#this has been cooking for so long for how short it is

[unholybacon355]

Toxic Till The End

Park Rosé x Male Reader

Word Count: 4.1 K

Masterlist

AN:To be honest I don't feel like a did a good job here, but things are what they are. So I hope you can enjoy this too because was supposed to be a Valentine´s special and also a way to celebrate Rosé's latest birthday.

It was another day in your opinion, a normal day. Well, maybe not that normal. But with what has been going on in your life, and especially in your relationship with your girlfriend, you aren't sure if you should be celebrating anything. Anyways when you keep repeating to yourself that it is a normal day you still got this stupid heart shaped box of chocolates and a red rose.

“It's just a detail.” You whisper to yourself. And yes, you're right. This detail is the least you can do on this day, a day that is supposed to be happy and cheerful; but instead feels different. 

After a long minute of cavitation you put the key on the lock and open the door to your shared apartment with your girlfriend. You're coming back from a long ass night shift and you're sure your girlfriend is still sleeping since there are some hours left till she has to work, so chocolates gonna have to wait. But instead of silence, what you find inside the apartment is the good smell of eggs and bacon being fried. The sizzle sound of food over the pan is what greets you, a sound that you aren’t used to hearing. 

Not that your girlfriend is disconsiderate, but she isn’t the type to do these details very often. She cooks, yeah, as long as you do since both of you are grown adults. But the times she has prepared a special meal for you during all these years, can be counted with the fingers of a hand; and maybe those are more fingers than what you actually need to count. 

“Babe, you come back early” Your girlfriend says, raising her voice over the sizzling sound. “I can’t let this right now or it will burn.”

“Yeah, they let me come home earlier.” You say approaching the kitchen. “Something big was happening and they wanted the whole day shift there to be an hour early, so I had nothing to do the-.” That last word was cut out of your mouth since you finally saw your girlfriend. 

Rosé was holding the pan with a hand and using the other to move what she was cooking with a big wooden spoon; but that was far from making her look any less spectacular than she was looking. To be fair she always looks fantastic, she is very beautiful, with soft features and a button nose that is the envy of all of her friends. But what caught your attention was that she was wearing makeup, done all natural but still make up. Just red lipstick, some mascara on her eyelashes and a bit of blush on her cheeks. What was more spectacular was the fact that she did her hair that morning. Her golden locks were curled into ringlets that fell till barely touched her shoulders, giving her hair a lot of volume.

Also her pajama was different to what she usually wears. This time was a two piece set, all pink and with hearts here and there. The shorts were small, letting you see her long silky legs in all of their glory. The top was also small, revealing her arms as well as a prominent portion of her chest and her tummy.  

Rosé was just too beautiful standing there in the kitchen, so out of place making breakfast for you, clearly overdressed for the assignment. Even the fact that you could see her buns shyly appearing under the shorts couldn't make you not focus on how damn beautiful your girlfriend was that morning.

“I wanted to give you a surprise since I have to work today.” Rosé smiles shyly looking at you. “You know, since it’s a special day.” Suddenly your chocolates and rose feel very stupid and almost nothing compared with what she’s doing for you.

“Wow! You're amazing.” You hug her from behind and kiss her cheek. “But you haven´t to. You have to work and you still woke up earlier to do your hair and all this.” Even the smell of her hair was fantastic, and now you could feel she put perfume on too. “I just gave you this.” You present to her what you bought for her, happy that that kid had been selling those things on the street. Because you didn’t have the dignity to walk into a store to buy something from your girlfriend, instead you just brought it for a few bucks from a kid on the street that was selling those packs. You aren’t even sure if the rose is real or made out of plastic.

“Aaaaawww!! But this are fantastic.” Rosé reach back to kiss you in the cheek. “ Thank you Babe.” 

After some exchange of kisses and words charged with love, breakfast was ready and you two sat to eat what your girlfriend just cooked. The meal was simple but delicious, something that were really needing to recover all your strength after a busy night. And having breakfast with her made it even better.But the best part came after you finished eating and she told you there was also a especial dessert just for you. You were expecting a cheesecake or something like that, anything far from Rosé sitting in your lap and kissing you. 

“I’m your dessert.” She said with her raspy deep voice charged with lust, while she was rubbing her nose with yours. “You can eat all you want.”Although it wasn't what you were thinking, this dessert was much better. So you just grab her tinny waist and glue your lips to hers, this time with much more desire than when you did it earlier in the kitchen. 

Soon Rosé’s hands are over you, and yours are exploring under the hem of her shirt. Even on this day there was no time for more romantic things, maybe latter but not now, so your finger crawl under the fabrics till you reach her small tiddies. Her nipples get hard under your touch while you both put more hunger into the kiss.

A moan is muted into your mouth when you pinch one of her sensitive buds and rolled it into your fingers. Rosé have the need to sit properly over you, and in some way she do it without needing to pull her body from yours. Now her legs are falling from each side of the chair, and the tip of her feet are barely touching the ground. 

“Don’t leave a mark or they gonna make fun of me at work.” She said while you were kissing and sucking the sweet spot of her neck. Her hands run across your abdomen and your lower back, her touch is a mixture between being gentle and scratching your skin with her long nails. If she leaves marks on you no one is gonna see it.

Since the dessert is being that good you grow hungry and need more, more of her, more of your girlfriend, so you lift her and put her over the tablet. Plates are made a side leaving enough space for her. Your next move is to pull her shirt and leave her torso naked. Rosé small but beautiful breasts make you salivate. Her tiny nipples are so hard right now that you think you could lose an eye if she stabs you with them, but that doesn't stop you from sucking them. Those small hard buds are worth the risk, and the way Rosé moans when your tongue hits one of them is a melody to you. 

She palm your erection over your pants while making a mess with your hair, and you do the same with her crotch. Your fingers run up to her silky leg, crossing for her thighs that are open specially for you, and ended reaching the center of her legs. You can feel your girlfriend’s arousal because her pajama is already sticky, which lets you also know that she isn’t wearing any underwear under the garment. But what was the point of wearing panties If she already knew they were gonna end up being a hindrance for what she planned. The only shame is that her cute pajamas will be stained with all of her juices, and of course you're working to make that happen.

While your mouth keeps the attention over her breast your fingers work extra time over Rosé’s clothed folds, making her whimper and moan over the table. She’s already a mess and you think you can make her come just by keeping doing what you´re doing, but she has different plans. Rosé lifts your shirt and you’re forced to take a step back and raise your arms to help her to undress you, but when the garment is gone and rests in the ground with her shirt you’re determined to come back to work between her legs. So you kill the distance between you two, but when your hand is reaching her thigh Rosé stops you. You don’t know what happens and look for a response, but when your eyes meet hers she’s staring at you with ice in her eyes.

“Babe what-” But you never get to ask the question because she pushes you back and gets off the table.

“Who made those?” Rosé points to some scratches in your chest, and you immediately know you're doomed. “I can’t believe it.” Her voice sounded cracked. “ You're cheating on me, again.”

“Babe, this is not what you think.” You try to reach her but she pushes you back. “I made this at work last night.”

“Do I look like a fool to you? There is no way you made those at work, those are nails marks.” Rosé suppressed a sob. “ Oh my god! You cheated on me with Lisa. That bitch always tries to mark what don´t belong to her.”

“Nooo, that’s not.” You try to deny all but honestly you aren’t doing a good job here. “Believe me when I say I made those marks at work.”

“Stop lying. Unless you cheat me with a man, that is impossible.” She takes a step back to put more distance with you. “ Can believe it. You said you would change.” She tries to suppress another sob and suddenly an idea crosses her mind. “If you wanna prove yourself, get your dick out.”

“What? How that gonna help?” You don’t want to but her stare is severe, she’s stabbing you with her eyes. You wish she would be doing it with her nipples instead. “Ok, fine.” You obey and let your parts fall followed by your boxers.

Rosé immediately falls into her knees in front of you and starts smelling your dick. Your shaft isn't hard because of the small fight but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing it with her fingers and putting it in her mouth. After a few bows of her head and lick your meat your girlfriend is in her feet again, and you don’t understand what is happening.

“That’s definitely Lisa’s smell and taste, is all over your filthy dick. You didn’t even took a shower after fucking that bitch.” She makes a disgusting face knowing that she just sucked Lisa’s pussy juices from your cock.. That’s why you came home earlier, because you where fucking her instead of working.”

“Ok, fine. I was with her last night. But you know what?” You were done pretending. “ I had a lot of fun, and not only fucked her pussy.”

“Idiot. I’m not enough for you anymore? After all I did for you?” Rosé is close to you but only to push your chest trying to vent her anger on you. OH my god! I’m so stupid.” She put a hand over her forehead.” Jennie told me this would happen again and I didn’t listen to her.”

“You didn’t let me touch you for weeks. I was horny and she was there for me. What did you expect me to do?”

“Talk to me, you fucking idiot. That is what a normal person would have done. But you had to run to her arms.And.. And…”

“And what?. Don’t act like you're better than me.” You are getting angry too.” Aren’t you forgetting to tell me why you know so well her pussy taste? Don’t you think I don’t know you cheated on me with her too?”

“How…” Suddenly all the anger disappeared from Rosé’s face. “That was just a few times, months ago, after I caught you with your dick inside of her.”

“But you still did it, and didn’t tell me anything.” Now Rosé is more concerned than angry. “ Wanna know how I know? Lisa has some videos of you eating her out. Yes, you're on your knees eating her holes like the bitch you’re.” You look for your phone and hand it to your girlfriend. “Look, you can tell that isn’t you.”

Rosé’s expression now is fully charged with disgust. In your phone is playing a video of her eating Lisa in an undetermined place, all you can hear are Lisa’s moans and praise to your girlfriend. You don’t need to see the video to know that on more than one occasion Rosé’s face is shown. 

“Ok, yeah, I did it. But that makes us even, you didn’t need to cheat on me again.” Her anger is coming back.

“Yes, I didn't need it. But I was horny and an occasional blowjob wasn’t helping anymore. I thought you were cheating on me.”

“Oh My god! Don't try to push this on me. This is your fault, you idiot just needed to wait just one more night. “ She clearly sees the confusion on your face because you don’t know what she's talking about. “ Wanna know why I wasn’t fucking you? It was because of this.” 

Instead of tell you something you see how Rosé pull her shorts down her legs and kick it away. You don’t what is happening but you see her turn back and, for your surprise, spread her butt. And there you find out what she was trying to show you, because there in middle of her ass crack you could see a gem. This is why I wasn´t fucking you, I was trying training to get your dick in my ass.” Rosé lets go her cheeks and now is looking at you again. “I was jealous because Lisas’s ass is so open that she can take anything. I just wanted to give you the same, so I keep it in secret to not ruin the surprise.”

“But  Babe.” You can´t believe you just ruined everything. ”You didn’t need to do it. I was happy fucking your tight butt, even when you just could take a few inches.”

“But I did it. And now I need to find someone else to enjoy my ass.”

You two look so stupid arguing in the middle of your apartment, totally naked, that this would be hilarious if it wasn't because Rosé is implying she’s breaking with you.

“Come on. How I was supposed to know? This is your fault too.”

“Don’t. I was making something for you and you just ruined it, as always.”

“Well you could help me a little too. Our relationship is fucked up because of you too. This breakfast is the first nice thing you did for me in months, and I’m tired too.” You finally get out of your pants to close the distance with Rosé. “Don’t act like this is all my fault.”

Your girlfriend, maybe still she’s your girlfriend, cross her arms and give you her back. “I’m not talking with you anymore. Please take your belongings and leave the apartment.” But far from doing what she said you take your chance and grab one of her sweet little cheeks. “Get your hands out of me!”

“Don’t act like you don't love me anymore.”  You notice how even with her protest Rosé doesn't do anything to take your hand off of her ass. “You cheated more times than me, so let's call this a draw and see if your little training gave fruits.” Your hand is still in her butt, so you move it to pass one of your fingers over her ass crack.

“Get off.” Rosé’s arms are still crossed but she moves quickly to put her hands on her mouth when you pull the toy in her butt just a little. Even when she tried, that moan was hard to hide. “Maybe we can make a deal.” You palm her ass and give her a little spank. “No more cheating. I need you to make a promise.” 

“Ok, I promise it. No more cheating, I’m not fucking Lisa or anyone; just you. But you have to promise it too.”

She swallows heavily before talking, maybe because your fingers are on the toy again. “Fine. No more cheating, just you and me.” Not even Rosé finished pronouncing those words when you pull the plug half out of her ass, which grants you a loud moan. “Stop playing and just fuck me.” Now the tone of her voice is so different, she’s needy. You’re needy too, more needy for her than ever. Even when you just unloaded your balls inside Lisas’s butt last night, now you need to do the same with your girlfriend.

Not losing time you handed Rosé to the tablet and bent her over. Her sweet little but round ass is shown to you in all of its glory. You can’t not compare Rosé’s small proportion with the fat ass you were smacking last night, obviously Lisa is bigger but there is something so special about the ass you have in front of you. The curves are so perfect, even when it is small you can resist Rosé's butt; it is just so attractive to you. 

“Hurry up, I still have to go to work.” Her words take you out of the trance you were admiring her ass. So you take one of her cheeks and spread it while your other hand is in the toy. With one single long but slow movement you take out the plug from Rosé’s butt. Her anus remains agape for a second before regaining its original form.  For this position you also can see how her lips are glistening again, how a few pearls of her juices are gathering in her folds. “You want me? Then spread that ass for me.” You guide her hands to her cheeks and she obediently spreads them. 

You know that now your girlfriend is more used to taking things up her butt, but you still don´t wanna be that rude so you get on your knees and press your face to her ass. Your tongue landed in her anus and immediately started playing over the wrinkled entrance. You put a lot of saliva there, making her ass slippery and shiny, making it ready to take your meat. With gentle pushes of your tongue Rosé’s anus allows you inside, but just a little, which tells you she was serious with her secret training. 

When Rosé’s ass is all shiny and covered in your saliva you  tease it with your middle finger and then with a gentle push your tip go inside your girlfriend. Never before has been that easy for you to put a finger in her ass, normally that took you a lot more work and preparation. So if she can take a finger so easily, maybe two is not too much too, and you're right because a second finger goes inside. This time you can feel her anus tensing and being stretched around your fingers, plus you can hear a lot more moans from Rosé’s pretty mouth. “Your ass is so open for me and I haven’t put my dick there yet.”

“So hurry up and put your fat cock inside my butt. I don’t have all day.” Rosé shakes her ass as a protest.

“If you are so desperate.” You take your finger from her entrance and put it in your mouth, tasting the delicious flavor of her insides for a brief time. Then you align your cock tip with her anus and press it against her. The intrusion of your shaft inside her butt is accompanied with a loud moan from Rosé. Almost half of your length goes inside your girlfriend without problems, much more than the usual but still not close from what Lisa can take. “Your ass is so loose now. But you know what? Lisa can take more.”

“Oh my god! Don’t mention that bitch now.” Rosé releases her cheeks and instead grabs the table with both hands. “Start moving, I can take all your stinky dick.” As if she were challenging you, your girlfriend moves her ass back to put a bit more of your cock inside of her. “Just fuck me.”

“Maybe next time we can use Lisa’s pussy juices ass lube for your ass.” With that provocation being said your hands find Rosé’s waist and without warning you take a few inches of your dick out of her ass, just to immediately began fucking her. With each thrust your cock enters a little further into Rosé's tight anus.

Rosé was about to protest but you clearly can see she's struggling with having her ass being fucked, so all she manages to do is moan and breath heavily. You feel how her wrinkled entrance stretches a little more as more of your penis enters her ass, still with all that training her tight anus is fighting to let you in. Rosé is a mess and even when you can't see you know her folds are all wet and shiny with her own slick. “Are you sure you can take me? You're still not stretched enough.” That was just a provocation to see how she reacts.

“Oh my god! I can!” Rosé says between moans. “Just go easy on me.”

“Weren't you telling me to hurry up?” With a long thrust you go the deeper you have ever been inside Rosé’s butt, just letting a few inches out. She’s moaning like crazy, holding the table so tight that her knuckles are turning white. You can see how a shiver runs through her spine but instead of complaining your girlfriend asks for more, and you push your cock further inside her ass.

When your pelvis finally reach her cheeks you can’t help but compare her little butt with the big and round ass you where fucking a fee hours ago. In fact Lisa’s is bigger, rounded, and softer than Rosé’s, but finally being able to fuck your girlfriend ass means something to you. She did this to you and you are paying her with the best anal sex of her life.  

You took Rosé’s leg and put it over the table, so now she’s more spread out for you. The new angle allows you to fuck her harder, with your pelvis hitting her butt in every thrust and making a clap sound. You wish she would be telling you hoe good are you fucking her tight ass, but all Rosé can do is moan and whimper while your meat goes as deep as you can inside her anus. 

She must be tired of supporting her weight in one leg, but you are not gonna let her go until you’re finished. After all she was the one who asked for you to fuck her ass, and you don’t want to waste all the prep she did. But her ass is still tight, not loose like Lisa, and that’s giving you a lot of pleasure.

Your pace is fast and you fuck Rosé’s little asshole without stop until you feel your balls are arching, demanding to let it go all of your cum, and you can’t hold it anymore. With your dick throbbing inside Rosé’s ass you unload your balls inside of her. The way she’s shaking tells you that probably she’s having her climax too, but you don’t care about that now. All you can think is to shoot until the last drop of your cum in your girlfriend rectum. 

When your balls are finally empty you slowly take your dick from Rosé’s butt, and when your tip gets off her she releases a loud moan in some way protesting because of the emptiness that her ass is feeling.

 Now you're so tired and your legs can hold you anymore, so you let yourself fall into the same chair you were sitting while eating breakfast, practically panting for all the effort you put into fucking your girlfriend asshole. Rosé for her part is still in the same position, holding the table and with a leg up; also panting. From where you are you can see how her anus is still closing, and how your cum is dripping from her insides coming all the way down through her pussy and legs. 

[nekrosmos]

Although Price isn't one for the dramatics or for excessive indulgence, even he has moments of weakness.

Sometimes, he just has a long, long week, spent between battlefields and war zones and black ops, escaping death and making the world a little cleaner while barely having a second to breathe. Sometimes he's longing for his love, who he knows is just as busy as he is, perhaps more, and is probably running shady deals in a country Price has never even been to before.

And sometimes he needs a drink to deal with all this. Or two. Or ten.

So what if Price ends up drunk in his flat, stupid songs from his teenage years echoing loudly as he sings the lyrics he still remembers while dancing, or stumbling, in his living room. He will regret this the next day when his head will feel like a crushed watermelon, but for now, he gets to wallow in how much he wishes Nikolai was here with him, drinking cheap beer and dancing by his side.

When Nik decided to cut his last travel short so he could come home and surprise John for the weekend, the last thing he expected to find was a drunk out of his mind John Price laying on the floor while "Rasputin" by Boney. M was playing on his speaker, singing loudly about "Russia's greatest love machine" and sobbing immediately after.

After taking a picture or two, in case he ever needs leverage one of these days, Nik helps his favorite captain, carrying him to the couch as he listens to Price blabbers in surprise, fingers gripping Nik's jacket for support. Nik smiles, lets a hand run through John's messy hair and kisses his forehead, apologizing for not being here sooner and offering to cook him a quick meal to sober up.

It takes all of Nik's strength to pull away from a very clingy John Price, his hands firmly gripping his clothes still, until finally he lets go, resuming his awful drunken singing while Nikolai looks at him with both endearment and a little bit of guilt. He should have been here sooner.

Next time, it will be by his side that John will get drunk, and it will be together that they will drunkly butcher songs while making the neighbors regret to ever moved in this apartment complex. That's a promise.

[er-osion]

♡ Valentine’s Day ♡

pairing: [separate] bruce wayne x gn!reader, dick grayson x gn!reader, jason todd x gn!reader, tim drake x gn!reader

summary: headcanons about how the batboys celebrate Valentine’s Day with you.

word count: 841

warnings: none, fluff

⋄∘∗⋅⋆≁≁⋆⋅∗∘⋄

Bruce Wanye

♥︎ Can’t really take the full day off so he spends every minute of his free time with you

♥︎ Is a big fan of bubble baths (believe it or not) and loves preparing a bubble bath for the two of you. He goes all out with it, rose petals in the water, tea candles all around, music playing softly in the background, scented candles out, sweet snacks prepared on a nice charcuterie board, all the stops.

♥︎ Also a big fan of massages. The two of you end up spending a good amount of time giving each other massages. He’s super good at it too, not too rough but hard enough to realse any tension you’re feeling.

♥︎ He’d probably get you one or two gifts, like a teddy bear and some piece of expensive jewlery

♥︎ If the week leading up to Valentine’s day had been really busy for him, he’d rent out a room at the local movie theater and take you out for a few screenings.

♥︎ If there’s time, he gives in and takes you out to a super fancy restaurant. He might complain about leaving the house for a little bit, but he absolutely loves seeing you get dressed up for the dinner, he thinks you look unfairly attractive in your finery.

Dick Grayson

♥︎ He does his best to take Valentine’s day off, or at least get off of patrol early if he can’t. He wants to spend as much time with you as possible on this day for love.

♥︎ He’s honestly down for whatever you want to do. Want to chill at your house? He’s already in his comfy clothes ready for some tv binging. Want to go out to a restaurant? He’s on the phone making reservations.

♥︎ I think he personally likes doing an activity with you, like going to a boardwalk or something. He wants the night to be memorable.

♥︎ Can go a little overboard with the cheesy gifts. Gets you a ton of flowers, to the point you almost run out of vases (I say almost because you learned your lesson years ago with him).

♥︎ He’s absolutely attached to your hip on Valentine’s day. It’s not that he’s not usually super lovey, but the holiday gives him an extra reason to be all over you

♥︎ Honestly, I feel like he’d originally have some involved (and sensual) evening planned for the two of you, but ends up conked out in your bed curling into your side with Hayley snuggling between the two of you, but you’re not complaining because it’s a sweet way to end Valentines day.

Jason Todd

♥︎ Jason cuts patrol short on Valentine’s day. He doesn’t care who he has to bribe to do it, and he’s always successful.

♥︎ Prefers spending Valentine's day inside, just an intimate day that no one can disrupt.

♥︎ Cooks the two of you an elaborate dinner, probably pasta, with a beautiful dessert to end it. He doesn’t make you help unless you want to, so long as you’re keeping him company in the kitchen, he’s happy

♥︎ It’s not that he’s unaffectionate the rest of the year, but sometimes he worries he isn’t clear enough about how much he loves and appreciates you. Thus, Valentine’s day gives him the excuse to be a little more cheesy than he’d normally be.

♥︎ One of his favorite things to do with you at home is to binge watch tv with a glass of wine, specifically reality tv shows.

♥︎ Gets you a decent bouquet of your favorite flowers, a box of chocolates, and a gift of some sort of trinket or article of clothing that you’d been wanting for a few weeks.

Tim Drake

♥︎ To be honest, I think with his absolutely packed schedule, Tim would forget about Valentine’s day.

♥︎ He feels absolutely awful when he realizes he’s forgotten but you’ve been together for a while now so you know not to take it personally.

♥︎ In anticipation of this situation, Tim spends the week leading up to Valentine’s day making small little romantic gestures in the spirit of the holiday. From taking you out to a nice restaurant, having flowers delivered to your workplace, or getting you little gifts, he does everything he can to give you Valentine’s day for an entire week.

♥︎ Even though he does all of this, he still ends up feeling immensely guilty about missing the actual holiday, so he takes the following weekend off so the two of you can go on a mini vacation.

♥︎ He lets you choose the vacation place and then he books a nice airbnb or luxury hotel and the two of you enjoy a nice but short getaway

♥︎ Tim personally doesn’t put all that much emphasis on Valentine’s day, but if the holiday is important to you, he does his best to make it special for you, to show you that he appreciates you and is attentive to your desires.

[shiningjustforreid]

maraschino

valentine’s day special 2025 <3 fem!reader + Spencer Reid <3

word count: 1.5k

a/n: short and sweet valentine’s day fic! enjoy :)

warnings/tags: i mean, this is fluff with mild angst. if you don’t like two people sickeningly in love, i guess this ain’t for you! no use of y/n because no, sorry. reader is a lil anxious and perfectionist bc she just loves Spencer so much! pet names up the wazoo, gentle love because that’s what we all need.

- ✩ -

February 14th approaches, almost sneaks up on you, as it always does after a festive December and bleary January. Somehow though, magically, the planets and stars align, and Spencer doesn’t have a case in some city a hundred miles away. Having spent half the afternoon cleaning the apartment, and hemming and hawing over what to make for dinner - you and Spencer never do anything very fancy, just staying home, and it’s eating at you what you’re going to eat for dinner - the decision is made, and pasta it is. Garlic toast, veggies, and then when you spot the jar of maraschino cherries in the back of the fridge, cherry pie.

Hair refreshed, a fresh powder blue sweater on, you pour pasta into boiling water, season veggies as they cook, mind distant. It’s been a while since Spencer has been home for a nice night, and you’ve made sure he knows he is so loved tonight. Because he is. Every night.

Then, the accident. You’re tired, you worked an early shift today and your nerves are shot, piles of tension stacking up quickly and pressure to make tonight simple and sweet and easy for him. It’s ten to six, the noodles are cooking, toast baking, and your face is flushed as crimson as the fruit in the jar you’re trying to unscrew. Pie dough already pressed into the silver plan, you’re twisting the lid with all you’ve got, then—

Catastrophe.

Split seconds later, when Spencer enters the apartment, key in the door, he might as well be at a crime scene. Shattered glass shards lay across the linoleum, cherries and bright, nearly blood-red juice has stained your hands and the counter and your favorite sweater and the floor and oh God it’s everywhere and now you have to mop again—

“Angel. Hey. Breathe.”

Meeting his eyes makes hot tears well up in your eye - oh, he had flowers, this thoughtful, perfect man - the pressure in your chest grows to almost the same level as that damn jar lid. Swallowing hard, you stare down again at the pieces littering the kitchen floor, the whole room smelling unbearably saccharine.

“The lid wouldn’t come off.”

You breathe, as he hurriedly discards his coat and toes off muddy Converse, gingerly stepping across the room to you, bundle of deep red carnations and roses finding their way to the counter. Soft concern is painted across his features, as he steps into your space. Cool hands come up to hold your rosy cheeks, and you close your eyes, the shame of it all almost too great to handle.

“I see that. Did any glass get on you?”

For a moment, you pause at the worry in his voice, analyzing if there’s pain anywhere except in your throat and lungs. You shake your head, meeting his eyes with your own almost frantic ones.

“Spence- I was supposed to- I was going to make us dinner and it was going to be perfect and then—“

He doesn’t interrupt, but smooths a thumb over your cheekbone, and you pause anyways. When you don’t continue, he sighs, gently.

“Sweetest girl. Can I help?”

You nod, hazily, thoughts still consumed with it’s just such a mess and how badly did I manage to screw this up?

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go change your sweater, get that juice off your face because I know you hate the feeling. I’m going to sweep this glass, and once it’s all gone, I’ll take the bread out of the oven, as it’s only got three minutes left and it will probably only take me two minutes and 34 seconds to clean this glass based on the area it’s covering and how long it typically takes to sweep a floor this size.”

You laugh a little through your tears - calculating the time it will take to resolve this issue is just so Spencer. Nodding, you manage a watery grin.

“Then, I’ll mop, while I let you finish the pasta, because I’m pretty sure you want it a specific way, and who am I to get in such way?”

Now you’re actually grinning, as he smooths a frazzled lock of hair out of your eyes.

“It will be like it never even happened.”

Relief, then. There’s something enticing about the idea of smoothing it all over, redoing and fixing and editing the scene. He presses chapped lips to your brow, then your nose, and then one easy kiss to your lips before he pulls back, hands tracing down your arms.

“Go change, lovely.”

So you do, finding a plum-toned top instead, and a fresh pair of jeans, and then you’re back out as he’s setting the hot metal tray on the stove top and the glass is gone. You eye the tin and pie crust, unbaked and pale, and swallow hard. Spencer follows your gaze, as he dumps the juice splattered glass into the trash.

“Pie was a good thought, to use with those cherries.”

You nod, all choked up again. Mostly pleasant silence fills the kitchen as he mops and busies himself with something as you finish the veggies and pasta, but he’s thinking - probably profiling you, come on - and so are you, almost foggily so. Dishing up portions with shaking hands, you head to the table, and a wretched little sound leaves your lips as you see the lit candle, the silverware set, and the waters he’s already put ice in and poured full. The just purchased bunch of flowers is in liquid and in your favorite vase. He frowns at your apparent distress, taking both plates and setting them down before turning to you, hands grabbing yours.

“Is it too much? It is Valentine’s Day, and you seemed so in your head, I just wanted it to be nice for you because you deserve nice things, angel, and I—“

Leaning up, you press your lips to his cheek, hands smoothing over the cotton of his sweater.

“It’s perfect, baby. Absolutely. I just wanted to do the same for you, and I couldn’t.”

His frown remains in place, as you both sit, watching as you practically sink into your chair.

“Couldn’t? Did you not think I would notice the cleaned apartment, and the wonderful food, and how stunning you look right now?”

Shrugging tight shoulders, you look away, fiddling with your fork, trying not to think about how in awe he sounds of you, even when you feel so blech.

“Did you not also notice the disaster I made of our kitchen, and my feeble attempt at dessert? Because that’s what I remember.”

“Hey. Look at me?”

Fork goes down, and your eyes come up, meeting his. Seeing nothing but love and adoration and care, you hold his gaze.

“You know- you could do that every night, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Spill a million jars of cherries, make a billion messes. It doesn’t matter to me, because I love you. Okay? My- well, my heart is yours. It doesn’t know how to be angry at something so minute as this.”

New tears, these ones dawning from the light glowing in your chest, start to spill. Nodding, you look down at your pasta, hands calmed in your lap.

“Pretty girl. Hey. Those better be happy tears.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and look up again.

“Yeah. They are. My heart’s yours too, by the way. In case you wondered.”

Now it’s his turn to have pinkened cheeks, as you both enjoy your dinner. Domestics fall into place as he washes the dishes and you dry, comfortable silence now, no more tense muscles on your part.

Before long, a record finds the player - Time Out of Mind - and you’re sort of dancing, mostly just leaning on his shoulder with your hands clasped, swaying slowly in your dim living room. He waits to speak until it makes it all the way to the ninth track.

“Can I ask what was up with all the pressure you had on yourself today?”

You don’t answer at first, listening to his heart, lashes against your skin, body relaxing.

“I guess- I guess I just wanted you to know. Know how much I want you to feel loved by me.”

Lithe fingers come to stroke through your hair, lips right by your ear. You ease into the comfort that you’ve come to associate with his touch.

“You were so on edge when I came home, lovely. Nothing is worth the look in your eyes when I entered the door, and you didn’t have time to be perfect for me.”

There it is. Nail on the head.

“You deserve perfect.”

You protest, voice creaking a bit with more unshed water.

“Mm, as much as it pains me, I’m going to have to disagree. I would like to deserve a quarter of your beauty, someday. If I’m lucky. I’m already incredibly lucky just to be allowed to stand in your presence.”

Absurd man. You shake your head, his gentle teasing intermixed with steady assurance enough to calm your pulse.

“Love you, Spence.”

His breath soothes over your skin as his lips rest against your hairline.

“Love you too, sweetest girl. Nothing is going to ever change that.”

[omorithedreamermod]

FEBRUARY DEVLOG - 1

The third DEVLOG has arrived...this time spelled correctly! Lots of progress has been made since the last update!

IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

So, about saves! I don't know if people noticed the edited DEVLOG from last time, but...it seems that you WILL be able to use your demo saves for the prelude! Testing looks good so far, so hoping it stays this way. Thank goodness, because now all those watermelons you collected in HEADSPACE won't be for nothing! Why is that...? Well! Hehe...

PROGRESS:

Remember how last time I said majority of maps were completed? That was incorrect. NOW the majority are done and only a couple are left. I've made so many maps this week. Thumbs up (fades into dust)

NPCs got cooked up. Basically all are complete, unless a couple more are needed, but for now, basically a done task. Some character sprite art needs to be made still, but not a lot!

All battle art is complete, including enemies, and portraits. They have also been programmed in, so they are fully functional, and battles are a done task! Wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, thankfully! Battlebacks still need to be made, but those are relatively quick.

OST...I said last time it was near complete. I was wrong. NOW it's near complete. At the moment, there are currently 44 tracks for the full dreamer prelude (including the demo tracks!). There's still a couple more to be made, but definitely mostly done ^^ It's going to be a LONG compilation video!

Writing was on the back-burner while I was focusing on creating assets. That doesn't mean there wasn't progress! Still, from this point on, writing and programming will be a main focus now that majority of assets are complete.

Portraits are not all complete. SUNNY needs more hospital portraits, and BASIL also needs new real world portraits! Those will take a bit...

Currently, all the mirror locations still need to be done, which means completing the battle-backs first. There is also a new title screen art that needs to be done. Along with that...a major, drawn cutscene, and another rougher cutscene...and maybe another short one, as well as art for the credits. A lot of art to do...

NOTES:

March is looking bright! Very bright! One part of the panic now comes from hoping I can program and write everything in a speedy manner, including NPC dialogue and miscellaneous stuff. Once again, a ton of the content is optional. But, like the DEMO, you are rewarded for you investment ^^ There's also a lot of secrets, so, good luck! Badges will be even more fun this time around!

Everyone really stepped up with the NPCs and I am very thankful for the sprite teams help! The OST is also coming along so well thanks to everyone. I've also appreciated the people who have taken the time to answer questions about programming and such that I have!

Still, the biggest point of stress is that I'm doing all the art, and I don't know how quickly I can do these cutscenes. One of them is very important to look clean and beautiful, and I have to do my best to stay very on style, which isn't as easy in cutscenes as it is with portraits. Along with that, real world portraits take longer than, say, STRANGER, who is monochrome. DREAMER was pretty time consuming, but I'm not as solid on real world portrait style yet. I'll figure it out, hopefully...

I'm also concerned once again about the trailer, and making art ahead of time for it for future events. I think it'll be okay, though? I usually pull through! And if need be, I can simplify the trailer a little.

CONCLUSION:

Currently, (along with completing the remaining assets) the goal is for me to complete all the writing/programming to start playtesting before March 1st, which means the PRELUDE will be completed and playable before March. This will NOT include the final art, such as cutscenes, and trailer art that aren't required for progression. So, while playtesting is happening, I will hopefully step back and really get all that art done so the mid-March release is possible!

There's still so much to do, but so much has been done, and I'm very proud of how things are going-to the point I even find the DEMO very lacking compared to the full PRELUDE! Please look forward to the coming release, and the next DEVLOG!

[magnagaruzenmon]

Valentine’s day

A quick break from our usual posting. Shout out to @smuttysabina for this idea. Love em to death though

You get home from another busy day—hours of spreadsheet drudgery, mind-numbing meetings, and traffic that tested every ounce of your patience. Your body aches for the sweet embrace of your couch, maybe some takeout, and a mindless scroll through your phone. But as you step inside, you’re immediately greeted by an unfamiliar scent—roses.

You pause, frowning. You’re not really a floral person, and you’re certain you didn’t leave anything like that here. Your eyes scan the apartment, and that’s when you notice them—delicate rose petals, scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs leading you somewhere.

Okay, weird. But you’re too tired to question it. You kneel down, picking up a few petals as you follow the unexpected trail down the hall. The path leads straight to your room.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with an even stranger sight.

Hyoon—your long-time friend, gaming rival, and occasional chaos-bringer—is sprawled across your bed, deeply engrossed in a fighting game. She’s decked out in a casual but killer Mai Shiranui cosplay, complete with the iconic red and white outfit, though she’s opted for comfortable shorts instead of the full getup. Her fingers move with practiced precision over the controller, her eyes locked onto the screen, entirely in the zone.

You stand there, utterly perplexed, still not connecting the dots.

Sensing your presence, Hyoon blinks, snapping out of her trance. She quickly turns toward you, and then—as if suddenly remembering something—shifts into what you assume is supposed to be a seductive pose. One leg bent, head tilted, lips slightly parted.

The effect is… lost on you.

“Hey, Hyoon. What are you doing here? I thought you had a super cool Valentine,” you say, leaning against the doorframe.

She stares at you, her expression unreadable for a moment, before letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Why are you so dumb?” she mutters under her breath before sitting up, crossing her arms. “You are my super cool Valentine!”

Silence. Your brain short-circuits for a beat.

You step back, leaving the room, closing the door behind you.

A moment passes. Then you open it again.

“I’m making dinner. You want some?”

Hyoon lets out a laugh, shaking her head before grinning at you. “Yeah, sure.”

You move to the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves as you start pulling out ingredients from the fridge. Nothing fancy—just something quick and comforting. A stir-fry, maybe. You toss some oil into the pan, letting it heat up as you begin chopping vegetables with practiced ease.

Behind you, Hyoon hops onto the counter, swinging her legs as she watches you cook. She’s still wearing that Mai outfit, but now she’s ditched the attempt at seduction and settled into her usual self—casual, teasing, and just a little chaotic.

“So,” she starts, her voice light but probing. “Why didn’t you know?”

You pause, glancing at her. “Know what?”

Hyoon gives you a deadpan stare. “That I liked you, dumbass.”

Your hands freeze mid-chop. The sound of sizzling oil suddenly feels way too loud in the silence that follows.

“…I dunno,” you admit after a beat, resuming your cutting just to have something to do with your hands. “You never said anything.”

Hyoon groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “I have said things. So many things! I even wore this stupid cosplay today because I thought you’d get the hint!” She gestures at herself, then huffs. “Do you know how many times I’ve hinted at it?”

You think back. Hyoon has always been close to you—always teasing, always finding ways to stick around. The playful nudges, the way she always made sure to sit next to you during hangouts, the way she lingered when everyone else left. The way she looked at you sometimes, like you were the only one in the room.

You swallow, flipping the vegetables in the pan. “…I thought you were just like that with everyone.”

Hyoon blinks at you, then slowly, so slowly, drags a hand down her face. “Oh my god.”

You smirk, stirring the food. “Hey, in my defense, you do flirt with, like, everyone.”

“Yeah, but I flirt with you the most,” she mutters, crossing her arms. “I don’t do all this for just anyone, you know.”

Something warm flickers in your chest, unexpected but not unwelcome. You glance at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “So… how long?”

Hyoon meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no teasing in her expression. Just something soft, something real. “…A while.”

The weight of that lingers between you as you plate the food. You slide a dish over to her, and she takes it with a quiet ‘thanks,’ eyes briefly flicking to you before she digs in.

You sit beside her, eating in comfortable silence. The air between you has shifted, subtle but undeniable.

Maybe you’ve been a little dumb.

After Dinner is finished Hyoon and you lay on your couch as a dumb youtube video plays.

“Okay I want desert now,” Hyoon says as she forces open your pants before taking your cock in her mouth. You moan as her lips wrap around your cock. Hyoon looks up at you with a wild and happy smile as she takes you in and out of her mouth.

“Fuck you taste so good,” she says as she wraps her tongue around your cock. You moan and Hyoon replies, “yeah moan like a little slut for me baby,” you get lost in her as she continues to suck you off.

Her cheeks hollow as sucks your cock with an intense look before she says, “I should completely ruin this orgasm for you,” you groan begging her not to, and she smiles before going back to sucking you off. As she does she tightens her throat around you at a vicious pace before you explode in her throat. Hyoon looks up and smiles at you before saying “Good Boy,”

[mouserthefirst]

HELLO DARLINGS i'm back after god knows how long for a very late valentine's day fic for you!!! it's currently almost 12 a.m. for me but WHATEVER anyway i hope you enjoy this, i was literally screaming while i wrote it teehehe (also this is my gift to you in apology for the evilness i'm cooking up rn this is as sweet as you get for a while /j)

word count: 1.5k unedited 🤍

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Caitlyn Kiramman prided herself on being observant – she was the Sheriff, after all, and even her punch first think later cop instincts had yet to wash out her detective roots. Separating work from life was something foreign to Caitlyn; her work was her life and her life was her work except for the few things close to her, a list that some people would find miserably short:

1. Violet          2. Violet’s scrappy cat Ripper 3. Violet.

She was of the opinion that those things were all she really needed in life. She liked keeping her life as simple as possible; it made it easier to keep an eye on things. One person can only notice so much, even if that person is the Sheriff of Piltover.

It makes sense, therefore, that Caitlyn is currently at her limit. There is simply too much work to go around – no one has been particularly difficult in either Piltover or Zaun, and yet the reports are piling up and Cait finds herself fretting over even the mere idea of tackling the small mountain on her desk. Still, she wasn’t made Sheriff for nothing, so she cracks down on it as hard as she is able.

It’s the long days and nights spent at the station that Caitlyn blames for the fact that she hasn’t noticed a significant lack of Violet – no more fresh tea when she comes home, no warm grey eyes and rough hands with bruises that are tattooed into worn knuckles at this point. She dismisses it at first; Vi is just as stressed with work as Caitlyn is, perhaps more so with her hands-on role on the streets, roughing up whoever doesn’t listen to the Sheriff. Still, she misses it and cannot help but wonder if it’s something she’s done. Perhaps she forgot Violet’s birthday or a date they had planned or-

But no, when Caitlyn hurriedly flips through her planner in between interviews with a new batch of prisoners, there is no such forgotten event anywhere near the date. Just Valentine’s Day the next day, which Violet has never expressed an interest in. Perhaps Zaun doesn’t even have a Valentine’s Day; Caitlyn never thought to ask.

Regardless, she feels rather rotten for being relieved that she has no obligations with Vi. She loves her, of course, more than life itself, but there is just so much to do and so little time…

Still, when she arrives back home that night with a hopeful smile and three of the largest containers Jericho had available, Caitlyn is horribly disappointed to find a note in Vi’s rough-and-tumble handwriting saying simply,

Still out, be back by 10:00      - Vi

After Caitlyn has changed into a lacy, silky purple nightdress, she curls up on the couch and stares at the fire, trying to remember the last time they went out together. Surely it wasn’t that long ago; Caitlyn prides herself on being someone who does not let her relationships fall to the side (ignoring the majority of said relationships). She digs contemplatively into one of the takeout containers, sloppily filled with something Caitlyn would prefer to go unnamed. There was that time Violet brought them to a flower market she had thought Cait would like; and the time Violet brought her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant. That had been several months ago, before Caitlyn and then Vi had been swamped by work. Still, no matter how hard she tries, Cait can’t remember the last time she brought Vi somewhere.

How could she have forgotten such a thing? She prides herself on being observant, on never forgetting a thing, and yet something so important as Violet absolutely slipped her mind.

Caitlyn jabs her fork conspiratorially at her food. It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and whether it’s a Zaunite holiday or not, Violet would appreciate it, she knows. Cait grins. If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s making plans.

♡

When Vi walks back home, it’s dark. It took her ages to get back to the station and even longer than usual to peel off her uniform and get back to Caitlyn’s penthouse. Vi knows Enforcer blues are better accepted in Piltover, maybe even liked, but she still doesn’t like strutting around in them. Makes her feel sort of like she doesn’t deserve them either way.

She gets back later than anticipated; when Vi ran back to the penthouse for lunch, she left a note for Cait that turns out being three hours off on her return time, give or take a few minutes. Vi’s not entirely sure Caitlyn is even home yet – after all, she could still be at the station, lording over her little flock of rookie recruits and sifting through paperwork for something meaningful.

Vi doesn’t like to begrudge her girlfriend of anything, but there’s something distinctly tired about them now. Vi’s been trying, but every day she has to put on her gauntlets means another day she has to focus on criminals rather than the one person who never treated her like one.

She slips as quietly as she can into the penthouse and locks the door, knowing Caitlyn is probably asleep. She always has atrociously early bedtimes, Vi thinks fondly.

Vi creeps up to their shared room and sets aside her bag, knowing Cait would probably shout at her for not putting it away. She’s too tired, so she merely tugs off her boots, jacket, and shirt and slips into bed beside Caitlyn’s immobile form.

She settles her arm around Caitlyn’s waist and wonders selfishly for a moment if she went to bed missing her. What kind of stupid question is that? Caitlyn’s said multiple times, made a point out of it, even, that the Kirammans aren’t sentimental people. But Vi isn’t a Kiramman, not yet and maybe not ever, fully, at least. And she’s nothing if not sentimental; sentimental like a sinking ship, she always said.

♡

Caitlyn spends the next day full of nervous anticipation. She’s excited in a way she hasn’t been in quite some time; it seems that she needed an excuse to spend time with Vi in more ways than one.

She knows Vi would insist that she needs no excuse; they are dating, after all. The way she says that kind of thing so easily makes Caitlyn’s stomach get all fluttery, always said in the same warm, proud tone as when she calls Cait her girl. Even now as she sits in her obnoxiously opulent office, she feels like a little girl with her cheeks flushed and her heart close to bursting out of her chest.

But duty calls, and today Caitlyn’s duty is to make Violet’s Valentine’s Day her most special yet. She places calls and walks to stores in between her shifts, and soon she’s booked a fancy restaurant (rather self-indulgent since Vi couldn’t care less about propriety and second salad forks), placed an order for a towering stack of gifts to arrive after they return to the penthouse, and of course purchased a large box of premium Zaunite chocolate. Caitlyn considers her job fairly well done.

She manages to get Vi to walk home with her at the end of the day. Violet seems unusually smiley and nervous, but that might be the twisting in Caitlyn’s own stomach. She twists her hands together and tucks them behind her back. “So, how was Zaun today?”

“Good,” Vi says. “Good. Very, um…yeah. Good.”

“Did you catch the criminal?” Caitlyn asks, attempting to make a joke but just succeeding in sounding horribly nervous.

Still, Vi has the decency to laugh. “Not yet, but we will.”

“Well, I suppose I will have to take your word for that,” Caitlyn says, a little lighter this time.

They stay quiet the rest of the way, though it’s not uncomfortable. Silence never is with Violet; Caitlyn is willing to bet that it’s a struggle for the girl to make anyone ill at ease – unless she’s waving her fists at them, that is.

They get back to the penthouse and Violet shifts away to put away her coat; Cait pulls out her neatly wrapped box of chocolate and sidles over.

When Caitlyn works up the nerve to go over (there’s really nothing to be worried about, Kiramman, she’s your girlfriend already, what is she going to say, no? Well, quite possibly), she finds Vi blushing furiously with a messy little bouquet clenched in one fist.

“Um,” says Vi. “I know today is a Piltie holiday, so I…” She gestures with the bouquet. “Will you be my valentine, cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s heart seems to melt out of her chest. “Yes, I – yes, Violet.”

Vi grins. “Good. That would be really awkward. I’m sorry, I planned for this to go a lot smoother – ”

“It’s all right,” says Caitlyn. “And I was going to ask you, as well, actually.”

She laughs. “Beat you to the punch, huh? Well, here – sorry they’re a bit sweaty.”

They are, but Caitlyn can’t find it in herself to mind. She doesn’t mind anything that night; all she can focus on is Violet’s luminous grin and stupid jokes and ridiculous hair. That’s all that ever matters, and Caitlyn was a fool to forget it. But she swears to Vi that she’ll never forget it again, and she means it more than she has ever meant anything in her life.

[doiliedaze]

My Valentine

Warnings: just sweet love

Genre: fluff

A/n: I wanted to just write something cute for the holiday and I miss my wife I haven’t wrote for her in so long😭 and I have so many cool fics planned, I’m gonna try to release them before my birthday!!

───────┈ · ·

Growing up in Zaun love wasn’t something achievable whether it be familiar or romantic, everyone was out to use everyone. You thought this until you met her.

You quite literally fell for Sevika as you were a waitress at The Last Drop. Some jackass tripped you because he was losing and you and the drinks you were carrying covered her. She would’ve been pissed immediately if she was enchanted by you.

Instead she channeled her energy into making sure we’re okay and beating that guys ass.

Sevika can be awkward when she has a crush since her last girlfriend was in the first grade.

So when she finally approached with her feelings after the two of you spent the last eight months getting to know each other she was pleased to find you felt the same. As if you could feel otherwise!

Sevika is someone you care for dearly and you know she hasn’t experience much affection so with Valentine’s Day being today you decide to surprise her!

You went through the whole nine yards. You got the ballons, her favorite chocolates (you maybe stole from piltover), you crocheted a teddy bear and you bought her a switch blade she’s been talking about. The basket was red and you filled it to the brim with some miscellaneous stuff as well like little hearts.

Sneakily you hauled ass to Sevika’s apartment to surprise her in the morning. Cooking is one of your strong suits and you wanted to give her breakfast in bed. Only problem Sevika was awake and was wrapping a box.

The two of you froze and stared at each other and you swiftly placed the basket behind your back.

“What’s that?” Sevika ask as she walks towards you, “nothing Sev, omg how did I get here? Am I sleepwalking? So glad it’s to your place and not somewhere horrible!” You ramble as you back up.

“Cute, now lemme see.” She outstretches her hand and curls two fingers in a come-hither motion.

This lead to Sevika chasing you across the apartment because she always spoils your surprises!

“Let me surprise you damn!”

“I just want to see it, a little peek!” Sevika argues as she moves the couch to get to you.

By the time the two of you are done it’s 11 am and you are in your respective corners.

Silence fell over the room till she said, “y’know I love you right?”

“I love you too” you whisper with a smile mirroring hers.

As exhaustive as the day has been…even though it just started you’d never trade it for anything else.

───────┈ · ·

A/n: i just wanted to write something short and sweet for the day; happy valentines dolls!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

Dividers- @dollywons

[wreckedandpolemic]

spilling amaretto - george daniel

(mdni) in which you and george make good use of an empty bar after closing time (or, the bartender!george au). 5375 words.

warnings: daddy kink (i'm sorry), public sex, praise, degradation, spanking, oral (f receiving), brief mentions of body insecurity, gratuitously slutty matty cameo

The expression the night shift makes for strange bedfellows had never been one you’d much considered until now, with George’s body warming the sheets as you stir awake. You couldn’t pinpoint when the tension between you had begun, but you know the sequence of events that had pulled you into his bed tonight. It had started in the walk-in fridge, ironically in the least sexy way possible.

You crumple to the floor, shivering in the chill and covering your eyes, silent sobs wracking your body. Just as you stand, your deadline on self-pity drying up, the door bangs open. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way, I—” Your words die in your throat as you look up at George, his frame towering in the doorway.

“You alright, sweets? What’s wrong?” He’s watching you, concern written across his face.

You sigh. “Nothing.” You move to push past him, but he stops you with a carefully placed hand, heat prickling under your skin at his touch. George fixes you with a look. “Been doing three people’s jobs fucking thanklessly all day. Tony’s up my arse, as per. Woman on seventeen shouting at me because I brought her the drink she fucking ordered and she didn’t read the pissing menu. Had a shit day yesterday, I’m on the fucking close today. I dunno, s’all just shit.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, a humiliated flush creeping up your cheeks as tears brim on your lashes.

“C’mere, sweets, s’gonna be fine. C’mon, I’ve got you,” George murmurs, folding you into his arms. You melt against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat soothing. His hand comes up stroke along your back, tracing delicate patterns over your spine. “There you are, pretty girl.” Embarrassingly, your heart jumps. “I’ll take the close, yeah? Or at least get him to put me on it as well.”

You shake your head, mortified. “No, don’t. M’being a baby. It’s not that big a deal.” Wiping your eyes, you sniff and try to suck it up, dragging your feet as you start to head back to the neglected bar.

“If you’re this upset, it’s a big deal, love. I don’t mind taking it, I’m serious. Could use the extra couple of quid, honestly.” George smiles earnestly down at you, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you return it thinly. “See, I got you, promise.” Slightly less shaken, you follow George back to the bar, slipping back into customer service mode with a falsely cheerful Hiya, sorry for the wait. How can I help?

George flags down your manager and essentially strongarms him into sharing the close with you, cheerfully taking over the till as you weave past him with a tray of drinks. The second you emerge from the glasswash, you hear the sound of snapping fingers behind your head, and you clench your teeth.

You turn as slowly as possible, nails biting into your palms to keep calm. “Giz a Stella, would you, beautiful?” the customer leers through genuinely about three teeth, and you shudder.

“There’s a queue,” you say flatly, and he frowns.

“Oh, smile for me, sweetheart,” he says, not even pretending to hide the way he’s addressing your chest. “Come on, you’re a pretty girl, it’s a beautiful day, you gotta giz a smile,” he smirks, sleazy and unsettling.

Thankfully, George steps up behind you, resting a hand protectively on your shoulder. “Don’t speak to her like that, mate.” His tone is firm, perfectly polite and yet undercut with a threat that you know he can back up.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” he sneers, leaning close enough that you can smell alcohol sharp and acrid on his breath. “Like an older man, do you, pretty?”

You just stare, stunned into silence, until George slams his hand down on the bar and you jump. “Get out,” he orders, low and furious. “Get the fuck out of my bar before I haul your sorry arse out myself.” He’s deadly quiet, angry in a way you’ve rarely seen him, and the guy seems to sense that he’s serious; he flees with his tail between his legs and you snort.

“Thanks,” you mutter, a little shaken.

“Of course. You okay? D’you need a minute?” You smile up at him, nervously tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear and turning to pour a pint.

“Nah, I’m alright. S’long as I’ve got you to rescue me,” you grin, eyes focused on the glass in your hand as you flush red.

George slides his hand down to your hip, squeezing gently, and heat flares between your thighs. “Always.”

Service slowly winds down, until finally, blissfully, the last customer clears off. You throw up two fingers at their back, mouthing good fuckin’ riddance, and George shakes his head with a laugh. “You feelin’ better?” he asks, leaning across you to reach for the glasses stacked on the bar in front of you.

The heat of his body warms you through, the scent of his cologne dizzying as it envelops you. “Y-yeah,” you say, desperately trying to calm your racing heart. “Thanks.”

“Good,” George grins, placing a hand on your waist and gently nudging you to the side. You turn, pinned between him and the bar as you look up into his smirking face. Your heart hammers, a needy, trembling thing, and he leans close. “You’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that, you know?”

He’s so close you can feel his breath against your lips, so close you could memorise every square inch of his face, so close your chest is constricting. You lean away before you do something stupid, huffing a quiet laugh. “Fuck off.” You flush, grateful for the bar’s dim lighting.

“Am I interrupting something?” Matty’s teasing voice startles you out of your trance, and you scowl playfully at him.

“Yes, actually,” you retort. “Don’t you have cutlery to polish, or something?”

Matty laughs, the sound low and rich, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Everyone’s done closing except you unlucky fuckers. Just came for a pint.” You roll your eyes, watching him critically as you start him a Guinness. His chef jacket is stained, hanging  unbuttoned off his shoulders, the tank top underneath sweaty and tight to the contours of his body. You bite your lip a little, his frame undeniably attractive as he steps outside and lights a cigarette.

“G, d’you want something to drink before I close the taps?” you call, pouring yourself a cider as Matty wanders back in. You can’t help but watch the muscles in his throat as he swallows, the way his thumb brushes across his plush lips when he wipes his mouth.

Matty smirks back at you like he can read your thoughts and leans close. “Anytime, darling,” he murmurs, sudden warmth flooding your body. “Either of us. Or both, if that’s what you want.” You can’t help but imagine it, the heat pooling in your belly suddenly too much to bear.

“Nah, I’m alright, sweets. Thank you, though,” George says, emerging from the back. He huffs a disbelieving laugh at the sight of you and Matty, seemingly sensing the tension in the air between you. “Mate, are you ever not thinking with your dick?”

“Just makin’ sure she keeps her options open,”  Matty says, downing the rest of his drink and standing. “You two have a good night.” He pats your ass and strolls off, humming cheerfully as he goes.

George huffs, folding his arms and staring in the direction Matty left from. “I can’t believe him. Sorry, sweets. He’s full of shit.”

You can barely believe the words that fall from your lips, but they’re out there before you can think them through. “Is he? Or is that true?” you ask, fixing George with your best innocent eyes. “Have you ever shared a girl?”

You’re breathless, the room suddenly far too small for the swell of tension pulling between you. “A couple times,” George says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Why? Is that something you want, sweets?”

Thoughts race through your head so fast you’re set spinning, a coin set on its edge. Flashes of fantasies fill your vision, of plush lips and greedy hands and tattooed skin and sharp teeth; of three bodies, of slick sweat and slicker thighs, of bending over and being filled everywhere at once, of gentle praise and taking it like a good girl. You’re sure George can read your thoughts on your face, but you answer anyway. “Maybe. Maybe I want you all to myself, first.”

His grin is wicked, promising as he leans close, pinning you against the bar and speaking against your lips. “I’m right here, sweets.”

Your bravado collapses.

“I’m gonna go and do a restock,” you mutter, looking everywhere but his eyes. Thankfully, George relents, lets you slip out from under him and dart off to the cellar, but you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you go.

Heat flushes your body even in the cool of the cellar, the memory of George’s touch ghosting over your skin, his searching gaze, the promise of something unnameable hanging in the air between you. You lull yourself back into calmness with the rhythmic rattle of bottles as you pack them away, carefully hefting a full crate and lugging it up the steps. George rushes over as you kick the door open, easily lifting the crate from your hands. “Should’ve come and got me, love,” he chides, and you scoff, pouring yourself a rum and coke just to have something to do with your hands.

“I can do it myself just fine,” you say, even as you shamelessly ogle the muscles in his arms, biting on your straw to keep your thoughts inside.

“Trust me, sweets, I know exactly how capable you are. I’m just trying to be a gentleman, take care of you like a lady,” he adds, tossing you a smirk that drips down your spine, the words catching in your throat and bleeding into your lungs.

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you paste on a grin. “You’re so full of shit. Nobody who works here is a gentleman. Or a fucking lady.”

George shrugs. “Maybe not. Does that mean you don’t want me taking care of you, sweets?” There’s no mistaking his meaning, the slick, hot undercurrent of his voice. Your thighs clench involuntarily.

You knock back the rest of your drink for courage before you answer. If you pussy out again, you’re going to lose your nerve completely. “And what if I do?”

There’s a sharp exhale, then George crosses the bar in three long strides, crowding you against it but hovering just out of your reach. “Then I’d say be careful what you wish for, pretty girl. You sure you wanna get mixed up with me?” He grins wolfishly, and you shudder, arousal pooling in your belly. You nod, heartbeat thumping in your throat. “Last chance, darling.”

The epithet sends a burst of heat between your legs, and you bite down on a whine. “Shut up and kiss me,” you groan, stretching up to sling your arms around his neck. Finally, gloriously, he does.

The kiss is explosive, hungry, an outpouring of pent-up energy and desire. George’s big hands cup your face, fingers rough as he slides them up into your hair, unpinning the clip and letting it tumble loose over your shoulders. His tongue meets your lips and you part them eagerly, letting him lick frenzied into your mouth. You make out until you’re dizzy from lack of oxygen, pulling back to gaze up at George dreamily. “You,” he groans, kissing you so softly it would almost be chaste if your lips weren’t still dripping with his spit. “Have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.”

You giggle as his lips find your jaw, fingers gently sweeping your hair off your neck and trailing down kisses. “I think I have an idea.” You push his head away so you can look in his eyes, wide and liquid and luminous. “But why don’t you tell me anyways?” you add, grinning slightly.

“Wanted you from the first second I saw you, sweets,” George promises, kissing over the hollow of your throat. “Mmm, up you get, c’mon, love,” he says, tapping your thigh until you jump up and lock your legs around his waist. Sweet, blunt pain blossoms from where his fingers dig into your thighs as he carries you across the floor and deposits you on the other side of the bar. “First fucking second you walked in here, dolled up all pretty in that little white skirt, all ready for this place to ruin you, fuck. Should be fuckin’ locked up for the things I thought about you,” he groans, kissing softly over your jaw.

Tipping your head back, you moan softly as George nips at your neck. “What’d you think about?” you ask, sliding your hands under his shirt and mapping the vast, smooth expanse of his back with your fingertips.

George’s hand comes down to your chest, squeezing your tit before he pops a button on your uniform shirt. “Could see those little black panties through your skirt. Wanted to— mmm— get on my knees for you, pull ‘em off with my teeth, get my mouth on you.” He breaks up his words with slow, indulgent kisses, heat curling in your belly as you wrap your legs around him. “Got myself off so many fuckin’ times thinking about you. How you’d taste, what you’d look like under me, whether you’d be a good girl or a little brat.” George pinches your nipple through your shirt and you gasp into his mouth, arching your back and letting him loose your last button.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your tits, and you flush crimson when you realise you’re clad in your most unflattering underwear. “Sorry, I didn’t— I wasn’t expecting— If I’d known—” George’s rough fingers tug down the cups of your bra, bending his head to press featherlight kisses over your tits.

“Don’t fucking apologise, are you mad? Been dreaming about these pretty tits of yours for months, sweets. Gonna worship them properly when I get you in a bed, promise.” George bites at your tits, blunt pain spreading from the points his teeth graze your skin and falling to your cunt. Your back arches when he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking softly and pulling a moan from your lips. “Shit, y’so pretty, baby. You want me to go down on you?”

Your cunt clenches, desire pulsing dizzily through you. “Here?” you gasp out, the last vestiges of your rational brain clinging to control.

George laughs. “Why not? Everyone’s gone home. S’just you and me, sweets. Can scream as loud as you want for me, yeah?”

Clumsily, you wriggle out of your jeans and let them crumple to the floor under you, watching his eyes blow wide at the sight of you in just your work shirt and underwear. “Better make me scream, then. Do your worst, Daddy.”

He chokes, eyes glinting with steel. You glance down to see his cock straining against the confines of his jeans, your mouth watering and head spinning at how fucking hard he is. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweets,” George says, low voice stirring a thrill in your belly.

You throw him a challenging smirk. “Shouldn’t you be finishing me?” you tease. His hands creep down to your waist, your body trembling at his touch as he slides your panties down your legs. The sight of them crumpled on top of the bar is flusteringly obscene, your cunt pulsing as George drops to his knees.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, kissing at the insides of your thighs as you squirm.

“Stop staring at me,” you complain, pressing a hand to the back of George’s head to urge him closer.

“Can’t help it, sweets. You’re a fuckin’ masterpiece. This cunt is so pretty, ‘n I bet she tastes so sweet, too,” he says, in that slow, implacable drawl of his. The seconds between you stretch, pulled like taffy, the eagerness in your limbs almost vibrating.

Finally, gloriously, George leans in, licking a broad, flat stripe along your cunt, moaning as the taste of you hits his tongue. You cry out, legs kicking helplessly in the air. “Oh, my God,” you moan, heat pulsing in your core when George kisses your clit and sucks it into his mouth. “George, please,” you whine, white-knuckling the wooden bar-top as he licks at you with fervour.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “Taste so fucking sweet. Want Daddy to make you cum, baby?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, mouthing over you as your back arches to press your hips against his mouth. Liquid heat pours down your spine, hot and sugary as it drips over George’s lips.

Calloused fingers brush along your inner thighs, creeping higher and higher until you’re full so fast you’re choking. “Oh, fuck, yes!” you cry, euphoria twisting through your bloodstream as George sets a punishing rhythm, your head hazy as the rest of the room fades from your consciousness.

George licks at you starvingly, one big hand digging into your thigh while the other fills you ruthlessly, waves of hot, sweet pleasure cascading over you. Your cunt throbs wildly around his fingers, thighs clamped around his head like a vice as he moans against you. “So pretty, sweets. You ready to cum for Daddy, hm?” The vibration of his words as they ripple through you have you melting, pure bliss splattering on your ribcage and dripping down your insides. 

He curls his fingers just so, a pulse of wild, frenzied ecstasy knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your cunt throbs around his fingers, pleasure humming in every corner of your body as you cum against George’s tongue. “Shit, Daddy, m’cumming, fuck! Oh, fuck, I can’t— fuck,” you whine, chest heaving as arousal floods out against his tongue and drips down his fingers.

Grinning wickedly, George lifts his head, sucking his wet fingers into his mouth deliberately slow and teasing. He stands, catching your lips in a hungry kiss, the taste of you smearing sticky between your mouths. Carelessly, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks. “God, look at you. So fuckin’ pretty, sweets.” You tug your panties back on and hop to your feet, legs wobbly as you readjust to carrying your own weight. Bending over to retrieve your jeans, you suck in a sharp breath as George taps your ass, not hard enough to be a slap, but definitely more than a pat. “Oh,” he says, the smirk in his voice audible. “You like that? Good little girl wants Daddy to spank her, yeah?”

Your stomach clenches, flames licking along your thighs at his words. Grinning, you turn to face him. “And who said I was a good girl?” George’s gaze burns hot, darkly intense over your skin as you fix your bra and button your shirt. “Maybe I’m filthy. Maybe I’m a whore.” A grin stretches wide over your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten. Your eyes flicker down to where his cock is straining against his jeans, the sheer size of his bulge making your mouth water. “D’you need some help with that, Daddy? Could be your little cocksleeve, if you want. Any hole you want, promise,” you smirk, slinking past him to toss your empty glass in the back. “Just gotta take me home, first.”

George’s hands are shaking as he locks the doors behind you, and you thrill; feel a sick sense of pride at flustering him for a change. You don’t let up on the drive to his place, propping your feet up against the dash and drawing slow circles over your clit, slow, deliberate pleasure seeping into your bloodstream. The light flush spreading across his cheeks emboldens you, your lips parting around a moan. “D’you know how many times I’ve— mm— got off thinking about you? Dreamed about gettin’— shit— getting fuckin’ split open on your dick?”

A sound that’s pure lust spills from George’s mouth. “God, we wasted so much time,” he groans. “First time you came to shift drinks, you were sat in my lap, ‘n I almost asked to fuck you right then. Would’ve, if I’d known what a needy little slut you are.”

Your head tips back, gasping as you speed your motions over your clit. “I remember that,” you moan. “Was tryin’ every fucking trick, y’know? All the grinding and the whispering and the fuck-me eyes. Would’ve thought you weren’t interested, ‘cept you were holding my waist so tight I couldn’t have got up if I wanted to. Never finished the guy I went home with, ‘cause he left after I called him George when I came,” you add. George’s jaw clenches.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “M’gonna make you forget every guy you’ve ever fucked, sweets, I promise you that.” Your thighs clench, anticipatory. One of George’s big hands wanders to cover your own, his fingers replacing yours over your clit. “God, y’so wet for me, baby. Bet I could just fuckin’ fill you up right now and you wouldn’t even notice, right?” You moan helplessly as he does just that, sliding two of his fingers into you alongside your own. “Don’t worry, sweets, we’re not far now. Needy cunt’s gonna get filled up soon, promise.”

At first, George matches your rhythm, then speeds until your nails are digging into his inked, muscled arm for dear life as he finger-fucks you ruthlessly. Pleasure pins you back against your seat, breath stolen from your lungs as if you’re driving a hundred miles an hour. He drags you to your peak, so tantalisingly close that you can fucking taste it, then pulls away cruelly. Before you can so much as whine, he tosses you a shit-eating grin. “We’re here, love,” he says, parking his car and climbing out.

You take George’s hand as he helps you out of the car, let him pin you against the cold metal and kiss him feverishly, your jeans still unbuttoned and sliding off your hips. “Bed, please,” you whimper against his lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, sweets,” he grins. Your stomach swoops as he picks you up bridal style, his heartbeat thumping in time with yours when you press your head against his chest. He descends on you with starving lips as you fall into his bed, licking furiously into your mouth and tearing at your clothes. You’re naked and George is shirtless and panting before you break apart, roaming your hands over his sweat-damp skin and grinding against his cock through his jeans.

“Want you to fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Daddy,” you add coyly, parting your lips coquettishly and letting your tongue loll out a little.

George just grins, kneeling up and grabbing your hips to roll you onto your stomach. “Not just yet, sweets. Gotta spank you first, make sure you’re gonna be a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

Face pressed into the pillows, you moan helplessly, unconsciously widening your legs as you drip over George’s sheets. You arch your back, push your ass up towards him, whine something incoherent into the pillow. You hear the harsh crack of flesh against flesh before you feel the pain, a sweet sting sliding deliciously through your body. The second slap is just as unexpected as the first, but you feel it more acutely; the same, stinging pain undercut with the bite of metal where his rings connect with your skin. “Daddy, yes,” you moan, writhing happily as he hits your other cheek.

“Y’such a slut, baby,” he coos, gently kneading your flaming skin and nudging your legs further apart. “I fuckin’ love it,” he adds, his grin audible.

“I’d say it’s only for you, but that’d be a lie,” you smirk. “I’m just a slut. A dirty fuckin’ slut. You can do anything you want to me, and I’ll like it, promise.”

“Is that right?” George breathes, low and dangerous. It’s all the warning you get before his hand comes down hard against your cunt, a shockwave of pleasure crashing over you. You gasp and writhe, pleading incoherently as he slaps you again.

Your head thrashes back and forth, tension coiling hot in your belly. “George, please,” you whimper. “Just fuck me. I’ll be good for you, promise. I need you s’bad, Daddy.”

“Such a little whore,” he says reverently. “Jesus, this arse,” he groans, watching the fat of it ripple under another slap. “These fucking hips, those tits,” he practically moans. “D’you know how crazy this perfect little body makes me, sweets?”

Heat floods your cheeks, the intensity of his gaze palpable as George maps every inch of your exposed skin. Briefly, you thank God that you’re facedown; this level of scrutiny over your stomach would send you spiralling. “S’not that little.”

George laughs. “What are you, sweets? Five-four?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you say flatly, and George seems to sense the souring of your mood.

He flips you over, gentle concern written across his face. There’s no pity there, though, his eyes still dark with lust as he brushes your hair out of your face. “D’you remember that time we went out and you were wearing that tiny, tight little black dress?” You nod. You remember exactly how self-conscious you were in it, too. “Thought I was gonna fuckin’ burn a hole in it from how hard I was staring. Y’looked so fuckin’ good, could barely control myself. Got off thinkin’ about fucking you in it every night for a week. Drove me crazy. Don’t worry, sweets, m’gonna fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty head of yours, okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” you murmur. “Want you bad,” you add shakily, stretching up to kiss him hungrily, and George smirks against your mouth.

“There you are, pretty girl. C’mon, legs up, yeah? Gonna fuckin’ wreck you.” You obey thoughtlessly, gazing up at him with lust-blown eyes as he peels out of his jeans and boxers in one motion. Drool floods your mouth at the sight of his cock springing free, hard and heavy and fucking huge between his legs.

“Fuck me,” you groan, pressing your head back. “Need you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, Daddy, please,” you whine, letting him fit himself between your legs and slowly slide his cock through your folds. Pleasure ripples through you as he presses into you, the feeling divine as you stretch around his head.

George buries his head in your neck. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans. “This needy cunt’s takin’ me so well, sweets. So wet for me,” he praises, one of his hands coming down to play with your tit, grasping and squeezing greedily. “Would you think I was a fucking pervert if I told you I’ve had dreams about fucking these gorgeous tits?” A heady, dizzying pulse of arousal hits your core, arousal dripping out over George’s cock as he slowly starts to move.

“Maybe. If I didn’t like you so much,” you giggle. “I mean, you’re, what? Twelve years older than me? Some perverted old man at my job starin’ at my tits so hard he tips lager over a customer?” George winces, and you laugh. “I noticed. So filthy, Daddy,” you add smugly, moaning against his mouth when he fills you slow and deep. Pleasure winds tight through your body, fizzing and sparking sweetly in your chest.

“Can you blame me? I mean, fuck, look at you. D’you have a single fuckin’ clue what you do to me in those low-cut little tops you wear?” The praise sends liquid heat curving up your spine. The knowledge that you’re the one getting him off, that you’re the object of his fantasies is nothing short of dizzying. “Takes all my fucking self-control not to just—” George cuts himself off, burying his head between your tits and lapping hungrily at your skin. You moan happily as his teeth scrape against your flesh, the sudden, sharp pain delicious as it falls to your core.

Your chest is heaving and spit-slick by the time George looks up, cunt soaked and clenching around him. “Need it harder, Daddy, please,” you beg, locking your legs around his waist as he fucks into you. You can feel every single inch of him, feel the pressure of his body against yours, feel his heartbeat kicking in tune with yours.

“So gorgeous, sweets. Such a good girl for your Daddy, yeah?” His hips slam against yours, every breath a struggle against the liquid ecstasy filling your lungs. He’s crooning out soft praises, lowering his head to kiss and bite at your tits again. The thought of the bruises that’ll litter your chest tomorrow makes you thrill, hips rocking up against George’s as you careen towards your orgasm.

One of his big hands trails down to rub circles into your clit, wetness smearing under his fingertips as pleasure races uncontrollably through you. “George, please,” you whimper, back arching and legs trembling. 

“Right there, aren’t you, sweets?” George croons, rough fingers scraping over your sensitive nerves. He lowers his head, covers your mouth with his, kisses you so gently it would almost be sweet if he weren’t fucking into you at a brutal, uncontrolled pace. “God, you feel so good, so fucking good. Better than I could have dreamed, angel.”

You flush red, squeezing your eyes shut bashfully. Your orgasm builds and builds, a ball of pleasure screwed tightly in your core, hot and overpowering. It’s more intense than you think you’ve ever felt, George fucking deep into you with your body practically folded in half. “Shit, Daddy, m’gonna— I can’t— Fuck!” you cry, your vision whiting out as you cum impossibly hard. Your entire body turns liquid, arousal literally gushing out of you and flooding the mattress. “Oh, my God,” you whine, convulsing with pleasure as George grips your hips to hold you steady.

“Oh, baby,” George murmurs, hips still rocking steadily against yours as you float back down to Earth. “Shit, you fucking— Does that— I mean, was that me?”

You giggle. “If you’re asking me if anyone’s ever made me squirt before, the answer’s no. Guess that makes you the best I’ve ever had, huh?” George smirks, still rubbing your clit as he fucks into you, near-unbearable heat burning you from the inside out. “Are you gonna cum, Daddy? You wanna fill up my slutty cunt like I need?”

His pace turns erratic, desperate, your nails digging into his shoulders to anchor yourself to reality. “God, this cunt is so perfect, sweets. Gonna make me fuckin’ cum, make you all mine, yeah?” The words have barely left his lips before he does just that, spilling inside of you and groaning your name against your lips. You moan happily as his cock pulses, ropes of cum painting your insides white.

You kiss him greedily, whining when he pulls out, his eyes falling to your messy, dripping cunt. “You dreamed about me?” you grin, and George flushes siren-red, caught. “Were they dirty dreams?” you tease, rolling on top of him and resting on your elbows to gaze down at him.

His eyes are wide with lust, and he looks almost shy as he speaks. “Dreamed about this,” he grins. “Thought about how good your cunt would feel, how gorgeous you’d look cumming for me. Dreamed about your pretty lips around my dick, about tasting your pretty pussy. God, I just want you to sit on my fuckin’ face and drown me, sweets.” 

Smirking wickedly, you push yourself up into a sitting position. “That can be arranged,” you say, straddling him and moaning softly as you grind your cunt against George’s stomach. “Are you hungry?”

George licks his lips, eyes glinting as you shuffle your way up his body and kneel over his face. His tongue flickers out to tease your clit, and you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets. You feel him smirk against your core. “Starving.”

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[peachylynnie]

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his. 

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?” 

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far. 

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good. 

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble. 

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body. 

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck. 

oh. 

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck. 

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?" 

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding. 

"anything for my beloved bride." 

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 7,161

“It’s so fucking hot,”

“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

What? 

You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face. 

The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips. 

Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)

It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight. 

It was just your luck. 

You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather. 

And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up. 

“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place. 

“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had. 

“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting. 

“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?” 

“Well I thought you wouldn’t  want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim. 

“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?” 

He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“ 

“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.” 

“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?” 

“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were. 

“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?” 

His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips. 

“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head. 

“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years. 

Not since the very last summer just like this. 

The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto. 

He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back. 

And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness. 

You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically. 

But you couldn’t blame him all the same. 

Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks. 

“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?” 

“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,” 

“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human. 

“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,” 

“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch. 

“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you. 

“What should we watch?” 

And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much. 

But now—he was the one trying to cross the line. 

You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,” 

“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan. 

“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest. 

And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.” 

You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo. 

“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name. 

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now. 

“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“ 

“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,” 

“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“ 

And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips. 

“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’

“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now. 

“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you. 

“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side. 

“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,” 

“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?” 

“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“ 

“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly. 

His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already. 

“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.

And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?” 

He’s too sweet. 

He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch. 

But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it. 

Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips. 

But you weren’t going to tell him that. 

You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. 

And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,” 

“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches. 

The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other. 

“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,” 

“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“ 

His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?” 

“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“

“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for— 

A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“ 

“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,” 

“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat. 

“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip. 

But not for long. 

His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were. 

“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it. 

“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,” 

The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“ 

And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?” 

~~~ 

“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you. 

You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal. 

Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat. 

How had he resisted for so long? 

It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance. 

Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Not without you by his side. 

“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin. 

“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?” 

And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice. 

“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same. 

“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same. 

You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy. 

His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy. 

And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same. 

So he might as well give you a show.

“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.

“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!” 

“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?” 

“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“ 

He’s so fucking big. 

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,” 

And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make. 

Almost. 

“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now. 

It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was. 

And he would die happy. 

But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were,  “s’cute, is it that easy?” 

“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum. 

Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw. 

And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off. 

You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop? 

“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly. 

“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?” 

“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,”  and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.

He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched. 

And you were more than happy to oblige. 

He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre. 

“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“ 

“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“ 

And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,” 

“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,” 

And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?” 

His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,” 

“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours. 

“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,” 

“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—” 

“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,” 

He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well. 

Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,” 

You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth. 

He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,” 

And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were. 

“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind. 

“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high. 

You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now). 

“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does. 

He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—

“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief. 

He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic. 

“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed. 

“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips. 

“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?” 

“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,” 

“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,” 

“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower. 

“Who said this heatwave was over yet?” 

A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!  

“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it. 

His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?” 

✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.

✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl

[nochepsicodelica]

Bear Boyfriend Toji returns. ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ <- Hell yeah, that's the clingy thing <3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Don't let him catch you wearing his clothes, unless you want him relentlessly tailing you for the rest of the day until you both go to sleep. It's one thing to put his shirt on to go to bed, but it's a whole other thing to wear it in broad daylight, while cleaning the house, cooking, folding and putting away your laundry, etc. He will follow you and try to corner you as you make your way around, trying to get all these things finished. You have to be very strong-willed in order to duck under his arms and escape him when he tries to seduce you by caging you against the wall. It doesn't deter him when you leave him standing there with his hands still planted on the wall. He laughs it off, mutters something under his breath about you being a tease and keeps chasing you, his prize.

Cooking is the hardest thing to do in his clothes. You're literally working with fire, sharp knives, and multitasking it up, while he's clinging to you and whispering in your ear all the filthy things he wants to do to you while you wear his shirt. You're crying your eyes out while you cut an onion and when you ask him to watch the pot, he Toji Taxes you. Says, "Yeah, sure, I'll stir... For two kisses and a squeeze." Unbelievable, but you need that help, so with a much called for roll of your stinging, bleary eyes, you make your way to him and let him take what he wants in exchange for his assistance. After one very long squeeze to your boob over his shirt and two kisses, he happily has a wooden spoon in his hand. Indulging him in his demands only fueled his desire to get you back in his grasp. It's that damn shirt, it fits like a short dress on you. Another thing he loves is that if you reach high enough for something, he gets a peek at the mere pair of underwear you're sporting under it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ When it rains, good luck getting this bear of a man off of/away from you. It's hard enough to get out of bed on a daily basis because of how he constantly drags you back until he's ready to get out of bed, but rainy days are something else entirely. It's cold, the sky is gloomy, everything is wet, and worst of all... the chances of getting wet socks are much, much higher. It's not his favorite, but the one thing that makes it all better is you, so his clinginess is on another level—it's really like he's being powered by the storm.

He loves when your schedules align during this kind of weather. Neither of you has to leave the house for work, so there are no alarms set and you both wake up at your own times. Days like this transition from being wrapped up in each other until your stomachs start growling, to putting on big sweaters that smell like him, so that you can run to the car together through the heavy rain, to get something to eat. Once you return, you make that same run through the rain to get back to your home and you both head straight for the bedroom, where you are once again made his prisoner and caged in his arms for the duration of your afternoon nap.

He doesn't want to leave the bed anymore, and that extends to him not wanting you to leave either, even when you say you have to pee. "Hold it, mama. We're still sleeping." "I've been holding it for half an hour." "Shh... If you last the whole hour, we'll go make that coffee you were chirping about, earlier." He definitely chides you when you can't fall asleep later at night, but is more than ready to help you in any way that expedites the process.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ With how long you've been together, it's to be expected that you feel safe around Toji, but there are just moments where he stands back and thinks about the things you do that demonstrate how emotionally and physically comfortable you are with him. He's glad that you see him as your confidant and that you don't feel the need to dial down your feelings, just so that he can easily digest what is going on with you. He's a strong man, he can handle your tears of varying emotions, so, when you come home from a terrible day at work or you feel like you are losing your mind, because nothing is going right, he openly invites you to plop yourself on him and just lie there until you're ready to talk out what has you feeling the way you do. You don't have to say anything until you are ready, but if his presence comforts you and helps you relax a little more, he prefers that you seek him out for solace.

The physical aspect of feeling safe around him is shown in many ways, like when you fall asleep on him or even just fall asleep around him. You trust that he will look out for you during these moments of vulnerability and he does. He can easily tell when a nightmare is preventing you from getting good sleep and he does not wait for you to wake up in tears to comfort you, because what is being abruptly woken up, to enduring uncontrollable fear your mind creates?

When you go out together, even just being subtly maneuvered so that you are walking on the inside of the sidewalk, makes you feel protected. You already get automatic scary bear privilege with him, so you rarely feel like you are endangered by others, but the little things he does are very much considered and appreciated, too. Like, when you're walking through a large crowd and he holds your hand tight or he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, so that you don't get lost. Or when he switches places with you and becomes a barrier between you and the group of sketchy looking men walking by.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This bear loves when you fly at him like a dart and tackle him or at least try to tackle him after a long day of not seeing each other. Sometimes he'll stumble back on purpose just to make you laugh when he says something along the lines of "woah there, pretty girl. We almost went through the wall." It's gotten to be a routine for whenever you come home from work before him. As soon as he shuts the door, he's silently and slowly turning around, throwing a smirk at you in anticipation of you jumping on him. Sometimes, he crouches down slightly and scoops you up before you even have the chance to try and knock him over. The way you laugh as he carries you back to where you were lying on the couch, while he rapid fires kisses onto your face, is everything. This is definitely one of his favorite parts about coming home to you.

Before anything, you read Toji's body language, because sometimes there are days that don't call for this kind of silliness. Like when the door shuts, signaling that he's finally home, but he lets out a tired, heavy sigh. You greet him in a much calmer manner, simply walking up to him and asking him how his day went and if he wants to freshen up before he eats dinner—questions of that sort—while still being mindful of not overwhelming him with too many of them. It's very much about reading his mood, but also attempting to lift it by doing things like reminding him that he's about to eat one of his favorite meals, even when you know he knows, because the entire house is flooded with the aroma, or telling him about a new little food spot that you saw on your way home from work and suggesting you go try it together sometime.

Most of the time, you're able to lighten up his mood, and if it's not before you go to the bedroom, it's while you're lying in bed together, getting ready to go to sleep. Quiet investigative murmurs reach his ears, while his head rests on your chest. You play with his hair to ensure that he feels calm and secure enough to talk this out with you, and he usually does cave and spills what's on his mind. It's mainly tiredness and work being a stressful hassle at times, inevitably preventing him from getting home to you when he's supposed to. He feels better once he gets it all off his chest and sleeps like a cub, attached to you, as always.

NSFW Below

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Dirty bear, dirty bear, dirty bear! He has more wet dreams about you than he would ever admit. It makes him feel ridiculous, given the consistency and then some, of the amount of times you and him have sex in a week. His mind is so greedy, already cluttered with images and moments with you, yet it continues to create more scenarios while he sleeps, giving him these "humbling experiences". Sometimes he has to get up in the middle of night—under the guise of going to use the bathroom—to change his boxers, because he ruined them with an involuntary overflow of cum and he needs to hide the evidence. It's something he gets all bashful and "c'mon, Toji..." about, while he's cleaning himself up, but when he catches you in the middle of experiencing a wet dream, he thinks it's the hottest thing ever. For a few seconds, it's just you grinding against the covers, quietly mumbling his name, before you still, again. And oh, he's a hypocrite. He will tease the living hell out of you about it when you wake up, his sleep ridden voice bombarding you with questions like... "How'd you sleep?" "Dream anything interesting?" "Who was there?" "What did I do that had you all riled up?" "Was dream me realistic enough to make you cum?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This enormous, "intimidating man"—in the words of others—does not mind at all if you wake him up in the middle of the night because you need him. Especially, if you wake him up by pressing soft, butterfly kisses to his lips. He's willing to do anything you ask of him if that's how you ask for it. All it takes is a sultry, whispered "Please," from you and he's sitting up, getting ready to fulfill your needs. He doesn't even need to ask you what you need, the way you flip over to lay on your stomach and raise your oversized shirt over your hips, revealing your panties to him, tells him everything.

Toji is sure that this is just going to lull both of you back to sleep, but he does it for your sake. He goes for the usual position that these spontaneous sparks of nightly desire call for—prone bone. Even during the early hours of morning, with both of you still half asleep, the act keeps its intimacy. His face is pressed close to the side of yours, his nose brushing your cheek as sloppy, lazy kisses meet your skin. His hands go to the backs of yours, interlacing his fingers with yours on your pillow.

Short, languid rolls of his hips against you are what you receive, and it's enough, because your body is so sensitive after having just woken up, that it tricks you into feeling like he's giving you way more. It's all quiet, shuddered breathing, until you release the cutest little whimpers and cries into your pillow, once you cum. The way your cunt clenches and spasms around his cock has him releasing deep groans into your ear, as he nears his own climax. Slightly more punctuated thrusts that jolt you into the mattress and heavier breaths, are followed by thick spurts of cum that brim your walls. For a second or two, you feel like he might break your fingers from how hard he's squeezing them, but the pain vanishes, and you're distracted from the fact that it was ever there when his arms envelop you and his lips smear wet kisses over the side of your face, again. A quiet check in is conducted, and when you confirm that you're fine and you feel good, he fully relaxes and just slumps on you. You both end up falling back asleep just like that.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ He loves having hush hush sex at least once a week. He takes you out to places where there are lots of people—a restaurant, for example—he'll move his chair so that he's sitting beside you, and he'll start touching you under the table. He relishes in the fluctuation of your composure, the way you nibble on your lip while nervously looking around, how your eyes shut tightly just before you shudder out a sigh and let your head hang, your knuckles protruding as much as they can without tearing through your skin.

The sight of you quickly spending all your grounding techniques, goes straight to his dick, and it's not long before things are moved to the bathroom. He won't do the whole, i'll meet you in the bathroom in five minutes, scene. He really doesn't care who sees you two, so he's dragging you along with him to the men's bathroom, hand in hand. He'll check to see if it's all clear, and if it is, he'll pull you into the bathroom and lock the door, immediately pinning you to the door. You're lured into the sloppiest make out session ever. While one hand is bunching up your dress, the other is going under it to feel up your chest and the rest of your torso. Then the bumping against the door begins and your moans are being shushed by him. "Your pretty moans are for me, right?" "Mhm." "Keep it that way. No louder than this, or i'll stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one gets to hear them."

Of course the people outside know what you did. It's a couple coming out of the men's bathroom together, and the woman is clinging to her man, while she walks back to her table with very obviously trembling legs. Once Toji helps you get back into your seat, he digs into his lukewarm meal, as if nothing ever happened. He smiles all lovingly as you pick up your fork with a shaky hand and start eating as well.

[aerequets]

(part 1)

(short comic) (you can otherwise search 'spy x pta' on my profile)

MY GOODNESS. it's been a hot minute since i posted the first part and i guess i just couldn't SHUT UP because this is FOURTEEN PAGES LONG. FOURTEEN. you can even see some pages where the linework is slightly different because i drew it like 6-ish weeks ago, that's how long this has been cooking. drawing in general has been hard lately because of time constraints, BUT i am so happy i finished this. this is like my fav project even tho it isnt as popular, but who cares!!!!! POPULAR IN MY HEART

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[darknight3904]

It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist