky and brutally honest when they're pushed into it.

Comes up with stupid plans that nobody believes will work but it somehow does.

They're insecure about not having any magic.

They want to be able to help their friends.

Has a sense of self-preservation.

Does not actively seek out danger (*cough* om mc *cough*).

They've cleaned up Ramshackle since living there, however, it still looks "abandoned & ancient" on the outside.

Crowley doesn't give them more money than "needed".

Silver states that Yuu is good with swords (PE Uniform).

Both Jamil and Silver seem to think that Yuu is somewhat weird/strange.

They don't know much about mushrooms (Floyd's Camp Vargas vignette).

They're very patient.

Used to be afraid of ghosts until they got to Twisted Wonderland.

They adapt to new/difficult situations quickly and calmly.

They don't complain much.

Very much so the silent type.

The audience doesn't really see anyone helping them out with their situation, so I assume they fix most of their problems themselves.

They don't have any memories of the Great Seven before coming to Twisted Wonderland.

Fluctuates between being observant and not noticing really basic stuff.

Doesn't hesitate to say cheesy things.

Keeps calm in harsh situations.

They know how to play a blowing horn (White Rabbit Event).

Good with instruments.

Not a very good singer (NRC Uniform).

It's implied that they have high stamina.

They're interested in horseback riding and wants to play soccer with Sebek (PE Uniform).

They recommend a few books to Sebek, implying that they read in their free time.

They're short in comparison to Floyd (he calls them Shrimpy).

Grim comments that they're shorter than Vil.

Crowley mumbles that Yuu looks effeminate.

They're a bit of a romantic since they seem to often ask about love stories/fairy tales (Epel & Jade chats).

They have a habit of poking, tugging, tickling and just touching people in general. This is proven through the Home Screen character interactions, so their love language seems to be physical touch.

They get scared easily but is bad at scaring others (Halloween voice lines).

Vil notes that their uniform is baggy.

Malleus says that Yuu has gotten better at dancing (Masquerade Event).

It's implied that Yuu is good/decent at cooking since they have to make meals for both themself and Grim every day.

Yuu is decent at basketball (Ace Halloween).

Deuce remarks about a tiny piece of furniture in Ramshackle and asks if it's for Grim, meaning Yuu makes small furniture for him.

They're a good photographer.

Takes part in photography competitions (Rook Port Fest).

It's implied that Yuu carries their ghost camera everywhere because Crowley constantly makes them record events.

It's said that the game cards are actual photos that Yuu took with the ghost camera. [I don't know if this is true but a lot of people have said so]

Most, if not all the characters tell Yuu to hurry up when choosing a class, which suggests that they're indecisive.

Ace, Deuce and Cater tell Yuu to relax during classes or else they'll run out of energy.

Jack says that he got tips from Yuu while he was working in Monstro Lounge, implying that Yuu might've worked in customer service before (Book 3).

According to Grim, they have a hard time saying no to people, but when they absolutely need to-- they're very serious and a bit intimidating. "You're a real sap sometimes, you know that? Then again, when you bare your teeth it's no joke."

While they won't say no to helping others, they prefer to keep to themselves and avoid drama.

Yuu is sometimes a bit distrustful of Ace and thinks he's tricking them if he offers to do anything nice (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

It doesn't take much to make them happy. (Deuce & Idia 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They became nervous when Riddle invited them to a salon for their birthday. Riddle response saying "I'll be right there with you, and will instruct you in etiquette every step of the way."

They're competitive in class-- at least when it comes to Jack (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They took chess lessons to try and beat Leona in a match (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

For their birthday, Yuu asks Azul to get something that's supposedly hard for an average collector to acquire.

They're surprised when Kalim gifts them a pop-up card for their birthday.

They own a pair of fingerless gloves (gifted by Epel).

They personally invited Vil over for their birthday party and made sure to have healthy food options for him.

Not very close with Idia.

Owns a glass tumbler that reads 'Happy Birthday!' (gifted by Ortho).

Lilia gives them a CD with his screamo performances.

They were gifted so many presents on their birthday that they had trouble carrying the gifts around. (Malleus 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

[tetragonia]

Please Don't be Afraid of Me

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Arguing with Rafe is your daily meal, but this time he almost did something that could break you for life.

warning: mentions of (Y/N)'s father being abusive, toxic relationship, Rafe almost going a bit aggressive, trauma, no mention of (Y/N)

note: I really need a good angst and why not write one myself? I hope this one hurts you as bad as it hurts me :')

words: 800+

The air between you and Rafe crackled with tension, the argument escalating faster than either of you had intended. You both were standing near the docks, voices rising, cutting through the quiet night. Your frustration had been simmering for days, ever since you caught wind of some of Rafe’s shady behavior again—money missing, deals going wrong. You had confronted him, and it spiraled from there.

“You think you can just keep pulling this crap, Rafe? You think nobody notices what you're doing?” your voice was sharp, each word laced with anger. What you two have was toxic, you knew deep down. But somehow it was very rewarding, all those kisses and makeups you two would do after an argument.

But this one was different.

“Don’t act like you know me,” Rafe shot back, his jaw clenched. “You don’t know half the things I’m dealing with.”

“Then tell me!” you snapped, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “But no, you’d rather lie, cheat, and then act like the world owes you something!”

Rafe's temper flared, his hand instinctively raising mid-argument, more out of frustration than intent. But the movement—sudden, aggressive—made you freeze.

You body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking an instinctive step back, your eyes widening in a flicker of fear. In that split second, Rafe’s hand hovered mid-air, his anger dissolving as guilt crashed into him.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t even realized how much his action mirrored something... darker, something that triggered a deep-seated fear in you. But seeing you flinch, seeing you step back from him, it hit him like a wave of cold reality.

“Baby, wait—” Rafe dropped his hand instantly, his voice softer, filled with an unfamiliar urgency. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were suddenly wide with regret.

He took a cautious step forward, but you moved back again, your breath shallow, still caught in the reflex of fear.

“I’m not him,” Rafe said, his voice low, almost pleading. “I’m not your father.”

Your chest tightened, the comparison too raw, too close to home. You blinked, fighting back the tears that were threatening to surface. Your heart pounded in her ears, but Rafe didn’t move again. He stood there, watching you, a rare vulnerability in his expression.

“I wasn’t going to—” he stammered, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I’d never... hurt you.”

You didn’t say anything, still processing the way your body had reacted, how automatic the fear was, how much he reminded you of the volatile moments with your dad—moments you spent years trying to forget.

Rafe took another step forward, more cautiously this time, his movements slower, gentler. “You...” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

You couldn’t look at him directly, your mind torn between the image of Rafe you knew and the shadows of the past that haunted you. The tension in the air had shifted, no longer angry but filled with a raw, uncomfortable truth.

He reached out again, but this time there was no threat in his gesture. His hand hovered near you, waiting, offering. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You’s heart thudded painfully in your chest, your breathing still uneven. You swallowed, glancing at his hand. You hated yourself for flinching earlier, for letting him see that side of you, but you couldn’t deny that he had triggered something deep. Something you weren’t ready to confront.

Still, there was something in his voice, in the way he had softened so suddenly, that made you hesitate. Rafe wasn’t the man you had grown up fearing, wasn’t the man who left you with scars both seen and unseen. He was a mess, yes, but this... this was different.

Slowly, tentatively, you took a small step toward him, meeting his gaze. You saw the guilt there, the sincerity. The storm in your head started to calm, just slightly.

Rafe didn’t move again, letting you come to him at your own pace. His hand was still there, waiting. And when you finally closed the gap between them, you let out a shaky breath. You didn’t flinch this time as his hand gently touched your arm, his grip soft, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “Just... don’t ever do that again,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but firm.

“I won’t,” Rafe promised, his thumb brushing against your skin lightly. His touch was tender, so unlike the rough edges of his usual self.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They stood there in the quiet, the intensity of the argument fading into something neither of them had words for. You’s heart was still racing, but not out of fear now. It was something else. Something unfamiliar, something you weren’t sure you could handle.

But as Rafe stood close, his touch warm and steady, you realized that you didn’t want to step back anymore.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi bunnyy, can I please have a blueberry muffin with a hard lemonade for Lando?💕

the bakery menu

want to submit your own order? the follow to the main post above! i am still accepting orders! these paws are rolling out the dough as we speak! as for this one,

blueberry muffins ("i don't think it'll fit.") + hard lemonade (possessive behaviour) served by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, big cock!lando, possessive behavior, missionary, sweet sex, mechanic!reader

"i don't think it'll fit, lando." you swallowed.

"shh, shh, shh." he said as he rubbed his cock up against your achy slit, "it'll fit. the more you tense up, the less it'll fit. so, relax." then flashed you a smile.

you swallowed, "please don't bruise me, norris."

he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek ever so gently, "i would never. the last thing i want is for my mechanic to not do her job."

this all started because you took a job with mercedes, leaving poor lando all by himself at mclaren (he really wasn't alone). you were his favourite mechanic, you made his car purr like a kitten and hug the curves of the track just right.

so it broke his heart that you just upped and left him. how could you!

after you left, lando made is known that you were still his mechanic. he added the possessive pronoun to your job title, even though on your resume it said that your employment with mclaren ended two months ago.

it was an event for staff that some of the drivers attended, lando included. it was for the smaller awards throughout the season for things like mechanics and other support staff. it was an excuse to let loose before the second leg of the season.

a driver was only as strong as his support team, so many of the drivers came to support their teams! but lando was glaring daggers into the back of toto wolff's head for stealing away his mechanic.

how dare he! lando had barely seen you since your departure from the team two months ago. you had been so busy getting into the groove of mercedes that it felt like you totally forgot about him and your time on his team!

after the dinner, it came time for the actual partying. while that means most got into the harder alcohol, it gave lando the chance to get closer to you.

he seated himself beside you at the table and when you looked over, he slung his arm across the back of your chair. he smiled at you, "there is my favourite mechanic."

you lit up at the sight of lando and pulled him into a tight hug. he swore you made a gleeful noise at the sight of him, which only stroked his ego.

maybe he was a little too hard on you. maybe you did miss him quite a bit. when you pulled away, you held him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes.

"oh my god, lando!" you said, your smile big as you let go of him, "i've been seeing your messages, but i've just been so busy lately! i'm so, so, so sorry!"

aw, he really couldn't be that mad at you. you were just so painfully cute that it was like being mad at a puppy for chewing up some socks.

lando smiled back at you and wiped some of the dinner you had off your cheek, "still a messy eater as always, huh?"

you blushed a little, "oh shut up, lans." you laughed and playfully pushed his chest which caused him to grab your hands and keep them on him. you said, "i have missed you though!"

then why did you leave me, he thought.

he offered to get you another glass of wine so the two of you would keep talking. he wanted to hear all about mercedes. in reality he wanted to see where mercedes was failing in comparison to mclaren that he could convince you to come back.

your voice was music to his ears as you rambled about the other team. you hardly noticed lando's hand on your thigh until he gave it a hearty squeeze. your eyes went wide, "lans!"

he chuckled and leaned in closer to you, "i missed you. i really missed you. team's not the same without you." i'm not the same without you.

"oh! don't be silly! the new mechanic that you guys got is like a million times better than me! don't make me blush!"

all he wanted to do was make you blush. he wanted to see if it went all way down. then again he wondered how hot he'd be in the face when he was between your legs.

but he made that a reality a lot sooner than he expected.

apparently you really missed him. and you felt that you missed out on your chance to be with him. but you also were plagued with self-doubt that he'd even be into you. but lando covered up that anxiety with a hot kiss at the table before you were leading him by the hand to your hotel room with key card in your other hand.

your hotel was quaint, cute in a way as he started to get you undressed. his lips would find safety on your hated skin, his cock was heavy in his pants before he took them off.

you got up onto the bed and pulled him for some soft kisses. he melted against you, loving the feeling of you. he can't believe you missed him. it made something strange curl in his gut as he got between your legs.

"how much did you miss me?" he asked as he rubbed his hard cock against your slick pussy, "did you think about me all the time?"

you nodded, "i did lando, all the time. i felt so bad when i couldn't reply. i was worried you'd hate me." you gave a small pout.

he felt a shiver run through him, "oh, no, no, no. i could never hate you. you're my favourite!!" you blushed and covered your face. but lando took your hands away and leaned in for another kiss as he dribbling pre-cum against your pussy lips, "it's true." he said.

"lans."

he chuckled as he threatened to push his cock into you. he could feel the heat rise in his body. his heart was racing it did during a race.

"what if it doesn't fit." you said once more.

"trust me, alright? just the way i trusted you on the grid. right?" he said, almost begged. he needed this, he needed you.

you nodded, "of course." you braced for impact, but tried to keep yourself relax as he slid his cock into you. the stretch felt intense for a moment before it started to feel good.

"i'd never hurt you." he said as he planted both hands on either side of you and rutted against you. you wrapped those strong legs around him. his words were a promise as he moved against you.

"i'm sorry i didn't try to do anything sooner."

"aw, don't be. you just didn't want to ruin our jobs. i understand. i guess now that you're working for the other team, now we can do this as much as we want." he laughed.

the sex between you was almost sweet. lando peppered your face with kisses as he rocked against you. you felt so good around his cock, like two puzzle pieces.

"you feel so good."

"thank you, lans."

"i missed you every day on the grid. i got a little jealous when i'd see you working on the cars. you always looked better in orange." he admitted.

"i always thought i looked like a cheez-it."

lando kissed your lips and held onto the covers under you. his lips trailed across your skin before he said, "no, no. you looked amazing in it."

you held onto his shoulder tightly as you moved against him. it wasn't rough sex, but it wasn't too gentle either. regardless it really felt nice. it was a steady pace that allowed pleasure through your body.

the kisses your shared were wet and sweet. you could feel lando's praise of you through his lips. you held onto him. part of you wished you had done this sooner.

lando on the other hand wanted his mechanic back, he wanted you in the orange coveralls and always excited to see the cars. he just thought that you were painfully cute in the garage.

you once told him that working on a car of that caliber was a like working on a high tech puzzle, and it made the job exciting. to see your hard work (and the hard work of your former co-workers) on the track was amazing!

and lando wanted to make you proud on the track! put that hard work into action. you two worked hand in hand, and now you were tumbling in the sheets together.

you felt near to your climax and held onto him tightly. you kissed at the apples of his cheeks and moved against him, "you're amazing, lans."

he held tightly onto the covers, or else he was going to dig his hands into his hips. he picked up the pace a little bit more and captured your lips in another kiss.

you cupped his face and let him rut against you. you clenched around him and moaned into the kiss as you climaxed. you held onto the driver as he continued to thrust against you.

"shit." you moaned as you relaxed on the bed and clutched onto the white hotel sheets. you looked up at lando and smiled.

that only egged him to keep going. and the sight of your sweet face allowed him to finish inside of you. with a few heavy thrusts and he finished in a huff.

it led to more kissing, his arms wrapped around you. he whispered praises you could barely hear against your skin as you both soaked in the feeling of post-orgasmic bliss.

"you're perfect." he exhaled.

"i missed you, lans."

you get comfortable under the covers of the bed and could feel lando moving around to get comfortable as well. he laid next to you and felt comfort in your warmth.

as he laid with you, tangled up in the hotel room sheets. his nose in your hair with your head on his chest. maybe he'd find a way to get his little mechanic back, make sure she's really appreciated this time. <3

[aajjks]

warnings: 18+ éxplìcìt smùt, yàndèrè éx bf Tòjì, brèàkìng ìn, còàrctàtìòn, pròfànìty, dègràdàtìòn, dùbcòn, bòrdèrlìnè sòmnò, ùnhéàlthy rèlàtìònshìp, jèàlòùsy, ùnpròtèctèd sèx, hè ís só mèàn ànd hórny.

remember consent is so important! <3 horny brain rot 🧠😏

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who still misses you like crazy.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who has an addiction when it comes to having sex with you, he’s been struggling since you broke you up with him.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who fantasizes about you in bed, bouncing on his cock 24/7, jerking off his dick but it’s useless because his hands are nowhere near as soft as yours.

He misses your mouth. The way you used to worship his thick dick with your slutty mouth and especially the way you used to gag on it but you wouldn’t give up.

He bets you miss him too, he knows that you pathetically fuck yourself but your pussy doesn’t get satisfied because it misses his dick.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who shamelessly stalks you and he knows that you’ve been trying to become a whore by hooking up with men who turn to dust in comparison to him.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who is so sexually frustrated and jealous that he decides one night, he’s had enough so he decides to pay you a visit.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who has a lot of experience with picking up locks, it’s not hard, so once he’s done getting into your apartment, he makes his way up.

It’s 3 am in the morning but horny doesn’t come caring about time, and he needs to remind you that you belong to him.

Once he’s in your bedroom, he notices your sleeping form and for a moment his eyes soften, you look so innocent and so peaceful, his dick immediately hardens as he gets a whiff of your scent.

He’s missed you so much.

But then soon he realises how much a lying cheating whore you are and he makes his way over to your bed, he doesn’t care if you’ll wake up and scream.

It’s not like anyone can save you.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who carelessly climbs on your bed and on top of your sleeping figure. You’re wearing a stupid shirt with stupid pajamas yet you’ve got his cock pulsing.

“Fuckin whore.” He mutters under his breath as he breathes hard, he can’t resist the urge to not touch you so he carefully tugs at your pajamas.

No he’s not ashamed.

Soon his patience runs out and he yanks on them harder, causing you to wake up abruptly.

Just fuckin perfect.

“hey fuckin slut, guess who? yeah it’s daddy.” He mocks, spitting the words out in a condescending tone as he narrows his eyes at your shocked sleepy face.

“Damn you’ve gotten ugly yn, looks like this break up didn’t do ya good.” He laughs, his cruel words cutting through your heavy breathing.

You scoff.

“Nah baby shut the fuck up and gimme that pussy, been so horny lately.” He confesses in a gruff tone, his lips curling in a line.

“You miss my cock. See it missed you too.” He pushes his baggy pants down, freeing his hard length. “yeah I didn’t wear any boxers.” He admits as you stare at his bare flesh.

“Now let’s fuck.”

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who fucks you hard and raw, making your cunt weep in ways that is delicious. His dick filling you up to the brim as he pounds into you.

And you realize how good he is at fucking you. You really did miss his cock. And maybe his toxic psychotic beefy ass too

[sleepymarimo]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫.

summary: law might hate bread, might hate sweets, but if eating them is the only way to show you how much he cares, then so be it. pairing: law x fem!reader cw: none! fluff, awkward law. some descriptions of food and textures if you're sensitive to that! wc: ~3.5k (wow!!)

an: this is for my amazing friend @guilty-sugar ! i recall you saying that you were good at baking, but sad that law probably wouldn't eat any. so, we're gonna make him >:)

i have not posted in soooo long so pls forgive me 🥲 i hope you all enjoy law and making him suffer by eating bread!!

the air is getting warm again, he can feel it. it grows so stuffy that he shrugs off his top layer, leaving him in that buttoned shirt he couldn't stop wearing after the one time you told him it looked good.

his eyes scan the medical papers in front of him, but his mind is annoyingly slow today.

law does a grand job of pretending that he doesn't know your schedule, doesn't know the tell tale signs that point to only one conclusion. the air grows hotter, the crew buzzes with poorly repressed excitement and the sound of clinking metal bowls echoes throughout the entire submarine.

it's baking day.

he's been preparing for this. he's finally going to face his biggest enemy yet, a foe that seemed much more intimidating than any warlord or emperor of the sea.

today, granted the ocean didn't swallow him whole, law was going to try some of the baked goods that you were known for making, including the bread.

the thought alone makes his skin crawl, but it pales in comparison to how small he feels in your presence. it irritates him, especially since your intentions have been nothing short of well meaning.

that's what he thinks, anyway.

law runs his tattooed fingers through the black strands of his hair, deciding to forget about whatever paper he's reading about in a bid to feel a semblance of control. he's overthinking, looking too much into things.

do you really smile at him more than everyone else? do you ask about his coin collection because you actually care or are you being polite?

within the upper quadrants of the polar tang, he can just barely hear the others hound you with questions about what you'll be making. no matter what it was, it was sure to be gone in a snap.

a dull thump shakes the sub, but he doesn't think much of it.

bepo, he thinks, probably slipped trying to gather ingredients for you. his suspicion is confirmed when the laughs of penguin and shachi follow shortly after, but the sound doesn't begin to compare to the one that flows out of your lips.

he represses a groan, his way of ignoring how his heartbeat momentarily diverts from it's usual rhythm.

his knuckles grip the sides of his chair, using it as leverage to push himself into a standing position before grabbing his hat and making his way to the kitchen. the air is almost uncomfortably warm now, but he can't find it in himself to be upset with you.

the submarine had been navigating the undersea currents for a while now. a visit to the surface was just about due.

it's not like he planned it like that. no, of course not!

he didn't even think about how the crew would be eager to hop off the vessel, didn't think about how you'd stay behind to bake while he took on the task of keeping you company.

he steps into the kitchen with curiosity, though his expression gives nothing away. it's that same almost neutral face, his brows slightly furrowed and lips teetering on a frown.

bepo is sitting on the floor of the kitchen, the flour dusting his form barely noticeable against his plush white fur. the bear is half-apologetic and half-embarrassed, the former directed toward you while the latter stemmed from the laughter going his way.

"sorry." he grumbles again, thought it looks like you couldn’t care less. bepo seems to have enough of his crew mates, tackling the other two men and making sure to get them covered with flour.

their complaints mesh with your amused laughs, a soundtrack that the polar tang's captain knows well.

law is blind to the scene before him, everything becoming out of focus as he spots you mixing some ingredients into a bowl. you're laughing, nose crinkling and mouth stretching into a grin that almost makes his stoic expression crumble.

the corner of his lips waver, just a little bit, your joy infectious in a way that makes him believe it's an actual disease.

however, he has work to do and baked goods to stomach.

"and what are you all up to?" he asks, arms crossing as he forces his gaze away from you.

it's almost comical how the four of you straighten up, abandoning whatever you're doing to raise a hand to your foreheads in a mock solute. the "hello captain!" that echoes across the room is practically in perfect sync, or at least enough to make him shake his head.

he sighs, telling you guys to quit it. "that doesn't answer my question."

penguin brings a hand down on bepo's back, a cloud of flour puffing into the air as he does so. "sweets day, cap!"

you affirm penguin's statement, tilting your head with a smile as you give a rundown of what's on the menu for today. some cupcakes, a few cookies and a loaf of sourdough.

just the mention of the bread is enough to make him tense.

bepo laxly nods in agreement with you, his black nose twitching as he catches the scent of vanilla extract. his head is in the clouds, not so much on his captain, so he decides to join you at the counter to mix some ingredients together in a bowl.

at the doorway, law gives penguin and shachi a deadpan look.

shachi chimes in with a grin, nodding his head in your direction. his words are meant to be sly, directed toward the captain, but he's unable to hide his amusement. "sweets day with the sweetest member of the crew, don't you think cap-"

"shut up." law interjects, brows pinching together as he takes in the poorly concealed smugness written all over shachi's face. it's on penguin's too now, while bepo has long since abandoned the conversation to help you instead.

it's only because they've known law for so long that the duo know how much he likes you. no amount of scolding or scoffs can make them think otherwise.

the captain can tell by their smiles that they think they have the upper hand, but he ignores them. law speaks before they have a chance to open their mouths again.

"get the sub ready to surface." he orders, cocking his head in the direction of the control room. "we're stopping at the next island."

that seems to get their attention, their heads perking up at the thought of getting out of the cramped submarine. the duo give law their best salute, scrambling away to make preparations for the sub's surfacing.

law shakes his head and lets out a sigh, taking some strong steps toward you and bepo. your dynamic with the bear is one that melts his heart more than he'd ever admit. the way you can shift from witty and bright to determined and caring makes him want to explore every side of you.

he snaps out of his thoughts when you lightly reprimand bepo for stirring the batter too aggressively, a chuckle threatening to leave him.

an announcement is made throughout the sub to prepare the crew for what's to come.

reluctantly, law makes his leave. he'll have time, he'll have you, but he has to take a couple minutes to brace himself for what will happen once the rest of the crew leaves the submarine.

another half hour passes before the sub's hatch is opened.

the fresh air is much needed, the cool breeze like a balm that quells the unease in law's chest. a series of footsteps echo throughout the submarine as crew members make their way to the exit, smiles plastered on their faces.

this island seems lively, welcoming. the sun casts a bright glow over the town in the distance, a plethora of shops and eateries nestled side by side.

even though law is staying aboard, staying with you, there's a sense of proudness that rushes through him as he takes note of the relief plastered onto the faces of his crew. he doesn't let it show, but clearly their happiness affects him.

he lets them run loose, trusting them enough not to cause too much trouble.

his eyes do narrow at penguin and shachi though, the two men snickering a tad as they walk off with bepo in tow. it's like they see through his plot, his ulterior motive, and the captain gives them a look that serves as a warning.

as the blurb of orange jumpsuits fades out of view, law is left with the sound of crashing waves and a light breeze.

his grip tightens on kikoku's hilt, a gesture that he hopes makes what he's about to do a little more easy.

the scent of baked goods wafts out the door, overpowering the salty sea breeze without issue. he can hear you humming along to some random tune, talking to yourself as you navigate through the kitchen.

he follows the trail like a ship to a lighthouse, drawn in by the warmth and splash of color you add to his life.

upon walking into the kitchen, he takes note of how your back is turned to him. you're washing some dishes, the spoils of your work organized neatly on the counter. just the sight of all the sweets is enough to make his stomach ache, but he persists.

you call out to him first, catching him in those all too common moments when he gets lost in his head. "captain? i thought you were gonna head out with the others."

turning off the sink, you dry your hands off with a towel and focus your attention on him. he doesn't miss the slight tilting of your head, how your eyes glimmer with curiosity.

oh, he was horrible at this. no matter how many times he practiced the script in his head, you found a way to unintentionally mess with his psyche. maybe it was your hair, your eyes, everything.

"needed to finish some work here." he lies, so smooth with his words that you don't even think to question it.

with a nod, you give him that smile, the one that pops up in his head while he's reading and makes him lose focus. "if you finish up, maybe you can meet the others in town. or you can keep me company here."

he takes your words in with a hum of acknowledgement, watching you navigate through the kitchen with a natural ease. for a second, he allows the comfortable silence to stretch. he summons all of his courage, swallowing his pride and nodding toward the delicacies on the table.

"can i…" his jaw tenses, the temperature in the room feeling as though it's rising with every tick of the clock. he squeezes the hilt of his weapon more firmly, his throat feeling dry as he looks between your confused face and the frosted treats.

he gets it together, not asking, but declaring. "i want to try what you made."

your brows rise at his words. it's not like your captain to try your baked goods. you'd never taken offense to his reluctance, as you were well aware of his eating habits, but this is completely out of left field.

one could hear a pin drop, his request lingering in the air.

"you… want to try them?" you echo back, unable to hide your skepticism. your eyes browse the array of treats, including the loaf of bread that was still cooling on its rack. "are you sure? which one?"

law doesn't mean to sound so snappy with his response, but internally he's freaking out. your doubt, the subtle concern in your voice, makes him want to prove himself even more.

"i'm sure." he insists, taking some steps toward you until he's at your side. his eyes scan the table, each morsel seeming to laugh in the face of his uncertainty. "i want to try each one."

your eyes follow his, the table sporting a variety of treats ranging from cookies to cupcakes to the star of the show, your fresh sourdough bread. in your head you prepare for disaster, creating a scene that's as comical as it is mildly concerning.

"if you lost a bet to penguin and shachi…" you start, giving him an apologetic glance.

he's quick to cut your accusation short. there are no bets, no pressure from anyone but himself. "no."

when he looks back at you, expectantly, as if he doesn't know how to approach this hurdle, you grab a plate and start to load it up. there was no way you were going to give him a full serving of anything, so you chop off a piece of each dessert and make what you think is a perfect sampler.

he takes the plate from you with a degree of reluctance, but the brushing of your fingers against his acts as a reminder as to why he's doing this. words aren't his specialty. hell, it's hard for him to show how much he cares in general, but he can do this. for you.

his tattooed fingers pick up a piece of… something. it looks sweet, like something he'd hand off to bepo. those black brows of his furrow a tad, as if he's trying to break down the pastry to an atomic level.

taking note of how he seems to be losing himself in his own thoughts, you speak up with confidence and snatch the remaining portion for yourself. "it's just a chocolate chip cookie." you explain, taking a bite of it yourself to show him how it's done. "flour, sugar, eggs…"

"understood." law sighs, trying and failing to act even remotely excited about what was to come.

his teeth sink into the cookie, only a small quarter piece, and he has to keep from making too much of a reaction. from the chocolate clinging to his tongue to the sweetness practically making his gums ache, he finds each chew to be a struggle.

but when his eyes lift to meet yours, seeing the look of anticipation on your face, he finds that the cookie isn't so hard to swallow.

his tongue peeks out to catch any remaining crumbs, shuddering as the sugary sweet taste lingers in his mouth.

he takes a step toward you, a small one, nodding his head and hoping you can't see the hints of pink starting to form on his cheeks. "it's good." he states, even though from your angle it had looked like he was trying to swallow glass. "what's the next one?"

it seems like eons have passed, perhaps the longest ten minutes law has ever lived through.

he swears his stomach is starting to hurt from the amount of sugar settling in there, and the smile you give him, the appreciation you show, doesn't make it feel any better. your presence makes him more jittery than any dessert, that much was certain.

while you were hesitant at first, not wanting him to strain himself, you can't deny that your sweets-averse captain willingly trying your concoctions was flattering, meaningful.

"okay, last one." you clap your hands together, glancing at the last piece of food on his sampling plate. it's a small chunk, not even worthy of being served as an appetizer, but to law, it might as well have been a death sentence. "the sourdough bread."

hearing the word alone makes law's jaw clench, his eyes narrowing as if he had a personal vendetta against the bread. even when he's picking it up, he can't help but scrutinize it.

"yeah, last one." he echoes back, his eyes finding yours in a sort of stubborn inquiry for support.

understanding what he needs, as usual, you grab a piece of the bread for yourself and hold it up. the nod you give him, allowing him to dictate the pace, seems to give him the confidence he needs to conquer this molehill he's made a mountain of.

after a playful countdown from you, he chucks the bread into his mouth and forces his teeth to bite down on it.

the first taste of it almost has him freezing up, his chest rising and falling slowly in an attempt to not let his nose wrinkle. the texture of the bread is killing him, the roughness of it seeming to scrape against his tongue in a way he's not particularly fond of.

hearing you hum in content, clearly pleased with the taste of your own creation, is almost like a slap to his pride- in a good way. he chews a bit more, it's almost damn painful, but he does it.

finally, when the last few chunks of bread are swallowed, law feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief.

"well, that's everything, captain." you smile, taking the plate from him and lightly placing into the sink. you're aware that this wasn't exactly easy for him, yet you're happy that he tried them. "what do you think? good enough for the crew?"

the answer should be obvious, as your treats were usually devoured within only a couple days of being made. law was confident that you could place ice in a bowl and the crew would eat it up without question.

"it's… good. everything was good." he replies, eyes following your every move. his heart feels a little more heavy in his chest, the lump in his throat harder to swallow than the goods he'd just tried. "the crew is lucky to have you."

i'm lucky to have you.

he inwardly curses himself for being so inexperienced with these matters and he places his hat on a nearby counter so he could run a hand through his hair. law is so caught up with his own inner turmoil that he doesn't notice how you grow a little bashful, how the laugh you give is more nervous than playful.

"thanks, captain." comes your response, the sound of clinking drawers filling the air as you started to properly store some of the goods for later. "that's sweet of you to say."

he hums, his way of telling you that he hears you. at the moment, he doesn't quite trust himself with speaking, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.

there is a comfortable silence for a few minutes, but it's not entirely suffocating. it's comfortable, almost welcoming. there are few people law was content to simply exist with, and you were one of them.

his mouth opens, your head tilting toward him as he states the obvious. "i hate bread."

it seems like a no brainer, your arms crossing while you change your position to face him better. "yeah, i know. what about it?"

law looks at you like he was looking at the desserts earlier. intense, almost scrutinizing, as if he would rather peer into your brain instead of hold a conversation.

"i hate bread." he repeats, the tension in his frame melting away a tad. "but i like it more when it's yours."

you're not sure how to respond to his admission, your jaw tense in a bid to keep it from falling to the floor. your captain is red faced, trying oh so hard not to just blurt out what he's been thinking for the past few months. it would be easy to get it out with a scoff, acting like it's not a big deal, but he knows you deserve better.

"everything has been better since… since you joined." the confession is heavy, the implication clear. this was no simple talk between a captain and their crew member.

while his cheeks get hotter, his brows furrow, his gaze doesn't waver from yours. he's watching for every reaction, anything that he can pick up on to confirm or deny his hopes, hopes which he rarely grants himself to believe to be possible.

your smile is a balm, the relieved laugh you give making him release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"i can never tell what's going on in your head." your shoulders rise and fall with each chuckle, your chest buzzing at his words, at what can, will, come from this. "you didn't have to try all the food. especially the bread. you know that, right?"

his lips tug upward into a small smirk, his confidence growing upon seeing how you're reacting to him. it's enough to make him take a few steps forward until he's right before you.

"thought it would be a good way to show you that i mean what i'm saying." he answers, the taste and feel of the treats now long forgotten. "besides, i see how disappointed you get when i don't try them."

the way your eyes avert, the small tilt in your head, only highlights your guilt. "yeah, okay, maybe a little, but i wasn't gonna force you to eat bread. and all those sweets…"

"i'll have to get used to it." his shoulders shrug, his expression going back into that more nonchalant one that you're used to seeing on him.

the words have your brows furrowing in confusion. "what do you mean? are you going to start joining us for baking day?"

"no. i'm not eating bread ever again, so consider yourself lucky for being the only one to see it happen." he casually states, silently reveling in how you react, before he allows his smirk to grow a little more wide. "i just have a feeling that you're sweeter, and i'm not planning on giving you up any time soon."

[poguehearted77]

Oh, Baby!

Summary-> Today is Rafe's birthday and you're determined to throw him the best surprise party before the baby comes in a few days.

☆Some more content from the baby steps couple☆

It was a warm summer night, the kind where the air hummed softly with the songs of crickets and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees. The streets were quiet as you and Rafe drove home, the headlights illuminating the road ahead. The stars sparkled in the clear sky above, but they paled in comparison to the anticipation bubbling in your chest.

“I just wish you’d checked to see that the restaurant had space before we came all the way here,” Rafe sighed, his grip firm on the wheel. He glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. You’d already called the restaurant weeks ago and knew they were fully booked. That was the whole point. You needed an excuse to get Rafe dressed up in the nicest clothes the two of you could find without him getting suspicious. It was his birthday, after all, and you wanted tonight to be perfect.

"It was supposed to be one of our final nights together with just the two of us," you murmured, playing your part with feigned disappointment. Your hand rested on the swell of your nine-months-pregnant belly.

The truth was, you’d been planning this for the past month—tirelessly working around Rafe’s attentive nature to keep it a secret. He knew you too well, always noticing the slightest change in your demeanour, and you had to put on the performance of your life.

If he’d caught wind of what you were up to, he’d have put a stop to it immediately. Rafe would’ve thrown a fit if he knew you were doing all this while so close to your due date.

When the two of you finally pulled into the driveway of your generously sized home, Rafe parked the car and came around to your side to help you out, as always. He offered his hand, his protectiveness shining through, and you accepted with a grateful smile.

He makes a teasing remark about your slight waddle, "She's comin' any day now isn't she?" You sigh, "I hope so, but she seems to be getting comfortable." Your eyes glimmer as you watch Rafe unlock the front door. But as soon as the door opened, the quiet night erupted into shouts of “Surprise!”

Rafe’s jaw dropped slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you saw genuine shock in his eyes. The foyer was filled with friends and family, grinning and clapping, balloons crowding the ceiling.

Rafe blinked, then broke into a wide grin, pointing at you. “I knew you were up to something,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

You laughed, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, his other hand gently resting over your baby bump. “Happy birthday,” you whispered, feeling his lips press to your temple in gratitude.

You led everyone through the house to the backyard, and that’s when the real surprise hit. The backyard was transformed into a magical wonderland of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, long tables set with glowing candles, and cozy seating arranged perfectly under the night sky. It was breathtaking.

Rafe took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping across the setup, a mix of awe and emotion crossing his face. “Wow,” he said softly, looking down at you before his expression morphed into one of concern. “Please tell me you didn't set this up, Y/n.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. “Calm down, I made John B and Topper do it,” you admitted with a cheeky grin. Rafe let out a short laugh, his brows raising. “John B and Topper? Together? Without killing each other?”

“Barely,” you teased. “I supervised, don’t worry.”

He was about to respond when a small voice broke through the chatter. “Happy birthday, Uncle Rafe!”

A little whirlwind of blonde curls and bright eyes ran toward him—it was three-year-old JJ in a white frilly dress. Rafe crouched down and scooped her up with ease, laughing as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he said, tossing her gently in the air.

As you watched him, surrounded by loved ones, holding little JJ close, and smiling brighter than you’d seen in a while, you felt the weight of your efforts melt away. It was all worth it. This was a night you’d both remember forever.

Maybe you'd be lucky to erase the forming memory of the radiating pain that coursed through your abdomen. You found yourself fisting the hand towels in the guest bathroom after your bladder incontinence had caught up to you during the middle of Rafe's speech.

God, what did you eat today? Your stomach had been hurting ever since you came back from the restaurant even though you never ate there. Sometimes you get a break, other times there's a sharp reminder shooting through you. Of course, you considered the possibility of contractions but you denied it.

There was no way in hell you were letting this baby come out on Rafe's birthday.

There's a knock on the door. "Just a second--!" Your voice is hoarse, the words coming out through clenched teeth. "Y/n? It's Sarah." With a deep breath, you reach for the door, revealing the pleasant face of your sister-in-law.

"Is everything okay? Rafe is looking for you." You nod, "Yep, everything's--" Another one. Your jaw clenches and your eyes close, doing your best to focus on the conversation at hand. By the time your eyes opened, Sarah was sliding past you into the bathroom.

"Why's the floor all wet.." Her eyes slowly trail from the wet tiles back up to you where you were still gripping the towel in your right palm. Oblivious to the gears grinding in her mind. "Oh shit." You shake your head over and over, immediately shutting the door on you both.

"Sarah, No. No! You can't tell anyone. It's Rafe's birthday." She couldn't believe what she was hearing, her brows furrowed, "Are you joking? You're in labour! You have to tell him and you have to get to the hospital like now."

"No, Please! Just give me 20 minutes, then I'll go." She couldn't believe she was actually considering it but the sheer look of desperation in your eyes convinced her.

"Fine, and not one second more or I'll deliver your baby myself." She threatens with a smile but she's a Cameron, she means every word. "I love you!" You whistle as you head upstairs to change into a different dress and meet everyone back outside.

"Baby, where did you go for so long? What's with the outfit change?" Your eyes are briefly distracted by the servers gracefully floating around the yard with the requested entrées. "O-oh, I started to feel a little hot in the other one--so," There's a contraction, not as bad as some of the others but you're able to suppress it and blame it on thirst.

"Here," He gets you a glass of water and helps you into your chair on the side of his at the head of the table. As if you'd forgotten the itinerary of the party you planned yourself, you're almost startled when the slide show of nearly all the images you could find of Rafe throughout the years is displayed on the projector.

He turns in his seat to glance at you, "You did not," It was all too much for him. You're the woman of his dreams, going above and beyond to show him how much he means to you and this was just a small example of proof.

The slideshow is touching, cute, and funny when the images of baby Rafe covered in pasta pop up. Once it's over John B suggests you say a few words. Kelce and his childish antics start a chant "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Your eyes roll, and with a minor struggle, you rise to your feet, Rafe standing beside you.

"Thank you all for coming, and helping me celebrate Rafe's 25th--" Oh boy, this was a big one, your mouth falls open in a silent cry and your right hand claws into the meat of Rafe's upper arm, it's so tight that he leans into it and his face contorts with discomfort and worry.

The electronic music is still playing softly in the background as all eyes are on you. "Y/n, Y/n, Are you--" Your lip is caught between your teeth bearing down with the pain, nodding aggressively. "We're having the baby!?" He panics but a huge smile is etched onto his features. "We're having the baby." You confirm and he hugs you.

The table is filled with cheers and glasses clinking together. "Go! Go!" Sarah shouts, and you both spring into action. At least Rafe does, he nearly leaves you behind with all the nerves running through his system.

Helping you back inside the house before he runs up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time, quickly coming down with the baby bag you'd both prepared weeks ago.

The next hour is a blur, one second you're standing in your living room waiting for Rafe to bring down your things, and suddenly you're in a backless hospital gown being strapped into the hospital bed, hooked up like a computer.

There are IVs, heart monitors, and everything else you could identify from your binge sessions of Grey's Anatomy.

“Mrs. Cameron?” A voice cut through the haze as the door opened. The doctor entered, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. Her calm expression faltered as she scanned the notes. “Oh, wow,” she muttered under her breath before looking up at you.

“Is... is everything okay?” you asked nervously, gripping the bed’s railing as you shot a glance at Rafe, who was perched anxiously at your bedside.

“Everything’s fine,” the doctor assured you quickly, though her tone carried a note of disbelief. “But I have to say—I’m a little shocked at how far along you are.”

Your stomach dropped. “Far along? What do you mean?”

“You’re already at nine centimetres,” the doctor explained, flipping another page on her clipboard. “You’re practically ready to push.” That is not what you wanted to hear.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait—nine? That fast? But I barely knew I was in labour until a few hours ago!” Rafe glances at you in agreement before doing a double take. "A few hours? I thought you just found out at dinner?"

"I knew since we left the restaurant." You coyly admit, and his eyes practically bulge from their sockets. "That was hours ago! Why didn't you tell me?" He seemed almost hurt but his concern overtook it.

"Because it's your birthday, I didn't want the baby to steal your day." He leans up, his gaze softening at your words. "Oh baby, I'd be so lucky to share my birthday with her." His words fall on deaf ears and you pout, eyes glancing at the clock.

10:47

"Well, Mrs. Cameron. It's almost time to start pushing, we're going to transfer you to the delivery room." Everything happened so quickly. Your gaze can hardly focus on anything in the halls as you are pushed past them.

There's one familiar sensation that remained an unchanged variable throughout the whole process. The reassuring hold of Rafe's hand with yours. No matter what, he held on.

When you squeezed his hand so tight with every laborious push. "You're doing good, just a few more pushes and she'll be crowning." Your body throws itself back, defeated. Eyes heavy and your hair sticking to your forehead as you wept.

"I can't, I can't do it. I'm sorry." Rafe's eyes turn mournful, wishing he could take on this pain for you. "Hey, hey. None of that. You're a Cameron now. We get shit done, and you're doing it. You're doing so well, baby. Just keep going, and I'll be right here with you, okay? I love you." He gently moves the hairs sticking to your forehead, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. His words give you the strength to keep going.

"Give us another big push in three, two, one-" Your throat is ripped raw from the pained shouts, but it was so worth it. It’s not long before you finally welcomed your baby girl into the world, at 12:01am.

"She's perfect," Rafe says, in awe of his newborn daughter who's delicately swaddled in those hospital blankets at peace in your hold. She looked up at you with her glassy eyes, lips moving in ways that Rafe could swear were a tribute to you.

"I can't believe she came out of me," It's an untraditional thing for one to say after giving birth but it's how you felt. You were still in disbelief at the whole process. From the day you looked at those two lines on that pregnancy test in St. Tropaz, to the gender reveal on the beach all the way to this very moment.

"You did amazing," Rafe reassures you and only a few moments pass where you enjoy the peace of the new reality of your tiny family. There's a soft knock on the door, and Sarah's head pops in awaiting clearance to be let in.

"Come in," You giggle, so excited to introduce her to her aunt, uncle and cousin. John B's face is overcome with shock and Sarah's with glee while JJ focuses on what she wants.

"Oh my god, she's so precious." Sarah beams as she peers over to get a closer look, and you offer her up into her aunt's hold. "What's her name?" John B is the first to ask, and Rafe grins down at you. "Say hello to, Melody Ava Cameron."

Sarah's eyes immediately misted over, she'd been told about the pleasant encounter you both had at the beach with a very lively toddler, but you knew that wasn't the name that touched her the most. "Melody? You named her after mom?" Rafe nods, a tear slipping from his eye as well.

You knew how much she meant to both of them before she passed, you couldn't think of a better name. Rafe places an arm around his sister as they both admire the baby.

"It's a perfect name, I love it. Congratulations."

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

a/n. i didn't get to include the most important bits that were supposed to be presented in this chapter because i got carried away with the buildup lol. exciting times ahead y'all. i have so much in store for you with this series. don't be a stranger and let's talk!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

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

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[draconic-desire]

🔹 Oculus Infinitum 🔹

Yandere Satoru Gojo x Reader

He’s infinity; in comparison, you’re nothing. So of course using your cursed technique on him backfires.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, nsfw, non-con/dub-con, afab!reader, slight mindbreak

Infinity is often interpreted as the largest numerical magnitude to exist. And while that fact may be true in theory, infinity is better defined as the endless division of infinitesimally smaller and smaller values. One can be separated into half, half to a quarter, and so on, until the space between fractions almost ceases to exist.

Almost.

Gojo is a lot like infinity. Blame it on his technique, sure, but you suspect it runs much deeper than that. His actions never reach an end; instead, each one sinks further and further into your skin, fangs so small you barely feel them until it’s too late and the venom irreversibly invades your veins. He’s chipped away at you, piece by little piece, until you are the opposite of infinity; you are nothing.

On a surface level, most would say you have it pretty good. You (are trapped in) live in a huge home, filled with opulent furniture and all the luxuries you could ever want. You’re (expected to) allowed to cook meals for the two of you, including your favorite dishes. You still have (basic rights) privileges, such as free roam of the house, your own selection of clothes, access to the television and your phone (minus the ability to call or text, of course), even outdoor time with Satoru’s supervision. Why would you ever need to leave?

You had escaped, once.

Calling it an escape would be generous. Nothing ever happens without Gojo’s knowledge, without Gojo’s permission. How foolish you had been, to think you could evade his Six Eyes. Despite weeks of planning, he’d dragged you back home within the hour.

The chains hadn’t been removed for an entire month after that, and their lingering presence on each post of Satoru’s bed serves as a constant reminder that they’ll never rust.

Currently, you’re in the (not your, nothing is ever truly yours anymore) house’s lofty kitchen now, preparing dinner for his return home from work. Glancing up at the clock, you see it’s nearly time for him to arrive. You click the stovetop on and place a pot of water over the open flame, watching the blue fire flicker. Your thoughts immediately go to Gojo’s eyes, twin infernos of endless blue. Those eyes never seem to close, never seem to be too far from your own. They have the ability to lock you in place and throw away the key forever.

Moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing, along with the click of multiple locks, echoes from the hallway. Long, casual footsteps alert you to his presence behind you. His velvet voice, so languid and carefree, fans your ear as he settles his hands on your hips. “There’s my girl. Already making dinner for me?” He places a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Missed ya, baby.”

You add rice and a bit of salt and stir the pot in front of you in silence. When did you stop fighting him on that? On losing your full name to simple titles like girl and baby? The old you would have gagged at those pet names. The old you that kicked and bit the hand of your captor like a rabid animal, always fighting for freedom.

His grip tightens when you fail to immediately respond, though you hear him force a light tone to his voice. “What, curse got your tongue?”

Tension immediately floods your muscles. Gojo is a vain man; your silence maims his huge ego, something the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer will not stand for. You must react. “No, Gojo. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

You worry your lip when the quiet drags on. “I-I’m sorry?”

Gojo barks out a laugh, but his smile is strained and all fangs. “Back to Gojo again, huh?”

A mistake you notice too late. The spoon falls from your grip as you turn your head slowly. He’s still wearing his blindfold, but you know those infinite abyssal eyes are currently boring into your soul, daring you to speak. “Ah, no! Satoru, I mean—”

“Shh, baby. I get it.” His hands move to your shoulders, which he begins to massage. “Is it because you’re mad at me for neglecting you?”

To an outsider it may sound like he’s teasing, but you know all too well the creep of annoyance laced into his deepened, husky tone. “Or are you just being a brat?”

Swallowing, you place a hand on his toned forearm in an attempt to calm him. You feel him practically melt into the touch. “Truly, ‘Toru, I’m fine.” Your honeyed tone makes you sick, but you’ve learned it can subtly manipulate your captor in the right setting, usually this domestic fantasy world of his. “You’ve been so busy with work, and my mind has just been wandering. Why don’t you go sit while I finish up with the food?”

He hums absentmindedly, fingers swirling patterns across your abdomen. “I have a better idea…” Hot breath caresses your ear, eliciting a shiver. “Let me make it up to you.”

A deft hand snakes its way down the back of your bare thigh, barely ghosting across your skin. You can feel him, solid as a rock, yet you know there will always be space between you. He can touch you, but you’re powerless to do the same.

Just like in everything else, you can’t hold a candle to him. Your cursed energy is inconsequential, a tiny spark against his infinitive well of power.

Talk of your innate cursed ability is a topic you actively choose to avoid. Your technique, when activated, allows you to briefly control the thoughts and consequent actions of a single individual—but only after you’ve kissed them. And it often backfires tremendously, with the kiss causing overwhelming feelings of obsession or insanity in the receiver. From more than enough uses you’ve learned to see it as more of a curse in and of itself, and one you prefer to keep hidden.

Especially from the man behind you. Gojo—Satoru, you correct yourself—has enough twisted love that you wouldn’t dare try to possess his thoughts. The mere idea makes your throat tighten with panic.

Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, causes every nerve ending along your skin to explode as his hand falls beneath your skirt and skate across your barely clothed core.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he groans. “Are you wet for me, baby?” Before you can respond, Satoru easily moves your panties aside and spears you with his middle and ring fingers.

The invasion makes you jolt instantly. An involuntary gasp leaves you as he presses deeper, his fingers sheathed to the knuckle. You hate how your walls immediately tighten around him, slick with your arousal. No, you don’t want this, but Gojo gives you no choice in the matter but to practically ride his hand as he lifts your skirt with his other hand to get a better view.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” His thumb passes over your clit, pulling yet another shameful moan from your lips. Your tense demeanor only causes your pussy to accidentally squeeze him tighter, spurring him on. You try to pull your thighs together, but Satoru wrenches them apart easily with his other hand. “Oh, no, none of that. This pussy is mine.”

You squirm, grasping for something to get you out of this mess. “Satoru, stop, the food will burn—”

“Forget it,” he commands, ripping your skirt off. “We’ll order takeout after.”

Your heart drops. “After…?”

“Aw, you thought I’d stop here?” His condescension floods your ears. “No, babe, I’m only just getting started with you.”

His persistence, like infinity, has no end.

Without warning, Satoru removes his fingers from your core and swings you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass and wrenching a yelp from you. You blanch when you realize he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

“Wait, Satoru—!”

You are unceremoniously thrown onto the bed, said white-haired sorcerer towering above you. He pounces immediately, locking your limbs in place. Satoru must see the fear, the readiness to engage in fight or flight, across your face, because he brushes a tender hand across your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teases, but it somehow sounds like a threat. His fingers, still coated with your arousal, hook around your thong and slide it down your legs. “You’re acting like this is our first time or somethin'.”

Oh, it was far from the first time that he had touched you or been inside of you. But something about today, about this time, sends fear skittering across your whole being. Perhaps it’s all the reminiscence lately, or the fact that your thoughts drifted to your innate technique for the first time in weeks. Panic sinks its claws into you.

Breath ragged, heart pounding, you grab his face in both hands and react without thinking; for the first time since he kidnapped you, you willingly kiss Satoru Gojo and activate your technique.

Satoru immediately reacts, deepening the kiss and pressing you more firmly into the mattress until you feel as if you’re nearly suffocating.

Release me, you project into his mind, threading a hand through his white locks and squeezing hard.

The world suddenly goes very, very still.

Satoru freezes. Slowly, painfully, he parts his lips from your own and straightens his arms against the mattress to hover above you once more. His breath comes out in jagged huffs. The only sound that remains is the unending tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, bringing you closer to your doom.

For a second, you almost believe your technique worked.

That is, until he quickly sheds his blindfold, and you are meet with those stunning, terrifying, brilliant, paralyzing blues. He whispers your name with a foreign stillness that chills your bones to ice. “Do you…have a cursed technique?”

What an idiot you are to have thought you could sneak past Satoru Gojo’s barriers and Six Eyes. You can’t touch his physical form; why would his mind be any different?

It takes all of your willpower to withhold the panicked, hysterical laugh threatening to escape you. “Look, I can explain—”

Satoru leans back on his knees, one hand carding through his hair as he looks up to the ceiling. “God, babe, I knew you could see curses and harbored cursed energy, but here you go surprising me!” He laughs, a gleeful chuckle that has you reeling.

“You’re not…mad?” you dare to ask, inching your knees towards your chest. Maybe your technique failed, but you can still buy some time and get into a safer position.

Satoru gazes down at you, head tilted and a full grin on his lips. “Mad? Baby, why would I be upset when for the first time in our relationship, you were the one seducing me?”

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Grabbing your ankle, he drags you back to a supine position, your pussy on full display for him. He licks his lips at the sight. “Plus, you trying to get inside my head was cute and all. Weak, but you gave it your best!” He laughs again, and you realize that he never took you seriously, not even for a second.

The thought should enrage you—it would have infuriated the old you—but all you can manage now is a low whine as his hands go for his belt.

Satoru pulls himself free, his already hard cock pulsing in anticipation. Precum beads at the tip as he lines himself up with your entrance. “What was it you asked me for? Release, right?”

Your eyes bulge at his implication. “Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean—!”

You barely have time to react as he buries himself in you completely. A choked sob bubbles up your throat as you breath through the stretch of him.

Satoru moans in ecstasy as he begins a steady pace, thrusting mercilessly into that squishy spot deep inside your core that has you seeing stars.

“Kiss me again.” It’s light and breathless, but it’s an order, not a request. Fear makes you comply immediately, though your kiss is a hesitant, timid thing compared to your earlier attempt to sway him.

He’s having none of that. No, Satoru had a taste of your affection, and now he’ll tolerate nothing less than your full reciprocation. If only you could truly peer into his mind and see that no amount of your cursed energy would change him; your being was already permanently imprinted on his brain. You were his perfect doll, held in the palm of his hand.

Nails rake down his back as you arch against the mattress. Every time he thrusts, he grinds against your clit, and you feel yourself chasing your finish. You hate this, you want it to stop, but you can’t help—

“Please, Satoru,” you plead without thinking, meeting his limitless eyes. You feel yourself drowning in them, a blue sky that never ceases.

For a split second, his rhythm hesitates. “…Say that again,” he whispers, almost reverently. “Beg for me.”

You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, please let me—!”

“Choose your next word carefully,” he warns, voice shifting to a low growl as his hand moves to your throat, adding ever so much pressure.

Tears streak your vision. The embarrassment of your technique failing and the lewd position he has you in all crash down upon you, and another piece of you breaks. “Please let me cum,” you concede.

To your dismay, his pace slows, and you cry out in protest as your orgasm fades. “I just need you to do one more thing for me, baby.” He leans into your neck, nipping and sucking at all your sensitive spots, torturing you even further. “Tell me you love me.”

Alarms should be blazing through your head, but the fog of your arousal clouds your judgement as you seek your climax.

That piece of your soul he took shatters into a million shards as you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

The two of you shatter simultaneously. You register all too late the warmth invading your core as Satoru pumps his cum deep inside you.

He’s never come in you before.

Your name is murmured over and over like a prayer against your neck—or maybe it’s a curse. You jolt in overstimulation when he pulls out and bends down to place a kiss against your puffy folds. “So good for me, baby. This perfect pussy belongs to me.”

He kisses you a final time, long and slow. When he pulls away, a languid smile sweeps across his features. “You’re all mine, (Y/n). Even your mind.”

With the use of your innate technique, you’ve dug your own grave for good. Satoru will never let you go now.

After all, infinity is indivisible.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite sh- are you sure you want to listen to this, Si?” You giggled, shutting your book in favour of leaning your cheek against your forearm, tilting your head back far enough to catch Simon’s eye behind you. “I could always read whatever you’ve started, wouldn’t bother me.”

“Not the deal, lovie.” He answers, scooching further up the bed to where you’re laying on your stomach, head just as the edge of the bed so that your arms can comfortably hold the book at eye level. “S’your turn after all. You read me whatever you like.”

It’s true, it is your turn tonight. You forget how long ago this started, though you remember how the idea came about, Simon complaining about his back one evening while the two of you were laying on the couch together, each reading a book, quietly enjoying the others company. He was home for only a few days that time, and you’d insisted that he spend at least a full 24 hours doing nothing but resting and relaxing, a feat easier said than done with that man.

“Why don’t you let me rub your back?” You’d suggested, setting your book down.

“No love, you don’t have to be doin’ that,” he’d shaken his head, though you could see he was doing so reluctantly. His back really was hurting him something fierce. “Besides, I’m at the good part. Don’ wanna put this down just yet.” He’d gestured towards the thick novel in his hands, some war book, of course. His idea of relaxing.

“Oh come on,” you’d insisted, wanting to do this for him. You had tugged the blanket off your lap, coming to stand next to the couch, watching him raise a brow at you. “I can totally massage your back while you read, best of both worlds. Go on, flip over on your stomach.”

“Usually I’m the one tellin’ you tha- hey!” He had obliged you, turning over onto until he’s laying on his front, trying to hid the wince of discomfort that came with the movement. You’d swatted at his ass following his little comment, but your soft hands were already coming to slip under his shirt, skimming along both smooth and scarred skin alike. “But you were enjoyin’ your book too, love.” He tried to protest again, though his eyes were already rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of your touch, loving fingers squeezing at his strong, sore muscles.

“Why don’t you read out loud to me?” You’d suggested to him.

“Not sick o’ my voice yet?”

“Mm, never.” You came to straddle his behind, planting a knee on either side of him, leaning closer to whisper to him. “Favourite sound in the world actually.”

Simon was grateful you couldn’t see his face at this moment, as he was certain he’d gone beet red.

“Well, you let me know when you change your mind.” He grumbled, opening his book back up, clearing his throat and picking up where’d last left off. Three chapters later, your barely noticed how sore your hands were in comparison to how full your heart was, listening to Simon’s voice go from begrudgingly reading the passages to you, his tone slowly gaining enthusiasm as he became lost in the story once more, smiling to himself whenever he’d hear a small noise come from you in reaction to his reading, a gasp of surprise of a hum of agreement.

He’d gone to bed that night and slept better than he had in a long time, back feeling like a dream, and woke up the next day, asking if he could return the favour. Soon, the evening pass time of one of you massaging the other’s back while they read aloud whatever book they’re currently reading, became one of your favourite, most cherished memories with Simon, the tender moment so pure, knowing he looked forward to these small moments as much as you did.

The two of you had gone through so many genres in the last few months, you’d lost track, every type of book being brought off the shelf. Though you didn’t always share the same tastes in books, you could still enjoy the sound of your lover reading something that they love to you. Simon was always a good sport about your picks in particular, but tonight you couldn’t help but question whether he really would want to sit through your pick of the week.

“I’m not even sure if it would be better or worse to have you watch the movie first.” You say, your words nearly coming out in a moan at the end when his strong hands reach a tender spot in your back.

“Jus’ read me the book, cheeky girl, before I try an’ get more o’ them noises out o’ ya.” He decides for you, giving your ass a quick squeeze before returning to his diligent task of rubbing your back.

You decide you’ll listen to the Lieutenant this one time, opening up your book and starting again.

Who knows, maybe Simon will like vampires.

[plzu]

gif by @38across

savor (aka distance makes the cock grow harder) - Adrian Chase/Reader

summary: Moving in together has made Adrian Chase an insatiable man. It’s made him, maybe, greedy. warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, smut smut smut <3, no Y/N wordcount: 2.3k a/n: dirty quickie for my large iced americano series. u don't have to read the (now completed!) fic first, this can be read on its own :]

Moving in together has made Adrian Chase an insatiable man. It’s made him, maybe, greedy.

Now that you live under the same roof, Adrian can have his fill of you whenever. Fold himself into you, mold the curves of your body against the parts of him that ache for you.

(Which are all his parts, respectively.)

Regardless of the time he gets home, he’ll stride through the apartment with all the determination of a heat-seeking missile and immediately glue himself to your body. If he slips in in the middle of the night, he curls himself around your back and grinds against your ass until you wake up and spread open for him. On brisk, early mornings, he pushes his face into your neck and fondles you awake, kneading your breasts in his hands. If he comes home in the middle of the day and you're not home yet, he waits for you like a pouty puppy and ambushes you the second you step through the door. You'd playfully swat at him, laughing breathlessly at his antics, until he'd have you partially undressed on the living room floor.

Being apart from you for more than 48 hours makes him restless. Another day or two, he experiences what can only be described as intense withdrawal symptoms; fidgeting, unbearable whining, inability to shut up about how awesome you are and how badly he misses you.

Tonight, he’s finally returning home from a mission that had him away for a few nights too many. Each day that had passed made missing you worse. The team may have gotten just a teensy bit annoyed with him about it.

(“Just rub one out like the rest of us!” Peacemaker barked.)

And it's like, dude, of course he already does that. But touching himself pales in comparison to having the taste of you on his skin. Something the group groaned at when he said something to that effect out loud.

What can Adrian say? Distance makes the cock grow harder. Or however that saying goes.

He spends the drive back home from base imagining all the things he likes to do to you, all the places he likes to taste you. Barely obeying the speed limit this close to midnight. He didn’t even change out of the suit, with the exception of flinging off his helmet and tossing it back in the bag.  

He gets to the apartment and sees the lights are still on. This is good. Despite how cute you look when you’re asleep, he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle the time needed to try to ease you awake.  

Adrian marches very purposefully into the living room, ripping his gloves off. His hands are already tingling from the anticipation of getting to touch you.

You're curled up on the couch, nose buried in a book, and he notices with absolute delight that you're wearing the itty bitty sleep shorts he likes so much. The one that both confuses him and turns him on, considering it’s made up of just the barest piece of fabric, and how much of your thighs it leaves exposed; you may as well be wearing nothing but underwear.

He's not one to complain about it, though. Especially when he gets a peek of the cheek meat that the shorts barely cover.

Your head had whipped up as soon as he entered the room. There's a flash of joyous surprise on your face. “Adrian!”

He gives you no time to scramble up and off the couch to greet him, however. Adrian drops to his knees in front of you after a few purposeful strides. He has his hands on your hips in no time, roughly dragging your ass to the edge of the cushion and towards his face.

You yelp at the sudden movement.

You squeak when he parts your legs a second after, and sinks his face against your thinly clothed cunt. He inhales, drinking in your scent, and lets out a shaky, relieved groan. Home, sweet home.

“Adrian..!” you squeak again. You tug at his curls, prompting him to meet your eyes. 

“Wha-?” He was already far too pussy-drunk for coherency. 

You grimace, dropping your hand from his hair. “It’s- That’s embarrassing. You putting your face…”

“Huh?” Adrian blinks. “Why? Is someone here?” He glances over your thighs, looking for an unexpected guest that he’d have to ask to leave. Or, fuck it, they could stay and watch as long as they didn’t interrupt. He just really needed to taste you, like, yesterday.

“No, no one's here. It's just... Very sudden. Wasn't ready for you to be all... down there.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, if no one's here, can I please dive back into your pussy? I really missed you and it's been driving me crazy not getting to eat you out.”

You make a funny little sound, an exhale full of indescribable emotion before you nod, shy and excited and full of bubbly anticipation.

Adrian rolls your shorts down your hips, making sure to take your underwear with it as he slides them off your legs. Once they're blindly discarded somewhere behind him, his attention returns once more to your cunt, now bare for him to fully appraise and revel in.

“Wow,” he sighs. “I can never get over how pretty your pussy is.” His voice is full of unalloyed reverence. It makes you shiver, and quietly whimper. The sound goes right to his dick, makes it twitch in his pants, and it's all the push he needs to descend upon you with open-mouthed fervor.

The taste of you fills his tongue, the sharp tang that he missed so much. It coats his taste buds, makes him salivate as he licks a languid stripe up towards the bead of your clit. He moans. Like the generosity of his mouth is more for his pleasure than it is yours.

He can feel the effect it's having on you. The way you squirm in his hold. He's got your legs propped up on the shoulder pads of his suit, hands gripping the soft flesh of your waist to keep your cunt securely pressed against his face. He doesn't want you trying to scoot away like you do sometimes, when it gets too overwhelming.

Because Adrian is trying to feast.

He continues lapping at your heat, tongue being sure to slowly caress against the velvet folds of your pussy. Despite his rush to return home, Adrian takes his time. Now that he's here, cozied up between your legs, he really wants to savor the moment. Especially since you always taste better than he remembers.

He nuzzles closer, deeper into the heat of you. You full on tremble against him, sighing out his name. He missed that, too. The sound of your voice singing his name. No one's ever said his name the way you do — replete with praise and fondness.

Adrian. Typically said by others neutrally, devoid of any emotion. Affection. If there was an emotion, though, it's groaned out in exasperation, or spat out in annoyance, or confusion. Abrasive and lacking warmth.

It's something he got used to, of course. Until he reconnected with you. His name falling from your lips colored positively in amusement. Warm and tender emotions that made some feeling flicker in his chest when he heard it. Adrian. It made him ache. It was nice; it quickly became as addicting as your smiles.  

Adrian's tongue dips further into you, plunges into your hole, and he proceeds to slowly fuck you with it. He's rewarded by the breathy, high pitched moan that peels out of you.

Your quivering thighs finally clamp shut, trapping his head in paradise. Your hands go back to gripping the hair at the base of his skull -- a sting of pain shooting pleasurably down his spine -- and your hips attempting to meet each delectable thrust of his tongue until you're fully, impatiently, grinding against Adrian's face.

Fuck yes.

He loves when you try to use him. Loves when you get all filthy and unhinged for him, because of him. Just absolutely falling apart in his hands because he makes you feel good.

He used to think making random women get off as Vigilante was cool. But making you desperate as just Adrian Chase is top fucking tier. Nothing inflates his ego more. He feels like he’s on top of the world when you beg for him.

Adrian's tongue swirls in the divet of your sex as he nuzzles his face side-to-side. The tip of his nose catches at your sensitive clit with the movement, creating friction that thrums through you, makes you pant with desperation.

“Adrian..!” you keen. “P-please, I'm g-gonna..!”

His fingers dig into your skin. Bruising permission for you to let go, to come all over his face. His own breathing picks up, a rumbling groan encouraging you, vibrating against the damp folds of your pussy.

You come with a muted sob, hips undulating with each wave of your climax. Adrian drinks it up, keeping his face flush against the outpouring of your cunt. Laves at the dripping juices with a grateful hum until your body finally slumps back down into the couch. Your thighs ease their clutch from his ears, letting the sounds of the apartment whoosh back to life.

Adrian allows your legs to slide off his shoulders as he stands up. He looks down at you, taking in your heaving chest and the sheen of sweat dampening your hairline through the haze of his glasses, which he forgot to take off in his eagerness to consume you.

Fuck, you look pretty all spent like this. Eyes half-lidded and dazed, the post-coital glow of your cheeks.

“I think I'm addicted to your pussy,” he confesses through the mess of you that currently coats the bottom half of his face. Sloppy. He's only a messy eater when it comes to you.

You drag your gaze up to meet his eyes at his confession. Something saccharine gleams in your irises as your face breaks out into a syrupy smile.

Adrian remembers he likes the taste of that, too, and leans against the armrest of the couch so he can kiss you. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip and then slips between your teeth to glide sensually over your own tongue. You sigh helplessly against the kiss when you taste yourself all over Adrian's mouth.

It's a slow and sloppy mishmash of mouths. Wet and sultry and sticky. It makes you horny again. Adrian can tell by the way your naked bottom half slowly gyrates forward, seeking friction. Your hands clasp shakily against his biceps, a quiet plea for more.

Which he's all too ready to give.

Still standing between your open legs, Adrian props a knee up on the cushion where your bare pussy is currently making a mess. Without looking, he traces the fingers of his right hand down until he’s rubbing messy circles onto your sensitive clit. Your hips jerk at the contact. Adrian swallows your whine.

He breaks from the kiss, leaving his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers continue their glide downwards, slipping easily into the welcoming heat of your sex.

“I thought about you every day,” Adrian says, voice ragged. “Do you know how hard it is to be away from you? Like, literally. I was literally hard for you the entire time.”

A laugh exhales out of you. You tilt your face up so you can catch his bottom lip between your teeth and pull, playful and needy. “I m-missed you, Chase,” you purr against his lips, clearly affected by his finger-fucking you. “You were gone so long I had to touch myself.”

The murmured admittance is both sweet and dirty and makes Adrian groan an expletive. His erection aches, and he can't do anything about it because one hand is propping himself up over you against the sofa while the other is busy trying to coax another orgasm from you.

As if reading his mind, your hands skirt down along the rough material of his suit, bumping over the hard piece of his utility belt before finally applying pressure against the stiffness of his pants. Even through the layers, the palm of your hand offers instant relief that he bucks into.

The thing is-  he's so pent up after going days without having you touch his dick. Sure, he touched his down dick, but obviously it's not the same. That sharp, exciting swoop that happens low in his gut doesn't occur when he's just trying to rub one out. Only you can do that. Which is pretty fucking romantic, he thinks.

And so, as you palm at his cock through his pants, he speeds up his ministrations on your soaking cunt, growing dizzy.

The world becomes nothing but the space you both take up on this single couch cushion, Adrian’s left hand gripping the back of the couch somewhere behind your head. Your right leg hooks around his hip, anchoring as you stroke him through his pants.

Shit, he's not gonna make it. His balls tighten just from your clumsy groping. Adrian drops his head into the crook of your neck and crooks his fingers deeper into you. He kisses the salt of your skin. Feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his pumping fingers, the erratic cant of your hips meeting each thrust.

Finally, you come around his fingers, back arching off the sofa. Something guttural rumbles out of him and into the space where your neck meets your shoulder as he follows suit, coming explosively in his pants. His cock twitches with each pulse against the heat of your touch, which continues to grip him through the fabric. 

Adrian collapses beside you on the couch once both your orgasms subside. Moments pass with nothing but the sound of both your labored breathing, only interrupted by a soft grunt as you yank the discarded book out from where it got trapped between your thigh and the armrest. 

“Did you,” you pant, “seriously just come without taking your suit off?”

Adrian pulls his glasses off his face, then lolls his head so he could look at you. “Yeah. You’re very good with your hands. The best in the world.”

You grin. “I barely did anything.”

Adrian’s uncomfortably sticky crotch says otherwise. He really, really missed you.

taglist: @whatevermonkey