#this is so strange to try to voice/write out
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wendichester · 1 day ago
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If I may make a humble request for either both the boys or Sam helping a fem!reader with chronic pain. They get tossed around so much there’s no way there aren’t at least a few lingering injuries that have severe flare ups from time to time. I’m thinking hip and/or neck/severe headaches make the most sense within the context since they’re the most complicated to heal. I love your writing style!
𐙚⋆°。⋆♡ slow days, soft hands,
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pairing. sam winchester x reader (gn) genre. soft fluffy fluff
wordcount. 633
notes / warnings. chronic pain, mentions of past injuries, implied whump but nothing graphic, soft!sam being a big protective sweetheart, comfort-heavy, domestic fluff, gentle intimacy, reader wears sam’s clothes (because duh), pain flare-up
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Your hips are talking again.
No—screaming might be a better word. That bone-deep kind of pain that doesn’t care how many ibuprofen you popped or how carefully you lowered yourself onto the couch. It’s heat and pressure and that strange electrical buzz that makes you grind your teeth without realizing.
You're curled on your side in one of Sam’s oversized flannels—soft, worn, and hanging off your shoulders like a lazy hug. Netflix is paused. The light's dim. Everything’s quiet except the soft sound of the bunker humming around you.
You don’t notice the footsteps until he’s already in the doorway.
Sam lingers there for a second, eyes scanning you. His face—usually so bright, so open—goes a little tight when he sees the way you’re lying.
“Is it bad today?” he asks gently.
You blink up at him from your nest of blankets, trying not to flinch as you shift.
“Hips,” you say. “And my neck’s got that whole ‘being punished for existing’ thing going on too.”
Sam’s eyes soften, and in two long strides, he’s by your side. “Did you take something?”
You nod. “Didn’t touch it.”
He doesn’t say anything right away, just drops a kiss to your temple before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear cupboards, the kettle, that little ceramic clink that means he’s making your mug. That one with the cracked handle you refuse to throw out.
By the time he comes back, he’s got two heat packs wrapped in a towel, a steaming mug that smells like peppermint and honey, and that sleepy, protective look he only ever gets when you’re hurting.
“Alright,” he murmurs, lowering everything to the coffee table. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m not moving. I finally got a good position.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, then kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Then I’ll come to you.”
Sam moves so carefully, like you’re made of glass. You feel his hands find your calves, gentle and grounding, then slide up to your thighs, your hips. He presses the heat pack right against the worst of it, and your whole body shudders.
“Better?”
You sigh. “You’re magic.”
He chuckles, and you can feel his smile against your skin. “Nah. Just a guy who listens.”
His fingers drift over your pajama pants, barely-there pressure that doesn’t aggravate anything. Then he moves to your neck, long hands sweeping under your hair, thumbs gently tracing the spots you’ve been clenching all damn day.
You groan before you can help it. “Okay. That—that’s illegal. How are you good at this?”
“I’ve had practice,” he says, kissing the hinge of your jaw. “Dean throws his back out at least once a month.”
“Mm. Doesn’t deserve your hands.”
Sam snorts, and you feel the sound more than you hear it. Then he’s massaging a little deeper, slow circles and soothing warmth.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you murmur, voice thick from the pain, from the comfort. “I’m used to handling it.”
“I know you are,” he says softly. “You’re tough. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
God. You could cry at that. The way he says it—no pity, just quiet belief. Like it’s obvious. Like you’re worth all the time and tenderness in the world.
You reach for his flannel, fingers brushing his wrist. “Can you just... stay like this? For a while?”
He smiles against your cheek. “Always.”
So you let yourself melt.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. The pain’s still there—duller now, but present—but so is he. Warm, steady, grounding. He reads out loud from whatever book he left on the table earlier, voice low and rumbling, one hand never leaving your body. Even as you drift, half-asleep and hazy, you feel him—his weight, his warmth, his presence. And all pain, forgotten.
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ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ
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sturduststrails · 2 days ago
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“Sue me” Ex!sukuna x reader
Exes to??
Masterlist
Pt.1. Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4
It’s late.
You’re not asleep. Just letting the dark hold you for a while.
It’s strange how quiet the apartment is now. No rustling. No soft breathing. No dumb, sleepy muttering about dreams he won’t remember in the morning.
You used to fall asleep to the sound of him flipping pages beside you.
That soft little tsk he made when he found a sentence he liked.
The way he’d read it under his breath—once for himself, then again for you.
You didn’t always listen. Sometimes you were half-asleep, half-annoyed.
But you’d always hum, just so he knew you heard him.
And he’d smile, like that meant more to him than you ever really understood.
You remember one night—god, it must’ve been early on—he turned to you, his voice low, like it was sacred:
“You know what’s wild? I’ve never wanted to write about someone before. Not like this.”You laughed.
Not in a mean way. Just… caught off guard.
Said something like: “Please don’t make me a sad character. I don’t want to be tragic in print.”
And he promised.
He actually promised.
Said he wouldn’t write about you unless he could get it right.
Said he didn’t want to reduce you into anything smaller than you were.
You remember the way he looked at you when he said it.
Like you were the ending of something good.
You breathe out.
Open your eyes in the dark.
And think:
So much for promises… that he broke.
It’s a Tuesday.
You meet a friend for coffee because she insisted.
She said you’ve been “weird lately.”
You told her you’ve just been tired.
She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t push. Just said, “You need air. And caffeine.”
So now you’re here.
Outside, warm drink in hand, pretending it’s just another regular day.
She’s talking. Work, dates, some stupid thing her roommate did.
You’re nodding, laughing when you should. You’re playing your part.
And then she says it.
“You know… I read Sukuna’s book.”
Your stomach tightens. But you keep your face still.
“It was actually beautiful. Kinda brutal, but… I dunno, it felt real, y’know?”
You don’t answer…
You just sip your coffee and hope she drops it. But she doesn’t.
“I kept thinking about you, actually. The girl in it reminded me of you a little.” You blink.
"Like… how she stayed even when she knew it was falling apart. It felt so honest. I feel like I get you more now. Weirdly.” And you laugh.
Not because it’s funny.
Not because you want to.
Just that automatic, awful laugh you do when you’re seconds away from unraveling but still trying to be polite.
You say: “Yeah, weird.”
You finish your coffee fast and say you’ve got somewhere to be. She tells you she’s glad you’re finally “moving on.”
You smile like it doesn’t hurt, and you go home. As soon you enter you sit on the floor.
And it finally hits you:
He didn’t just write the story.
He rewrote it.
And people believed him.
Even the people who knew you.
You don’t mean to text him.
You open your phone just to scroll. Just to be distracted.
But his name is still there. Buried under months of nothing.
Still pinned.
Still there.
And before you can talk yourself out of it, your thumbs move like they’ve been waiting.
You type: “You got the ending wrong.”
Then stare at it. It sits there. A single sentence. Quiet. Brutal. But you don’t send it.
And erase the whole thing. Then write: “Just so you know, I never hated you.” Delete.
Then: “I wish I didn’t recognize myself in her.”
“I wish I didn’t still remember how you sound when you’re lying.”
“I wish I didn’t keep rereading the parts where you almost got it right.”
Delete. Delete. Delete.
And then, finally, you just send:
“Did it make you feel better?”
It delivers.
Your heart punches you in the chest, hard and fast.
No typing bubble.
No answer.
Not yet.
But you feel it.
That shift.
That irreversible something.
And suddenly…
You’re not just a character in his story anymore.
You’re someone who asked the author a question he never thought he’d have to answer.
You sit there for maybe three minutes.
It feels like thirty.
No typing bubble.
You toss your phone onto the bed like that’ll undo it.
Walk to the kitchen. Open the fridge. Close it.
Stand there with your arms crossed like the cold air will distract you.
You start doing things that don’t need to be done.
Wipe the counter.
Refold a towel.
Reorganize the drawer you never open.
Anything to keep from grabbing your phone.
Anything to keep from checking if he’s typing.
He’s not.
You check anyway.
Still nothing.
You lie on the floor.
Stare at the ceiling like it might blink first.
You start wondering if it even delivered.
Maybe he changed his number.
Maybe he blocked you.
Maybe he read it and thought “Not my problem anymore.”
And right when you almost convince yourself it’s fine—
Right when you finally let your breath fall—
Your phone lights up.
“It was never about feeling better.”
You sit up like someone slapped you.
You just stare at it.
Reread it at least five times.
There’s a second message coming. You feel it. And then—
“It was about making sense of something I couldn’t fix.”
That’s it.
No apology.
No “how are you.”
Just… that.
Like that should be enough.
Like that sentence was worth what it cost you.
And maybe the worst part?
A tiny piece of you understands.
You stare at his message.
“It was about making sense of something I couldn’t fix.”
You let it sit.
Because of course.
Of course it was about him.
Of course it was about what he couldn’t fix.
Not what he broke.
Not what he didn’t try to fix.
Just what he couldn’t.
And suddenly, you’re tired in a different kind of way.
The kind that hits in your bones.
The kind that comes when you finally, finally stop giving someone the benefit of the doubt.
So you type:
“You should’ve written it like that, then..You should’ve said you were lost, or selfish, or scared. But instead, you made me look cold. Passive. Like I stayed because I didn’t know better.”
You pause. Then keep going.
“You turned our ugliest moments into poetry and left out the part where you were the one slamming doors. The one who said ‘don’t make me hate you.’ The one who looked at me like I was a burden when I cried in the kitchen.”
You hit send. Then type again:
“You got to control the ending. I just had to live it.” Send. And finally, just—
“You didn’t write the truth. You wrote the version where you get to be forgiven.”
Then you put the phone down.
No more pacing. No more waiting.
Just breath.
And for the first time in months—
You don’t feel small.
He doesn’t reply right away.
You don’t expect him to.
You’re not waiting this time.
You’re just breathing.
Sitting in your truth, not his.
And when the silence stretches long enough, something strange happens:
You don’t feel the pull to fix it.
To soften what you said. To make him feel better about being the villain in your story.
You’ve done enough of that.
So instead, you open your laptop.
Blank document.
Cursor blinking like a pulse.
No metaphors.
No delicate phrasing.
Just this:
“I loved someone who taught me how to doubt myself beautifully. Who said I was intense, then called me distant. Who told me I was safe, then made sure I never felt it.”“He was never honest, but he was convincing. And that’s worse, sometimes.””I’m not writing to be understood. I’m writing because I lived it, too.”
You stop. Breathe.
Then you write her name.
The girl in the book.
The version of you he wrote.
And underneath it, you type:
"She’s not me. I never wanted to be saved. I just wanted to be seen.”
You sit back.
The document isn’t finished.
But something is.
And you know, deep in your chest:
This isn’t about him anymore.
It never really was.
Hi guys! Thank you so so much for the likes and your comments i really appreciate it 🥺, i hope you’re liking my story so far ❤️ and please if u want check out the playlists i made.|| chapter 5 soon>
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millimeraki · 19 hours ago
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gasp yay reqs open ! :o hmm if its okay can i req real verso painting a portrait of reader and reader posing for him , established relationship? ^^
I AM BACK! Sorry it took so long to continue ;; But I HAVE been daydreaming about this req a lot. It gave me major Titanic vibes. So I hope it’s okay that I kinda went in this direction. But I cut off before it would get too explicit, wouldn’t have everything I write to be straight out smut lol. It is still a super ‘they are all over each other’ kind of vibe. Hope you enjoy! 💕 Word Count: ~ 4k Rating: M (contains suggestive themes)
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[Real Verso / Fem!Reader]
(Verso takes up the brush again, just for you, and has a very specific idea of how he wants to portray you)
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CREAK
The door practically screamed at you that entering these hallowed halls was forbidden. The sound of the unoiled hinges probably hadn’t woken the entire house, but it sure felt like it could have.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all,” you whispered, hesitating to even close the door behind you. Despite your nervously fluttering heart, you couldn’t help the awe rising in you as you took in the vast atelier of the Dessendres.
The heart of the manor, steeped not only in the soft, cool glow of the moonlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but somehow also in the sheer power of the Painters – so concentrated here that a few canvases were floating mid-air. You’d never seen that kind of raw magic before.
“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m not allowed to be here.” Verso was already making his way toward a wall half-hidden in shadow, where you thought you could make out various materials.
“Yeah, well... I might not be allowed in here,” you hissed back, your voice tight with unease.
The longer you stared into the large room, the more it seemed to stare right back, like it was impatiently telling you to get out. One of your feet had already turned back toward the door.
Verso paused and turned in your direction. You couldn’t quite make out his expression in the pale light, but you could hear the quiet chuckle in his voice as he came back toward you.
“You were all about adventure a minute ago,” he said casually, reaching for your hand to calm you. “Come on. It’s really fine.”
Gently, he tugged your hand, and though you hesitated a moment longer, you let him guide you further into the room. His thumb brushed across the back of your hand, encouraging you as your reticence slowly gave way to curiosity. You allowed the heavy, charged atmosphere to settle around you, only to realize that while the atelier demanded reverence, it also brimmed with wonder.
Paint supplies everywhere, half-finished pieces, magnificent paintings lining the walls, the ceiling probably as high as the manor itself, and a strange kind of royal grandeur that seemed to complete the picture of a manifested, otherworldly passion.
“Where’s your canvas?” you asked, the question that had been burning on your tongue as you had walked towards the room, only to die in your throat when you’d entered.
While you glanced around, looking for anything that might remind you of Verso’s stories about Esquie or the Gestrals, Verso let go of your hand to crouch down.
“Somewhere in the back,” he said, rummaging on the floor.
“Can I see it?” you asked a little too eagerly.
Verso began placing what looked like paint pots into a nearby box. Brushes clattered on top of them, the sound no longer enough to distract you from your curiosity. He’d told you plenty about the adventures he’d had with Clea, his parents, and sometimes Alicia in his canvas, but you’d never seen it yourself. It lived in the atelier, and you had never dared to ask permission to step in.
He froze, still crouched with his back to you, and you could tell he was seriously considering his options, maybe even trying to find a way to wiggle out of the situation.
So you doubled down. “Come on, I already know basically everything about it. Doesn’t hurt to take a peek, right? I’ll make it worth your while.”
You laced your voice with just the right amount of flirtation – exactly the kind you knew Verso liked.
With a small, exasperated sound, he stood up. Moonlight fell directly onto his face as he turned to look at you, and you finally saw the crooked grin forming in response to your bold attempt at persuasion. You smiled sweet as honey in return, whether he could see it or not.
“There she is,” he murmured with a teasing, intrigued purr in his voice. “Just needed a moment as usual, huh?”
You just shrugged, your grin still firmly in place.
“And how exactly are you going to ‘make it worth my while’?” Verso asked, clearly amused. This was a game the two of you played well.
“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending to think, while he slid a paint palette into the box beside him. “Oh, I’m sure I could come up with a few things.”
A surprised squeak escaped you as Verso pushed a canvas toward you, roughly the size of your torso, along with an easel. You instinctively reached out with both hands to catch the unwieldy objects. Just as Verso had planned, as you quickly realized, when he slid one hand into your hair to pull you toward him with firm intent. Not in a position to push him away – even if you’d wanted to – your lips met, his kiss assertive yet playful, charged with the same giddy energy as your little adventure.
You chuckled against his lips, prompting a satisfied hum to vibrate against yours in return.
“You little minx,” he said, amused, his face still close enough for you to see the sparkle in his eyes. “Never failing to bring me joy. And I must say –” he glanced around the moonlit room, “this is kind of fun.”
“Told you so,” you grinned. “Soooo…” You gave him a pointed look.
He exhaled a laugh and pushed his hair back in a deliciously attractive gesture. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” His tingling warmth drifted away as he turned to pick up the packed box. “Let’s focus on this canvas first, yes? It was your idea, after all.”
Your lips curled into a pout as you pondered whether seeing his canvas for the first time really outweighed what you were actually going to do. You looked around the room one more time, as if hoping for some supernatural perception that might let you spot it, but most of the studio’s contents were cloaked in darkness.
“Don’t look like that,” Verso noted, catching your disappointed expression. “I’ll show it to you another time, I promise. Hell, if I could, I’d take you with me, show you the world inside. It may be an old canvas, but it still holds its charm. With Esquie...” His gaze drifted for a moment, lost in memory, recalling the world he’d crafted and the beings who lived there. The way his lips twitched upward every time he spoke of it always filled you with a sting of regret, that you couldn’t just step into a painting the way the Dessendres could.
“You don’t have to show me your canvas,” it came out of you. “And we don’t have to go through with my silly idea if you don’t want to.” The way Verso was hesitant to let you further into his Painter persona had to be for a reason. Maybe you were crossing a line.
Verso’s shoulders dropped just a little, and his smile softened into something longer, more affectionate. You both still had your hands full, so all he could manage was a quick peck on your cheek to reassure you, murmuring, “Always the little overthinker, mon cœur.”
“Hey,” you complained, though you knew he was right.
“That’s one of the reasons I love you,” he emphasized. “You think everything through, even when you’re already halfway in.” Another kiss landed on your lips. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t up for it. If it’s just between us, and if you are the model, then I can’t think of a better reason to pick up a brush again.” He nudged you toward the door. “And a beauty like yours deserves to be captured.”
Those last words, breathed close to your ear, made you smile – shy, flattered. Verso had said them so naturally, but there was always that trace of reverence in his voice, that deep, weighty admiration wrapped in his low rasp. Since the moment you both realized you belonged to each other, some of Verso’s polite walls had come down. What had emerged was a thoroughly playful, flirtatious man who couldn’t help but push your buttons – one of them being the way he whispered sweet nothings with that voice that never failed to make your heart stutter.
“Alright, Monsieur Dessendre,” you replied, refusing to reward his smug grin with blushing cheeks and wide eyes. “Let’s, as you said, focus on this canvas, right?” 
The tingling in your lower abdomen, you decided to ignore entirely.
He chuckled low in his chest, fully aware of the effect his confident teasing had on you, but instead of teasing you further, he gave you a playful nod toward the still-open door.
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Unnoticed, you both left the grand atelier behind. Verso moved more casually than you through the manor’s quiet halls. Occasionally, the paint pots in the box clinked together, the sound echoing through the large rooms, and each time it did, you flinched.
You were all the more relieved as you finally stepped into the library on the ground floor, the most beautiful room in the entire manor by far. With its two stories of books stretching all the way to the ceiling, only interrupted by a single, equally towering and magnificent window – it was breathtaking. Not to say the atelier wasn’t, of course, but for a family of Painters, the Dessendres’ collection of books from around the world was nothing short of impressive.
You leaned your cargo against one of the cozy sofas by the fireplace to free your hands and picked up a few logs to place in the hearth. Behind you, you could hear Verso moving about, tending to something. Moments later, the fire flared to life, warming your face with its comforting glow and bathing the library in gentle orange and red hues.
Verso had meanwhile set the canvas on its easel and pulled one of the armchairs in front of it. Standing before it, he scanned the room with an analytical gaze, very different from the way he looked when he played the piano. No, this was a focused, serious Verso. Painting was in his blood. Even if he hadn’t wanted this gift, it was deeply embedded in him.
“Everything alright?” Your tone was cautious as he came toward you. His expression softened, the smile returning to his lips, knowing full well that you still weren’t entirely convinced by his earlier reassurance.
His arms wrapped around you, prompting your hands to rise to his face, your fingertips tingling as they brushed over the slight overgrowth of his beard. Both of you had let yourselves go a bit during the last few days in the apartment down in the city.
Soft lips lowered reverently onto yours. Not a day went by, when you were together, that he didn’t kiss you thoroughly. Whether it was waking up in bed, at the breakfast table, under the shared morning shower, on a walk in the afternoon – whenever his hands weren’t otherwise occupied. And if he was busy, it was your job to steal a kiss, and he always welcomed it.
Now too, his touch was deliberate, as if he wanted to take you in with full awareness. You hummed against his lips, and he rewarded your receptiveness with wandering hands – over your back, up your neck, along your throat, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and warmth.
“Verso?” you spoke softly, but further words were lost as his mouth captured yours once again. Skilled fingers worked the buttons of your blouse open while he claimed more and more of your attention, pulling you deeper under his spell. Whatever questions or objections you might have had stuck in your throat the moment his warm breath danced over your chin and neck.
A sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl vibrated against your skin. “As delicious as this is, we really shouldn’t get carried away.”
“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “Just make sure the door’s locked properly.”
A mischievous grin crept across his lips. “I just wanted you to strip.”
“I gathered as much.” Amused, you raked your fingers through his thick, silky hair, only for that texture you loved so much to slip away as Verso straightened, your blouse now fully unbuttoned.
“So I can paint you properly,” he declared, though he still couldn’t quite keep his hands off you. He gripped your waist, firm and steady, fingertips lingering on your skin for a while as you processed his words.
“You mean?”
“You said you’d make it worth my while.” His playful grin didn’t falter as he began unfastening the clasp of your skirt.
“Twisting my words now – how unfair.” You pouted, amused.
You had to admit, the idea was sending your blood rushing, all the more with his long, soft fingers on your skin and the way he was undressing you slowly, indulgently. When you’d suggested he might paint a portrait of you, you hadn’t specified what kind of portrait. And now that he was actually agreeing to it, why not the way he imagined it?
“I’ve never painted someone nude before,” Verso confirmed your thoughts. “But –” His hands left your body and moved to the buttons of his own shirt, “– we’ll make it tasteful. Here.”
In one fluid motion, he shrugged off his shirt, exposing his lean, agile torso. You didn’t bother to hide your approving hum, and your hands were on his warm, already slightly heated skin in the next instant. His handsome shoulders gave you something to hold on to as your knees grew weaker from the intensity of the skin-on-skin contact your now bare torsos allowed.
You couldn’t help yourself, you pressed against him, lips finding the crook of his neck, your hands wandering, already in search of his belt. The more you rubbed against each other, the stronger the ache inside you grew, steady and pulsing, swelling in your lower belly.
For a moment, Verso seemed ready to follow your invitation. His mouth had found yours again – until you suddenly felt the soft fabric of his shirt draped across your shoulders.
“Slip in,” he instructed gently.
Both of you were breathing heavily, and Verso let out a long exhale to the side as you obeyed. The white shirt was oversized, hanging loosely off your frame, falling to your thighs, much bigger than anything you normally wore.
“This is –” You laughed as he swept you off your feet and into his arms, “– by far the most pent-up energy I’ve ever had before painting. It’s inspiring. Let me put it to good use.”
He laid you down on the sofa beside you, his shirt sliding ticklingly over your skin. The legs of the furniture creaked and scratched against the wooden floor as Verso adjusted it into position as he saw fit.
“Do you need help?”
He looked focused, his eyes not on you, but on the canvas. “I just need you to lie there and read a book. What would you like to read?” He moved toward one of the bookshelves, running a hand along the spines before pulling one out and offering it to you.
“This is perfect, thank you.” Nothing escaped Verso’s attention, not even your reading habits. “So how do you need me to pose?” You trusted him completely, but felt just a little too exposed.
Verso made a thoughtful sound, then knelt in front of you and began adjusting the way his shirt sat on your body. He gave you gentle, almost whispered instructions: 
“Turn toward me,” 
“Bend your knee,” 
“Lift the book.” 
When he was done, you were reclined softly on the couch, body turned slightly toward the easel, holding the book up in front of your face. His shirt covered only one of your breasts, while your stomach was left bare. The fabric flowed down your hip, draping across your pelvis to hide what lay beneath.
“You look beautiful.” Verso placed a tender kiss on the backs of your fingers, his voice thick with a kind of reverent intoxication. “Don’t move. Stay exactly like this. Read the book.”
You heard his footsteps retreat toward the easel, the clinking of paint jars opening, brushes shifting, as you tried to focus on the words in front of your eyes and stay perfectly still. Quiet settled over the room, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, the occasional throat-clear from Verso, and the delicate sound of you turning a page.
If you focused, you could hear the brushstrokes gliding over the canvas. Your curiosity grew with every passing minute. You hadn’t realized you wouldn’t be able to watch him paint.
Eventually, your need to know got the better of you. How did Verso look when he painted? You wanted to know every side of your beloved. So you turned your head and risked a glance. And oh, how the boldness paid off.
Verso sat perched on the edge of his pulled-up chair, leaning in closer to the canvas than you’d expected.
He had tied his normally loose hair back. That same concentrated look you'd seen earlier tonight was glued to the canvas, his hand executing one brushstroke after another.
Another brush dangled between his teeth, a sight that – for some reason you couldn’t explain – made heat rise to your cheeks, even before you got a glimpse of his handsome torso, now speckled with little splashes of paint that he didn’t seem to notice at all.
His fingers, especially the ones holding the brush, were stained with color, particularly because he sometimes ran them directly across the canvas.
“You weren’t supposed to move,” he gently scolded when his eyes flicked your way.
“Oh, can’t you finish painting me first so I can watch you?” you teased, though you didn’t move a muscle after speaking.
“It doesn’t work like that, mon cœur.” The grin on his face was infectious. “Remember. Patience is –”
“– a virtue, I know. You’re proving tonight that you have far more of it than I do.” You smiled.
“Not necessarily…” Verso murmured, letting the words trail off as he refocused on his canvas. All you could do was turn back to your book and wait until he released you.
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“There.”
You could only estimate how much time had passed by the pages you’d turned when you heard Verso’s voice and the clatter of brushes being set aside.
Certain you were finally allowed to move, you sat up, your joints a little stiff. Stretching your arms overhead, you walked toward him. He watched the movement reverently and reached out a hand to welcome you.
“Hey, no – wait a second,” he said as you began buttoning the shirt fastened around your body. “Leave it just like that, please.”
“I didn’t want to distract from your masterpiece,” you teased.
He grinned, grabbed you, and pulled you over the arm of the chair onto his lap, eliciting a delightful giggle from you. As curious as you were to see the painting, he was more important. The way his eyes glittered with affection, with that low‑burning fire in his rough voice when he whispered:
“The real masterpiece is you. And my shirt looks impossibly good on you like this.”
His hands explored your bare skin, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. You looped your arms around his neck, stretching to meet him, returning to the haze of his lips.
Verso’s touch was tame, yet you could feel the urgency in the way his mouth claimed yours, how he seemed drunk on what the two of you had created together.
“Take a look, my muse,” he murmured against your lips and let you go.
A gasp slipped out when you looked at the canvas for the first time. Your first glimpse of Verso the painter was – there was no other word – sensual. You didn’t know much about painting, yet the way the colors harmonized, the way he’d captured the room, and especially you, spoke to you. Your body blended seamlessly into the setting and was still the focus of the piece, as though Verso had poured light onto the canvas just for you. The image radiated a strange warmth, somehow impossibly palpable.
Some of Verso’s mannerisms, with you and with others, clicked into place at that sight, and you realized you understood him better now. He might love the piano – the tender, gentle side of him – but painting was also part of his core, the side that gripped you with intent, with purpose and deep‑rooted passion.
“It's beautiful,” was all you could say.
“If I could, I’d stay in that moment with you forever,” Verso murmured against your ear. "It reminded me a little... about what painting can be. Let's keep this for ourselves, yes?"
One large hand cupped your breast, and you arched into his fingers with a small sound. He nibbled at your earlobe.
“We'll take it to the townhouse,” you sighed in agreement.
You framed his face in your hands, gazing at him with all the love and pleasure you felt. “Thank you, for indulging me. I had fun.” You smiled.
He mirrored the expression. “My pleasure. And –” his hand resumed its lazy paths over your skin, “– I should’ve started painting you like this long ago. Can't tell you how often I wanted to toss everything and just…” He left the sentence unfinished, placing his lips on yours.
Your body relaxed comfortably against his; you let him worship you. The heat of it all lay heavy in the vast library, seeping through every nook and cranny of the room. 
“You’re getting paint on me everywhere,” you noted.
Verso gave a surprised grunt when you pointed it out. 
“Whoops,” he murmured, glancing at his paint‑speckled fingers that had left little streaks of color on you.  
With a mischievous smile, you leaned down, and before Verso knew it, you had left three strokes of paint of your own, a beautiful, deep gold, on his upper arm. 
He gasped, half scandalized, half delighted. “You didn’t.”
“Just returning the favor,” you purred, shifting to straddle him, pressing him backwards. 
He sank back into the deep chair, arms resting on either side of the armrests, looking up at you, inviting and curious.
“You know –” you began, using the remaining paint on your fingers to draw a delicate line down his torso, over his stomach, and all the way to the beginning of his happy trail, “– that hairstyle suits you well. With your hair back. I like it.”
“Is that so?” Verso’s chest rose and fell faster as you drew a small arrow at the end of the golden streak, then reached for his belt to slowly undo it. “Merde, you’re disturbingly irresistible,” he murmured, losing his composure. You could already see the bulge beneath his pants. Who knew how many times tonight he’d gone from hot to cold and back again?
“Let’s stay in this moment a little while longer, then,” you whispered.
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l4wsrule · 3 days ago
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Loved what you did with gol d. roger. Can you do Roger x reader where its love at first sight. He meets them on an island and on his stay there with his crew they fall in love when it's time to leave he asks reader to come with them
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 when worlds collide . part 1
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༄.° roger × reader ; slow burn, romance, sfw w/intended nsfw jokes.
a/n: i had lots of fun writing roger again, i hope it's accurate to what you asked and i hope you enjoy ! i'll be working on part 2 right away :)
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⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁 Loguetown, a bustling port city located on the Polestar Islands in the East Blue.
A very, very busy town. Strategically, it is a vital port for ships travelling between the East Blue and the infamous Grand Line, making it a popular stop for pirates and seafarers, therefore; it was barely quiet.
You worked as a bartender at a local tavern in an isolated corner, pirates would come every single day. But today? It was strangely.. empty. Silent. The kind of silence that begged to be broken, but no one dared. When even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
In contrast to your quiet, empty workplace. Outside was the kind of sunny day that felt like a soft exhale from the earth itself. The sun spilling its warmth through the windows, where you stood, cleaning glasses, rearranging bottles, bartender stuff.
There was one costumer, staring at you like someone who just defied god himself. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, and finally spoke :
"..Young lady, are you sure you want to work today?" The man spoke, his voice carrying the weight of time.
"Huh? Why not?" You, an eyebrow raised, placed the glass you were cleaning down.
The geezer let out a low, amused chuckle, looking out the window as he responded.
You still had no idea what he meant, or what was coming, but you followed his gaze as he looked out the window. Still confused.
"Sure, it's strangely empty today, but there'll sure be costumers. Right?"
Only then, you were interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open.
Not one, not two came in.
It was a whole group.
A crew.
Which would usually be normal, but they weren't just any crew. They were the infamous Roger Pirates. You've heard Loguetown was the captain's birthplace, which would make sense for him to come back.
Though, the way they barged in, you'd think they were just wild animals. A group of mindless, booze-thirsting men. Which.. in a way, they were.
The sound of their boots against the wooden floor was heavy, all laughing loudly, obnoxiously.
And, they reeked of sweat, blood, rum and bad decisions.
You didn't mind, you've seen worse pirates.. in terms of hygiene and good manners. So, as one does, you served them normally, before going back to your previous cleaning activities.. which were probably just an excuse for you not to make too much contact with them.
Most of them were seated on stools at the bar counter, some trying to make advances, and others just calmly drinking and laughing. You recognized a few from their wanted posters.
But one of them particularly stood out. Naturally, he was the captain after all. Roger. Gol D Roger. His presence alone seemed to shape the world around him. He carried himself like someone who had already conquered death. That red cape draped over his shoulders like a mantle of power. And that golden trim catching the light as if it, too, knew he was destined for a legend.
You met his gaze, for a split moment, noticing that wide, fearless grin of his was gone. He hadn't even taken a single sip of his drink. It seemed like everytime you accidentally made the mistake of looking at him, he, was always looking too.
Or staring. Or admiring. Probably both.
"Hey sweetcheeks, got a name ?" Gaban propped both elbows on the counter, a shit-eating grin on his face. The calmer one beside him, Rayleigh, elbowed him. "Stop hitting on every woman in a four mile radius, Gaban."
"I wasn't about to give him my name, anyway." You rolled your eyes, throwing the napkin you used to clean the glasses with at him. Rayleigh simply laughed, a laugh that screamed "I told you."
Gaban wasn't amused.
But Roger? Roger was still. Petrified, like he just stared into medusa's eyes. But more in an awed expression.
Both Rayleigh and Gaban noticed, suddenly quieting down and giving eachother a knowing grin, then clearing their throat. The others noticed, too, but didn't say a word.
In the background, you could hear Buggy whispering to Shanks: "Damn.. Captain's really in it, isnt he?"
"In what?" Shanks whispered back.
"Inlove. Duh."
And frankly speaking, you were also captivated, but you would never say that aloud. Though you did speak to him.
Snapping two fingers in his face, you called out.
"Oi ! Heeyyy ! Someone in there ?" You waved your hand near his face.
He blinked.
Once,
Twice.
Slowly.
Then, reaching and grabbing your hand in his like it was the only thing anchoring him to life. Then spoke in the quietest, softest, most loving tone you've ever heard.. from a pirate atleast.
"..You're the most beautiful woman I've seen since I've set sail to the Grand Line. And the New World."
He spoke like he meant it.
He did.
Your heart strangely warmed up at the compliment, you froze in place for a moment, avoiding his gaze.
"Tch— Don't flatter me, pirate boy."
"I prefer the term man. But what's with the formalities, doll? Just call me Roger." He purred, placing a kiss on the back of your hand like a vow. You swatted his away, waving him off dismissively.
"Well, Roger. I don't do pirates."
"Yet."
"Never."
You sighed, the rest of the crew laughed.
What you didn't know was that this was the start of something straight out of a romance novel.
Because Roger was now a man inlove with you, and he was very persistent about it. And he sure as hell was about to make it everyone's problem. Especially yours.
They were originally staying in Loguetown for a day, one. To stock up.
It's been a week. They're still here. He often came back by himself, supposedly for a drink, but he would spend most of it just glaring at you like a walking diamond.
He even started offering to help with chores? Like what kind of pirate does that??
Anyway, you never complained about having a helping hand, didn't matter from who.
Once in a while, he'd reach behind you for another bottle of rum, his arm casually, "accidentally" brushing against your back in the moment.
Or even fix your apron, tighten the ribbon, small gestures like that. Ones that sent butterflies directly to your stomach, and god you hated admitting it, but you were actually enjoying his presence.
"So, not giving me your name yet?" Roger smiled, fingers drumming on the counter like a ticking bomb.
"Mm.. No." You spoke, firm, clear.
"Fine by me, I'll just be calling you my future wife."
"Absolutely not."
"Then give me your name."
.
.
A sigh.
"..I'll think about it."
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Time trudged forward,
Another seven days gone. Roger wasn't.
Aboard the Oro Jackson, he sat beside his first inmate, Rayleigh. Sharing a drink, peacefully. The star-kissed night sky stretched endlessly, moonlight casting a spell on the two men, highlighting their sharp features. An usual peaceful silence washing over the ship.
"Don't you think it's time to leave?" The blonde asked after a sip of sake.
"Not without her, no." Roger answered with the confidence of a man who'd already earned your heart.
"She doesn't seem interested. In pirates, atleast."
"She said she'll give me her name."
"She said she'll think about it. That's not an advance." Rayleigh corrected him.
Roger only laughed, leaning back against the railing, glaring up at the sky like he could physically picture you in it. In his eyes, the bright moon couldn't hold a candle to your radiant face. He sighed, with a smile, then spoke again.
"I love her, Rayleigh. And I know she does, or will eventually.. It's fate."
Silvers looked at him mid sip, before averting his gaze into the vast horizon ahead, a faint smile, followed by a chuckle emitting out of him.
"Fate, huh?"
"It brought me and you, and the crew together.. I'm sure it'll bring her to me aswell."
"..Do what you must. Captain." Rayleigh assured him, a hand patting his back in a friendly gesture. In a way that said "I'll always support you through even your worse decisions." After all, he signed up for it the moment he joined Roger.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁
The next day, the tavern had long been open, it was especially crowded around noon. Reeked of pirates and sweat. You unconsciously found yourself looking for him amidst the bunch. Your eyes glued to the door like it was some sort of gate to heaven.
Only disappointment crossed your features every second that ticked without him entering.
Whilst staring at the door, you simultaneously were pouring a drink for this seemingly obnoxious pirate, he spoke too loud, moved too loud, breathed too loud. Though, you zoned out, and accidentally spilled the liquid onto him.
"What the hell — You.. !" He shouted, suddenly standing up from his seat, the chair scraping against the floorboards with a loud, screeching noise.
Then tugged at the collar of your shirt. You dropped the bottle, attempting to push him away with an apology.
"I—.. I'm sorry - I'll make up for it, I'll pay you back —" You stammered, your heart pounding at your chest nervousely. You've dealt with pirates, but never one who directly, physically threatened you.
And the worst part? Nobody dared speak up, some even laughed, like they got first class seats to a drama spectacle.
But.
The door opened. Slowly, almost ominously. Like a threat.
The dimly lit cavern shrouded in outside light for a moment, only before the door closed again.
The air was heavy now, like it was holding secrets. Not a word was spoken.
Roger walked in. Tall, imposing, intimidating. The kind that made people straighten their backs from the sheer strength of his aura alone.
Standing behind the man threatning you, It didn't take a single word from him, not a throat clearing, not one move.
Only a piercing glare, from behind, mind you. Hand resting on the hilt of his sword like he was counting the seconds for this guy's untimely death.
And it worked, god it worked. Because the guy's face turned so pale you thought he might aswell be dead on his feet. He let go of your shirt, taking a few steps back and raising his hands in surrender.
In the background, you heard others whispering about how Roger himself was here, and curiously asking why he was defending you.
"Your fingers, or your life. Choose one." Roger's deep, commanding voice cut through the sharply. It wasn't a question, or a request. It was a firm order , and he looked down at the guy like his life depended on every second he spent thinking about it.
The man took a few steps back, raising his hands in surrender, an awkward, nervous laugh emitting from him. Previously so big and confident, he was reduced to nothing but a begging pest. One that regretted every life decision it made until now.
He was utterly speechless, to say the least.
Until you stepped beside Roger, a hand on his back reassuringly as you spoke.
"It's fine, Roger. It was my fault, just let him go."
He glanced at you, then at the pathethic mess infront of him, stepping away from the exit.
"Don't ever think about coming back."
"Yes! I'm sorry —" The man bowed one time, then left running so fast he tripped over his own feet once, picking himself up and running off again.
The rest of the customers, pirates and whatnot, laughed at the sight, breaking the silence and resuming their ealier loud chatting and laughing.
You two stood there, unmoving. You've never seen this side of him, he always just acted like an emotionally lovestruck teenager around you, but you were beginning to understand why he was so notorious.
You walked away, behind the bar counter again, as you usually do, like nothing just happened. And he followed, because of course he did.
"You should be more careful with these pirates." He smiled again, leaning against a wall beside you, arms crossed over his chest, shirt fully open ever so casually.
"I'm alright, handled a ton before. I was just.. caught offguard, is all." You reassured him, all the while serving other customers again.
"Good, wouldn't want you getting hurt before stealing your heart, would I?" Roger leaned closer, an eyebrow raised with a smug grin plastered on his face.
You couldn't supress the chuckle that came out of you as you pushed his face away dismissively.
"Ohh, cut it out."
"Does that mean I've already stolen your heart?" He laughed, not budging at your feeble attempt to push him away.
"No. Don't get ahead of yourself." You replied lazily, a faint smile crinkling at the corners of your mouth.
Because a part of you wanted to say, "No, not yet."
You were truly starting to fall for this man.
And it was bad.
.
.
The end of the day rolled on, the sun setting slowly, like it was getting ready for bed. The warm, golden glow spilling onto the now empty, dimly lit tavern.
You leaned forward against the counter, utterly exhausted, overstimulated, everything clung too tight around you. You tossed your apron aside, rubbing your temples.
And Roger was there, still. The way he always was for the past two weeks. Over time, he'd learned where you kept everything, from drinks to empty bottles and glasses, and had arranged everything for you.
Seeing your defeated state, he walked up behind you, both hands on your shoulders, squeezing ever so gently.
"Take it easy, my dear." Roger cooed, his thumbs moving to the nape of your neck, it felt like he was physically massaging the pain out of your body.
"Didn't know your hands were good at anything else other than swinging swords and breaking stuff." You joked, though the way you leaned into his touch betrayed your words.
"Oh, they're good at many things, alright." He chuckled, continuing his relaxing kneading.
"You're filthy."
"You like it."
"Only for the massages."
With that, you found yourself staying in the tavern the whole night with him. Sat across from eachother, you chatted. Like, actually had complete conversations without him trying to flirt with you every two sentences.
You listened, carefully. Captivated again, by the way he narrated his adventures like he spoke not just to be heard, but to inspire. There was a wild, reckless energy to him, like a man who'd seen the worst of sea and still decided to smile back at it.
You could almost see yourself in the middle of those thrilling adventures.
When your worlds collided, his high-spirited, energetic world, contrasting with your own boring, bartending life. You hated to admit it.
To admit that you were slightly envious of him. How free and careless he was. It was adoring, loveable, in a way.
You also hated how fond you've grown of him. Or atleast, you tried to convince yourself that you hated it. Because he wasn't a bad person, at all. Hell, if anything, he was nicer than most citizens.
And for the first time since you met? You finally gave him your name.
"..Y/N." Roger repeated after you, like he was testing and tasting the syllables of it on his tongue, his voice softer than anything you've heard from him before. A fond, warm smile plastered on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
And gods, you loved it. As corny as it sounded. You were actually falling for this reckless mess of a man.
.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
.
The hours slipped away, you hadn't realized how long you spent just talking to him. You even forgot how absolutely exhausting that day was. And eventually, sleep got to the both of you.
And the night gave way to morning. Darkness began to loosen its grip as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon.
Unbeknowst to both of you, two of his crew grew suspicious of the fact that he was away the whole night, and came looking for him.
Both stood at the door, Gaban and Rayleigh.
"Do you think they.." Gaban whispered, trailing off. Leaving the rest to imagination.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rayleigh protested. "For god's sake, why would we be in their business, I came to stop you, not —"
"Shh —" The other interrupted him with his finger on his lips, "— I heard a noise."
Rayleigh sighed, hard.
Then, the long awaited opening of the door.
They were greeted by everything but what they expected.
You were both sleeping, sat on stools with your arms on the counter propped like pillows. And Roger's cape draped over you as a makeshift blanket,
That was definitely his doing, not your idea.
Gaban blinked, once.
A very slow blink. In attempt to assess the sight. He looked almost disappointed, like someone just slapped him with a plot-twist.
And Rayleigh, on the other hand, who was looking away, only now averted his gaze to the two of you.
The expression of a man who's salad just blinked at him.
"That. I didn't expect that." Buggy spoke up in the background, immediately shushed by Shanks.
"What are you doing here?" Rayleigh looked down at the two, arms crossed over his chest disappointingly.
"I told you to stay quiet !!" Shanks shouted.
"You're being louder than all of us right now!" The other argued back, pressing his forehead against Shanks'.
The sudden shouting was enough to pull you from slumber. You mumbled something incomprehensible groggily, before sitting upright, Roger's cape still draped around your shoulders, it was strangely warmer than you thought.
And, it smelled like him, your favorite part. Even though it wasn't the best scent, it was the familiarity of it that you so enjoyed.
Though Roger didn't budge from his sleep, not one bit.
Rubbing an eye, you shot them an annoyed glare.
"Y'know.. I still work here, knock before entering. It says closed, bold and clear as day."
"Why are you in here if you're closed?" Shanks tilted his head in intrigue, Rayleigh pinched and pulled his cheek.
Then, with a sigh, he eventually walked inside, making his way to where Roger was sat sleeping across from you, and nudging him awake.
"Not to disturb your.. uhm, whatever." Rayleigh cleared his throat, his expression taking a more serious turn. "We have to leave now."
Roger's ears perked up at that, immediately jerking awake, eyes wide as ever, like lightning just struck his spine.
"I didn't decide on that. Who said we do?" He protested, standing up from his seat. You followed.
"Word came in that marines found we're here. We'll just bring chaos and problems to the other citizens.. and her too."
Then, silence. It was checkmate, and his mouth knew it.
"You wouldn't want that, would you?" Rayleigh continued. The truth hitting Roger like a thunderclap to the chest.
Gaban's usual cocky smirk faded, and the kids' bantering ceased as they watched with a serious expression from a comfortable distance. Rayleigh joined them.
"Have a talk, but we're setting out before noon. No more delays, Captain." The blonde affirmed one more time. Before making his way out. It wasn't like him to be so commanding, but when times like these called for it, it was necessary.
You were once again, left alone with Roger. He was visibly frowning, it was unlikely of him aswell, but you could tell, that his mind was racing and spiraling with a million thoughts.
The silence was deafening, until broken by himself.
"..Y/N. Come with us. Join my crew !" He wore his words with confidence, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
You averted your gaze, brows slightly furrowed. He already saw it coming, your answer.
"I know you want to. I saw how your eyes lit up at my stories, Y/N." Roger insisted, his voice barely above a whisper, a striking counterpoint to his usual gruff, loud voice.
"..It's not that easy, Roger. To just leave everything behind. To be a pirate, of all things."
He stopped, the only movement being his hand reaching under your chin, gently redirecting your gaze to his.
"It's not easy, but we'll make it easy. If you only joined.. Please." He cooed, his brows furrowing, expression hardening. You've never thought you'd hear someone as mighty as himself begging someone like you, to just join him. Love did things to a man.
You wanted to give in, to your wants, to your delusions. To be selfish, for once. But you couldn't. You had to remind yourself, they're just pirates, filth, blood thirst, everything you hated.
Or atleast everything you forced yourself to hate.
Your hands reached to your shoulders, fingers curling around his cape.
Just as you were about to remove it, his hand placed ontop of yours. Feather light. Softly. Like a whisper.
"..Keep it. We'll meet again, and when we do, give it back to me." He smiled. Like he always did. Roger truly loved you, thus, he could never bring himself to force you to do something you were against.
His thumb brushed over the back of your hand gently, quickly, before leaning closer and touching his lips tenderly against your forehead.
And without another word, Roger turned and walked away. Each step heavier than the other, like his own feet were trying to keep him in place.
And you? You were speechless, heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to say something, to call out for him, to express yourself. He even paused at the tavern door, for a moment longer than necessary, like he was giving you one more chance to change your mind.
You didn't. You simply stood and watched him leave. A mouthful of silence and a heart too full to speak. Your voice curling up and hiding behind your ribs, like the words physically melted in your tongue each time you thought of speaking.
You let him go. The one man you loved, slipping through your fingers like smoke.
And for once, in what seemed like years. Your shoulders shook in unshed tears as you were now left completely alone in the darkness-shrouded tavern.
. ┊ ┊
┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .
┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 
﹏𓊝; part 1 : end !
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animasola86 · 24 hours ago
Text
🚩 FORCED: 08
You spend a few more moments strapped to that awful chair, experiencing new things, witnessing other things, being unsettled all the way through...
a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader
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WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: NSFW! Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Bondage. Enemas (medical kink?)! Inflation. Humiliation. Degradation. Anal insertions, anal gaping. Deep penetration. Belly bulge. Sex toys/butt plugs. (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)
WORDS: 3.4k 🚩 READ ON AO3! 🚩 SERIES MASTERLIST
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A/N: So. Yes, you read that right (if you read the warning tags above, which I hope you always do!): it's the enema episode. I swear I didn't write it too detailed. It's one of those things I always found strangely fascinating, so bear with me here. You can always skip this one, or skim to the end (look for this 🔴) where Master* plays with another girl. *Master being the man you want him to be, of course (still clogging those fandom tags, sue me!). His role isn't as big here, but he is definitely there, in all his dominant glory. And even more so in the next chapter, if you actually decide to sit this one out.
As always, for more information on him and Reader, check the Author's Notes in chapter 1.
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Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9
You woke up almost in the same position, reclined in that strange chair, still bound, body sweat-slick and shivering, and the first thing you registered was something poking out of your ass, clenched between tight muscles, like a tube, going deep, and the second thing was the increasing pressure in your stomach.
A whimper crawled out of your sore throat as your eyes raked downward. You felt incredibly full, were barely able to breathe, even less so when you noticed the shape of your usually flat tummy, bulging out, pulled taut, skin tight, slowly inflating. The unusual sensation made you whine again, panic surging through your already tense body, making you struggle in your bonds.
“Shh, it'll be alright,” you heard a soft voice from somewhere between your spread legs. “Don't move too much, it'll be over soon.”
You strained your neck, trying to find who'd consoled you, when you saw the head of a girl, a young woman, poking up, a shy smile on thin lips, reddened eyes looking up at you. You'd feel ashamed to have another stranger so close to your private parts, but she was just as naked as you, the same collar around her neck, and she was also wearing a braid, like all the others, like you, and hers had a red ribbon holding it together. You were glad she was one of the girls who still had her vocal chords. Maybe she could give you some answers.
“W-why –” you stammered, but she shushed you again, her head turning towards the door of the sterile room.
“No talking,” she replied quietly. “Master doesn't like it when we talk. Rest your voice,” she added, looking back at you. “Relax.”
You suddenly felt her hands on your inner thighs, the gentle rubbing warm and soothing, and it did distract you from the strange things happening inside you.
While you felt really full, your insides bloated beyond what should be possible, it were the cramps that made you really sweat. Hot and cold shivers crashed through you as your muscles contracted, reacting to whatever liquid was pumped into you. In your haze, you noticed an IV stand next to your chair, holding an unusually large bag that was slowly deflating, and when your eyes followed the tube attached to it, it only added to your growing fear as you realized there was still more mystery liquid being fed into you.
You'd heard of enemas before, yet you had no idea it would be like this, but then many things seemed to work differently here, wherever here was, whatever kind of place this was, where girls were always naked and treated like dogs in kennels, eating from bowls on the floor, having their holes inspected and used against their will.
At this point, you should have stopped worrying about whatever came your way, but you still found yourself deeply troubled by it all. Yet the more you thought about your new life, how you came to live it, how unfair it all was, the more frustrated you became, knowing you couldn't change a single thing. You were at the mercy of a sadist and his many pets, having to follow his commands and enduring whatever he threw your way. A shaking sigh escaped you, triggering another deep cramp, and you wailed, squirming on the chair.
The other girl stood up then, her hands rubbing over your bulging belly, giving it gentle pressure, the warmth of her touch soothing the aches within at least a little. She kept shushing you, her eyes on your flushed face. It was eerily calming.
“Try to see the good in it,” she then whispered, barely audible, her hands cupping your stomach. “Doesn't it feel good too? How it fills you? You'll feel so clean after, and it'll be a true experience when it all comes out, trust me.”
You frowned at her words, not having thought about that part of the procedure. Shame crashed through you. The girl only smiled, rubbing her hands around your waist, stepping closer to your crotch, her bare stomach brushing against your still swollen labia.
“And it'll feel even better when Master takes your ass again,” she kept whispering, a somewhat dreamy look in her dull eyes. “He taught me how to come like that, you know? By anal alone? I haven't had anything in my pussy in ages. I don't need it. All I need is his cock in my ass... or a plug or a dildo or the fucking machine if he feels generous. I even like it when he shoves other things in there, like balls? Fruit? Bottles? Anything really... It's so nice to have something up my ass, being filled out, plugged up...” She sighed, and you watched her with growing concern. “I wish I was on that chair right now, you know? But I only get to be pumped full and cleaned every two weeks. At least I can watch the others getting filled, that's something, right?” She laughed dryly, her eyes raking down your body, her hands back to cup your belly.
Your frown deepened, the cramps momentarily ignored as you focused on her story. “How... how long have you been here?” you managed to ask before she could shush you again.
She looked at you, her eyelids fluttering. “I don't know. It doesn't matter. I am Master's anal whore, that is my purpose, and that's all that's important. And you'll be his little fuckdoll,” she added, smiling softly. “I bet he'll dress you up in cute clothes and treat you like a real doll, maybe he'll take you outside too! Ah, you almost make me jealous,” she chuckled quietly. “He's always so nice to the new ones... You better enjoy it while you can.”
Her last words made you widen your eyes. Nice? Enjoy it while you can? As another wave of cramps wrecked your insides, causing you to moan in pain, you suddenly saw your whole future turning black. If how he treated you before was nice, then you couldn't even imagine how he'd treat you once you were old news, once he grew bored of his new fuckdoll. Tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head away, sniffling pathetically.
The girl rubbed her hands along your stomach and moved back down between your legs. You didn't particularly care what she was doing there, how she tugged at the tube stuck in your ass, slowly pulling it out, how there were shuffling noises of something big being pulled closer, and how her fingers probed at your sphincter. You didn't care, you couldn't care, if you did, you'd surely break. So you cried quietly, unable to move, unable to do anything else but endure.
“You're all filled up now,” you heard her say, her voice a little flat. “Hold it in, okay? I'm going to tell Master that you are ready, and when I come back, it'll be better, I promise. Hang in there.”
You gave a croaked sound of confirmation, closing your eyes as you tried to relax, but not enough to be unable to hold it in, however that was supposed to work. Tensing up even more, the strange pain only grew stronger. Your breaths were shallow, your mind racing, your sobs quietening slowly as you heard the girl leave the room through the door.
You didn't know how long she was gone, but by the time she came back, you were numb enough to no longer care, yet your body was aching under the pressure, your muscles screaming under the strain. The cramps never let up. You felt sick, bile resting at the edge of your throat, but you knew there was no relief. Not in the way you hoped. It wouldn't just disappear. It wasn't over yet.
Suddenly your chair was being lowered with a whirring sound, your inflated stomach sloshing about under the motion. You groaned, rattling in your restraints. Blinking your eyes open, you saw the girl between your legs, one hand on your belly, the other rubbing down your slit. You flinched slightly when she poked at your puckered hole. Her eyes found yours, but you couldn't hold her gaze. You were too ashamed.
“Alright, you can let go now,” she told you, and you felt her stepping away, walking around the chair. “It's okay, there's a bucket beneath you, just let go, okay?” You had no idea what to do (well, of course you had some idea but you didn't like the reality of it), and frankly, you didn't want to do anything, not with her there, not in general. She waited for a moment, just standing there, before you suddenly felt her hands pressing down on your bloated stomach.
You groaned, squirming to try to get away. “Stop, please,” you whined, but she didn't stop, and your humiliation burned up badly when the added pressure had the desired effect on your bowels. Crying helplessly, you couldn't have stopped it if you tried. Squeezing your eyes shut, fisting at the edges of the chair, straining against your bonds, you just let it happen, trying to ignore the noises and the cramps and the sensations and the girl next to you who kept rubbing your slowly deflating stomach. You were deeply disturbed by it all, humiliated beyond belief, but when it was all over, when you were empty and clean, you did feel a strange kind of relief.
A croaked whimper escaped you, your body shivering, your skin slick with cold sweat. The girl wiped at your wet face, shushing you. “Well done,” she whispered. You couldn't look at her, barely registered her words. “Master will be proud. You took it so well. Now you're all clean and ready for him to fill you up.”
She proceeded to clean you up further, the soft cloth on your warm skin a soothing thing that helped you pull away from whatever had just happened. You couldn't think about it, didn't want to think about it, so you didn't. You just lay on that chair and endured, again, with your eyes closed, your chest falling and rising, your heart slowly calming down.
There were noises around you, but you didn't care. Footsteps came and went, stuff was moved from A to B, the door opened and closed a few times. You were still too dizzy, still trying to come to terms with having your bowels washed out like that, the humiliation of it all sizzling under your skin. You really tried not to think about it, but your mind was relentless. And it didn't help that you still couldn't move, strapped to the chair as you were.
🔴 A sigh passed your quivering lips, before the air shifted around you. The door opened and closed with a weird finality, footsteps filled the small room, loud and confident, and as they stopped, you blinked your eyes open and looked up, immediately meeting the dark gaze of the man who was responsible for all of your humiliation.
Flinching in surprise, you tried to straighten up, somehow your body wanted to be alert for him, while another side of you just wanted to hide from his scrutinizing eyes raking over your exposed form. But you couldn't do either, unable to move in any way you wanted, so you just bit your lip and knitted your eyebrows, at least forcing the tears away that threatened to spill from your eyes.
The man watched you for a moment, then turned his attention to the other girl, who was kneeling on the floor next to the chair, her head bowed low.
“Everything went smoothly?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Yes, master,” she said quietly.
“Good. Well done, whore,” he replied, his hand reaching out to touch the back of her head. She gasped softly, but remained in her submissive position, while you frowned more. The way he threw around these degrading names like they were compliments still irked you. The girl didn't seem to mind.
“Thank you, master,” she cooed.
He nodded, his handsome face still impassive and hard, and you noticed he was carrying a long box under his arm. Bending down, he put it in front of the girl, then used the tip of his shiny shoe to get her attention. “Pick your reward,” he told her, and she looked up tentatively.
From your position on the chair you couldn't quite see what was inside the box, but you still watched the scene (because what else were you supposed to do?). The girl took the lid off and issued a strangled noise, before she looked up at the man with a wide smile on her face. “Oh, thank you, master! Thank you!” She then grabbed whatever was inside the box and held it up like something sacred, flat on her open palms, and you saw that it was a giant double-ended dildo. And it was really giant, it was wider and longer than the girl's forearm, veiny like a real cock, made of flesh-colored silicone, and the sight alone made you very uncomfortable.
You swallowed audibly, but nobody paid you any mind. The man picked up the box and whatever else was in there and carried it to a nearby table, then turned back to the girl and grabbed the dildo from her hands.
“Present,” he said in that dominant tone of his, and the girl immediately shuffled into a different position. She turned around, still on her knees, but now her ass was up and her face pressed to the floor, her arms folded behind her back, her hands gripping tightly onto her elbows.
You had to strain your neck a little to see her properly, and while you debated to just look away and ignore whatever was happening, you couldn't do any of it. There was a weird pull to the absurdity of it all, this place, these girls, this man, the things he did to them, the way they talked about him. How thankful she had sounded, how excited she'd been to tell you how much she loved having things up her ass. It was weird, and somehow you knew, it could only get weirder.
And indeed it did. You saw the man carrying a strange contraption, a black rubber ball with a tube attached to something that looked like a small but long butt plug, glistening slightly in the harsh fluorescent lights above you. You watched in growing concern how he walked up to the girl's backside, and without preparing her or adding more lube or anything else that could have helped, he pressed the stiff plug to her sphincter. He was really using force, the way his knuckles blanched under the strain, and how the girl pushed back to hold her position, breathing harder. Eventually her muscles opened up and the plug slipped into her, making her gasp softly.
He pushed it as deep as he could, with only the wider base with the black tube sticking out of her, then he straightened up and started pumping the ball attached to it. You heard air flow, some sort of hissing sound, his hand worked and worked, and you realized he was inflating something, no, not something, the plug in the girl's ass, and the mere idea of it made you squirm on the chair, feeling your own insides protesting.
Yet the girl only knelt there, still except for her labored breaths and an occasional shiver crashing through her. She just endured, and as she did, you stared at the scene, how the man kept pumping, how more and more air pushed into the plug and ultimately into her, stretching her more and more. Eventually he stopped, then gave the tube a little tug. It wouldn't budge.
“Push it out,” he said, and you frowned at the command.
The girl, however, complied quickly, straining herself, her back arching, sounds of effort and quiet moans slipping from her lips. You should really look away, you shouldn't be watching a girl trying to press an inflated plug out of her ass, but again, you couldn't move, couldn't avert your eyes. There was a depraved kind of fascination to it, how she pushed, how her muscles stretched, and how suddenly, the black silicone popped her open from within, and with a drawn-out sigh, she managed to push the entire thing out of her rear. It left her with a wet pop, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of it. It was almost as big as a fucking football (maybe not quite, but it was still unusually large!).
Cold shivers crashed through you, and you finally managed to turn your head away. The motion pulled the man's attention back to you, the silent witness, and suddenly he was there and grabbed your chin, turned your head back. His other hand fumbled with the controls of the chair and you felt yourself being moved, from the reclined into a sitting position. You stared up at him.
“Keep watching, doll. I want you to learn,” he told you in his low voice, his eyes boring into yours. You nodded weakly.
Letting go of you, he focused back on the girl on the ground, who had moved her hands to her backside and was holding herself open, fingers hooked into the wide gaping hole. Your stomach churned at the sight. The man crouched down then, his hand on her lower back, before he raised it to slap it against her sensitive rim, making her flinch.
“What a good hole you are,” he said quietly, and she cooed in response. “Let's fill you up properly, hm?”
He leaned back to grab the giant dildo she'd taken from the box, and without saying anything more, he lined one side of the toy up and simply pushed it into her, or rather, slid it into her, there was no obstruction, her rim too wide, her muscles too loose, it just slipped in, and in, until the entirety of it vanished into her depths. You saw her adjusting to the insertion, her back arching, body contorting to accommodate the object invading her insides, but she didn't fuss, she just took it, even seemed excited about it, the way she was buzzing and wriggling her ass slightly.
Once the item was inside her, he made her press her hands to her hole, keeping it from slipping back out, before he stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He returned with something big and transparent, some sort of wide plug you assumed. You watched him nudge the girl with the tip of his shoe again, and she took her hands away so he could shove the plug into her hole, sealing her up.
He proceeded to slap her ass cheeks a few times, like he'd done with you to make you clench, and you saw the same happening to the girl's loose rim. Eventually it closed around the narrower handle of the plug, keeping everything in place. You exhaled a shaky breath as it was all done, not having realized you had held your breath during it.
“Stand,” the man said, and the girl stood up, a little unsteady, but then she straightened up, pushed her chest out, and you could see a visible dent in her stomach, an unnatural bulge, and you could only assume how the dildo inside her rearranged her guts, how deep it really went, how much space it was taking up. The thought alone made you tremble.
But the girl was smiling at the man, bowing her head as she said: “Thank you, master.”
“You're dismissed,” he replied with a nod. “Go back to your cage. I'll find you tomorrow.”
“Yes, master,” she whispered with another bow, and started walking past him towards the door, her steps very uneasy, the thing inside her making it definitely hard to move properly. But somehow she managed, and you watched her as she left, the door falling closed behind her.
And suddenly you were alone with him again. Swallowing hard, you watched him, wondering what he had planned next. You couldn't see it on his impassive face, but you knew it would be something you couldn't imagine in your wildest dreams, or nightmares.
Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9
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End notes: Alone with Master at last (again)! Whatever will he do to you next? Stay tuned!
New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!
Thank you for braving this depravity reading!
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MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS
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vivieenee · 2 hours ago
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Flowers? In Gotham?
Jason Todd x flower shop owner! reader
† Jason Todd back from the dead roams around Gotham and ends up in a small shop in Gotham.
Warning:Bad writing (made by beginner writer)
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Jason Todd. The 6 feet giant who just came out from his grave, covered in dirt, and a decaying suit. He doesn't know how he's alive, hell he doesn't even know if he could go back to his home.
Roaming around the streets looking awful and tired as hell, he's sure. And just his luck, the raindrops slowly poured. Shit. He mentally cursed before looking around for shelter when something caught his eye. A floral shop? In Gotham? Open at night? He shook his head trying to focus before entering the small shop.
"Good evening how may I-" she stopped in her tracks as Jason approached her with a tired expression. "Water." Was all he mustered out before everything went black.
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As the sunlight slowly hits his face waking him up. He slowly sat up with a groan. Fuck my head's spinning. He looked around the unfamiliar room, a strange yet cozy living room he assumed.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. How are you feeling? You collapsed in my shop last night " An unfamiliar voice said as he turned around to see a girl who was cutting off the thorns of a few red rose. The flower girl. he thought.
"Crap... My head hurts like hell..." He said in a frustrated tone as he held his temples.
"On your left." She says unbothered.
To his surprise, there was a water bottle with a few ibuprofen pills in a small pill box.
"Thanks." He said before taking the pill and water.
"You don't seem bothered that I'm in your home." He commented before standing up and taking a stretch.
She shrugged. "Eh it's Gotham, everyone's weird and unbothered."
He had to admit, she had a point. He slowly approached her.
"So... You're completely fine with a stranger in your home." He crossed his arms as he carefully watched her work with the thorns.
She stopped what she was doing to look him up and down. "You're wearing a suit that looks like it was washed in dirt. Did you get dumped?" She playfully commented, earning a scoff from him.
"Nah... Came back from the dead actually." He smirked.
The girl gave him a weird look "sure..." She continued to cut off the thorns. "Say, what's your name?"
He raised an eyebrow before answering in a gruff tone "Jason. Jason Todd."
"huh..." She trailed off. "Like the dead Wayne kid?" She jokingly said only to be met with Jason's silence.
"You're fucking what?!" She exclaimed as she slammed the roses onto the counter.
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A/n: halloo I'm trying to learn how to write so please excuse my awful grammar and other odd things. Anyways have a nice day!
Pt. 2?
(borders from: @haecunt and @uzmacchiato )
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foxtrology · 41 minutes ago
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ALANAAA CAN YOU WRITE PROMPT 43???? YOU ARE CARRYING THE HARRY CASTILLO NATION ON YOUR BACKKK LIKE
dad! harry castillo
prompt 43: adella finds out about harry’s “old life” before her. she asks if he was famous. he says he was important. “now i’m yours.”
prompt list
It was a Tuesday.
The kind of weekday that felt soft around the edges—sky pale, clouds barely there, the sun slow to stretch. Harry had dropped her off that morning like he always did. Coffee in hand, tie slightly askew from her tiny fingers tugging on him mid-breakfast, and Adella in her ladybug backpack and mismatched socks, chattering about how today was “library day” and how Mrs. Fletcher let her check out three books last week because “I was extra polite.”
She kissed him on the cheek before she ran in. Just a quick little press of lips, like a routine. And he watched her go—like he always did—hand in pocket, jaw tight, eyes warm in that way he didn’t let happen with anyone else.
What he didn’t see was the way two of the moms near the gate leaned in to each other as he walked back to the car.
“That’s Harry Castillo,” one said. Voice just low enough to pretend she wasn’t gossiping. Just loud enough for a child nearby to hear.
“The hedge fund guy? From the articles?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Lives up in that big house on the cliff.”
“Didn’t he date that matchmaker once? And then disappear?”
“Married someone younger. Heard they have a kid.”
“They say he used to be ruthless. The kind of man who made people cry in boardrooms.”
Adella didn’t mean to listen.
She just heard her dad’s name. And then… the words stuck.
Used to be. Ruthless. Made people cry.
It was strange. Because her daddy was the man who cut her toast into hearts and let her wear tutus to the grocery store. He did the silly voices when he read bedtime books. He painted her toenails and pretended not to know when she snuck an extra marshmallow.
That man didn’t sound like hers.
So when school ended, and she spotted him waiting near the pick-up gate, she walked a little slower.
He looked up from his phone when he saw her. Smiled.
But she didn’t smile back right away.
Just reached for his hand and held it tight.
He noticed the difference immediately.
She was quiet the walk to the car. Quieter still when they pulled into the driveway. He helped her out of the car, handed her the paper crown she’d made in art class that day. She didn’t put it on. Just carried it. It didn't seem like her.
She was thinking.
Harry didn’t push.
Not until they were inside, shoes off, snack bowl full of grapes on the counter. She sat on one of the stools, legs swinging, her little brow furrowed the way it did when she was trying to figure out if invisible meant see-through or not there at all.
He leaned against the counter. Arms crossed loosely. “Alright, sweetheart. Out with it.”
She looked up at him. “Were you famous?”
The question didn’t land the way she expected it to.
Harry blinked once.
Then pushed off the counter. Slowly. Walked over to her.
“Who said that?”
“No one. I just heard some moms at drop-off.”
His jaw clenched.
She saw it.
“But they weren’t saying bad things,” she rushed. “I think they were just… surprised. Like, like they knew you before.”
He crouched in front of her. Looked her in the eye. “I wasn’t famous.”
She tilted her head. “Were you important?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. I was important.”
She chewed her lip. “Like… to other people?”
His voice got quieter. “Yeah. For a while.”
“Were you mean?”
Harry looked down.
His hands braced against his knees. He exhaled. Thought about how to answer that in a way that didn’t lie.
“I was…” He paused. “I didn’t care what people thought. I didn’t care if I made them uncomfortable. Or if they liked me. I wanted to win.”
She nodded slowly, even if she didn’t fully get it. “So… you were kind of scary?”
“Sometimes.”
“But not to me,” she said quickly. “Never to me.”
He smiled, small and soft. “Never to you.”
She looked at her crown.
Then at him.
“So what happened?”
Harry sat down fully. Cross-legged on the floor in front of her like he wasn’t sixty and that wouldn’t hurt later.
“You did,” he said.
She blinked. “Me?”
“You happened. Your mom happened. This house. Our life. I stopped needing to be important to people who didn’t love me.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Then she slipped off the stool.
Sat in his lap.
Curled into him like she used to when she was smaller.
He held her instinctively.
And after a long, quiet second, she whispered—
“But you are important.”
His voice was rough now. “To you?”
She nodded.
He kissed her hair. “Then I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
They stayed there for a while.
When his wife came home later, purse slung over her shoulder, hair messy from the wind and cheeks pink from the chill, she found them like that.
On the kitchen floor.
A bowl of grapes half-eaten on the counter.
Adella asleep in his lap, crown tipped sideways on her head, little fists curled against his chest.
Harry looked up at her, something unreadable in his face.
She didn’t have to ask. Just knelt down beside them, her hand sliding into his hair, her lips brushing his temple.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
Then, quieter—
“She asked if I used to be famous.”
Her mouth quirked.
He looked at her. “I told her I was important.”
“You were.”
He shook his head. Looked down at the girl sleeping against him. “Now I’m hers.”
Her hand tightened on his shoulder.
“You always have been.”
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generalsdiary · 11 months ago
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Moze x Jiaoqiu
word count: 900~
description: just mozqiu being domestic (pre-2.5 events)
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moze is the type of husband who always cleans, keeps everything neat, he will run (quite literally) anywhere and do any errand without complaint, nothing is too hard or difficult for him. he is v protective, „I promise I will bring him back“, nothing is stopping him from getting his husband back, he is confident in his abilities, to the point he isn't even worrying. he always attentively listens to jiaoqiu’s ramblings, his full attention on the foxian. he will eat anything jiaoqiu puts before him, no matter his preferences. uttering simple praises after the meal and never letting his husband clean up.
at night he cuddles with him, being the big spoon, holding his husband close, face buried in the orangey pink hair. like a touch starved kitten, he gravitates to him during the day, always hugging him- backhugs are his favorite. jiaoqiu always smiles, a sparkle in his eyes with each embrace. moze is often quiet, very thoughtful- usually ending up blunt in his words but not cold, never cold. the care and love for each other shown in the soft words, gentle embraces and lingering gazes. moze doesn’t do causal touches, his hands don’t wander to jiaoqiu’s soft tail, or even softer ears, or to caress him. he doesn’t want to overwhelm his husband or make him uncomfortable. yet when they stand close he bumps his nose against his. and when he is so so tired he rests his forehead on the shorter man’s. recharging, seeking comfort, love. luckily for him, his husband knows his main love language is physical touch. jiaoqiu bringing his hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing the rough skin. he misses the smile that brightens the foxian’s face, his eyes shut relishing in the sensations. such a sensitive and responsive man. jiaoqiu is the only person moze allows to touch him, to drag those soft fingers across his scars, through the silver hair, to see him shirtless. he is the only one with whom he makes and keeps eye contact. moze is the type of husband that even without being close jiaoqiu can feel his touch on him. sitting across him, over a hotpot. lilac eyes on him. full of love. as if he is caressing his husband’s cheek at that moment. making jiaoqiu’s chest feel warm from the feeling of such a silent expression of admiration.
on the days jiaoqiu voices that he feels tired a quick response is given in turn “I can carry you.” a blunt, straightforward, and the same offer every time. he is more than happy to carry him + he enjoys showing off for his hubby. not caring for the public opinion or any observers; it doesn’t even cross his mind, jiaoqiu’s happiness the only thing on his mind. sadly, he is always rejected (occasionally making him pout). moze doesn’t even know why (painfully obvious why, the rare blushed jiaoqiu further confirming it). shadows are his safe haven, but jiaoqiu is his peace. they fill each other's needs, like puzzles fitting together, completely domestic in their behaviors; perfect for general feixiao’s safety and well-being. despite working together they don’t get tired of each other. work is work and their house is home.
coriander is not allowed under this roof and no big lights are ever on. when they have guests, jiaoqiu compensates with many small lamps, fairy lights, and a bunch of candles. unscented ones. otherwise, they would clash with the meal. sometimes, jiaoqiu will light a scented candle, but it won’t be lit for longer than an hour, otherwise, he would get overwhelmed due to how sensitive his nose is to smells. moze being the clean freak, and insistent on maintaining really good hygiene and not strong perfumes so he can do his job perfectly would just make jiaoqiu purr if he could. type of husband truly only for him. jiaoqiu is quite a social butterfly and he drags his husband with him, who will grumble a bit and then go along, and behave politely to the best of his capabilities. moze cannot read a room to save his life, short in his sentences and straight to the point despite pondering his words prior, they end up always coming off blunt. he means no harm and what he says is usually of little matter, and none of it holds any weight to him when all he needs is to hear his darling chuckle or gaze at him and all is well in his world. the only result he could possibly ever wish for.
and when they kiss? the lighting and shadow with fire and spice? the I talk a lot, flirtatious, rarely flustered with I listen to you with heart eyes, mainly unaffected but you make me smile. well… they keep it private. such actions feel too personal and intimate for them to be shown in public and given for anyone to see on display. they hold it too close to their hearts, it matters in a different way to them. something near and dear. they won’t be caught showing pda, not even holding hands- well they rarely hold hands either way. it is behind closed doors and in the privacy of their home that their lips meet, and hands wander, leaving soft touches in intimate places that they’d never do in public (unlike many others). it means too much to them.
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a-moth-to-the-light · 1 year ago
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Current Top 10 Bleachers Songs
Though I can't exactly say I grew up with Bleachers--I was 14 when I first heard of them--I feel like I did. Maybe it's because I actually did grow up with Bruce Springsteen, and didn't someone once call Bleachers a glorified Springsteen tribute band? I couldn't find the original reference, but I love Bleachers almost as much as Springsteen (who's only my favorite artist ever--sorry, Alba Reche, you're a close second I promise!!!), so I can't say that label is a bad thing. The Springsteen energy happening in their music is FANTASTIC, with some interesting electronic influences to spice things up! They released a new album last Friday, so it's time to do a top-10-so-far before I find any new favorites :)
1. Wild Heart
This is for all the kids who lived off the Love, Simon soundtrack in eighth grade, who huddled in their room and listened to "Wild Heart" over and over and over again and tried to work up the courage to ask their parents to take them to see the movie... but what if they guess? What if they figure out I'm gay? I'll just watch the trailers over and over again, listen to the soundtrack on repeat... Look, I like so much about "Wild Heart", especially the echo-y vocal effects and the way the chorus crashes in and the grumbling bass and the outro, but really this is my favorite Bleachers song as a salute to my past self. I'm sorry. And thank you. And I'm so proud of you.
2. How Dare You Want More
This song is layers and layers and layers, it's all the chaos and glee of a really great party, and I feel tipsy by the time that sax solo hits.
3. Hate That You Know Me
I thought this one was pretty weird for a longggg time, but it got me eventually. The production here is emptier than what I was used to from their first album, but over time, it started to feel less empty and more immediate to me, like I could just be hearing a couple of people giving the performance of their lives across the street. Speaking of which, shoutout to the backup vocalist who does those riffs--they bring out the best in this song's rhythm. Also, these might be my favorite Bleachers lyrics. They're fantastically fun to sing, without losing any meaning to the sonic whimsy!
4. Don't Take The Money
This is my comfort scream-it-all-out song--it has the perfect blend of genuine humor and equally genuine agony that I love so much in my favorite Taylor Swift songs. Experiencing the mortifying ordeal of being known? Singing, "I SAW YOUR FACE AND HANDS / COVERED IN SUN AND THEN / I THINK I UNDERSTAND / ... OH I UNDERSTAND" is the most effective cure I know.
5. I'm Ready to Move On / Wild Heart -- w/ Yoko Ono
Okay, sure, this is kind of just "Wild Heart" again. But I think it deserves its own spot, since it really does have its own thing going on. I'm not as much of an experimental production lover as I want to be--though I respect attempts to expand the range of sounds we think of as 'music', I still have a hard time actually enjoying the more out-there electronic stuff. But I'll listen to this one any day, weird buzzing noises included, because Yoko Ono's melody instantly cheers me up, and I find myself singing it constantly. Snow is falling! All the time! Snow is smiling! All the time! I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm ready! To move on!
6. I Wanna Get Better (cw: sui)
This one is... intense. I think that's what I love most about Bleachers, though, is that you get all this emotion wrapped up in these ridiculously catchy rock anthems. There's so much feeling that's fighting to get out of these songs, and so much in my heart that's fighting to get out when I listen--but then I can free it by singing along. These are songs that want to be sung along to, that invite your shared experience of things that are too heavy to carry alone. Hell, maybe that's what drew me to Bleachers, specifically, out of all the artists on the Love, Simon soundtrack. Because their music felt like coming out, even before I actually did; it gave me an escape, to a place where I felt like my secret, my big terrifying secret, had already been shared. Even for just a few minutes, I could get that weight of things unspoken off my shoulders. And suicidal ideation is hard to talk about, too. And I didn't talk about it for a long time--not for years after coming out. But I had this song to process it with, and for that I'm eternally grateful <3
7. Like A River Runs
Okay, this spot could belong to a whole bunch of songs on the Strange Desire album, but I'll go with this one, which was my most-listened song on Spotify Wrapped 2020. I don't think I've ever been able to relate to this song--I'm lucky to never have experienced the death of a close friend, or of a family member I knew well--but the production always manages to capture me instantly. I guess this song gives us another good explanation of why I feel like I grew up with Bleachers: their music sounds like how my growing up felt--this overwhelming rush of reckless joy in the present, combined with intense fits of yearning for the past.
8. Everybody Lost Somebody
COME ON MOTHERFUCKER YOU SURVIVED YOU'VE GOTTA GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK !!!!!
9. 91
I never really know what to do with this song, honestly--it's not let-it-all-out fun, like I usually expect from Bleachers. Rather, it's mysterious and reserved... but that makes it uniquely captivating, too. Its lyrics have beautifully executed time skips, and I love that string instruments are made central to the arrangement, rather than left to a low-volume layer in the chorus.
10. Rollercoaster -- w/ Charli XCX
I mean, Bleachers has some of the best hooks out there, and Charli XCX has a voice that makes any chorus a punch to the gut. A dream collaboration, for sure, and I wouldn't be surprised if this is my most-listened Bleachers song ever!
Honorable Mentions: Reckless Love, You're Still a Mystery, All My Heroes, 45, Big Life, Don't Go Dark, Anti-Hero (Taylor Swift feat. Bleachers)
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tonycries · 1 year ago
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FIVE! - C.K.
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Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 5.9k
A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.
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4:37PM.
“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”
And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”
Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 
He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 
But that doesn’t mean he’ll-
“Babies.”
“Huh?”
“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”
Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”
All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.
At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”
Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 
Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?
Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”
Right.
Of course.
Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 
Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”
Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 
“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”
“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 
You notice - of course, you do. 
Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 
He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”
And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.
---
7:16PM.
Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.
“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”
“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”
He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”
You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”
Slam!
“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 
If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 
“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 
“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”
Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”
“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”
And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”
“And?”
“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”
Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.
And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.
He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”
He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”
Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 
And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”
“AW, MAN.”
Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 
Mom? 
So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 
“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”
The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 
So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”
Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”
---
9:02PM.
“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”
You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?
“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 
“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”
Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 
“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”
That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”
Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”
Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”
Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”
“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”
Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”
“Gramps-”
“Says who?”
“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”
“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”
And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”
The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.
Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 
You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 
All five of them, huh?
---
9:37PM. 
SLAM!
“Cho, why’d you-”
“Shut up.”
You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 
“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 
This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”
And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”
Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 
“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”
Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.
“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”
You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 
“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”
Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 
You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”
The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 
And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-
“Fuck!”
And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 
Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”
But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 
“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”
He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 
You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”
And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.
“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”
Oh.
Oh, shit. Five. 
You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.
The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”
You did. How could you not?
You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”
“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”
As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-
“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”
And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 
But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 
“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 
“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 
And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 
“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”
That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 
“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”
And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”
Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 
And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 
“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”
Fuck- 
You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 
Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”
You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 
The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 
All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-
“F-fuck-”
“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”
Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.
From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”
Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-
“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”
Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”
And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”
If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.
Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 
It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”
Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 
It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 
“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 
“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”
You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.
He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-
“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”
Found it.
“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”
All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 
And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 
Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 
“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”
Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 
You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”
And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”
“As- fuck-”
“Mhm?”
“As many as you want- hngh-”
That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.
This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 
Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.
The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.
“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-
Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 
Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.
This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 
Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.
“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”
---
“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”
The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”
Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”
Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”
“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“
Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”
“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”
Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”
“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”
The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.
Oh. 
Wow. Five…really?!
“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”
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A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.
Plagiarism not authorized.
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deathofacupid · 3 months ago
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꩜ CURSED ENERGY? NAH... CURSED DICK!
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MY ANACONDA DON'T... — forget vanilla. with them, sex isn't just good, it's transcendent. it's not like there's room for improvement, but go big... or go home, right?
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꩜ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna.
warnings — áfab!reader. óverstimulatión, dégrading, dúmbification, sqúirting, breedíng. dóm!characters. bóndage (geto's). unprótected séx. blood (sukuna's). inappropriate use of cursed technique + jujutsu. lemme know if i missed anything! 3.2k+ words.
(呪術廻戦) : note — i think i've forgotten how to write fluff now </33 divider credits to @/cafekitsune !
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꩜ SATORU GOJO
the way satoru finds that spot… it’s like he’s got a sixth sense for it, beyond even those eyes. the insistent grind of his hips, the precise angle his thick cock takes as it buries itself deeper. it’s a language your body understands entirely.
“satoru! fuck,” you gasp, head arching back against the worn headboard. it’s so good it borders on agony, a delicious overload that makes your vision swim.
“ah, shit, pretty,” he grunts, his voice roughened with lust. “you’re taking all of me. look at that, huh? so fucking tight.” each powerful thrust has the head of his cock slamming against that sensitive nub deep inside, a relentless pressure that steals the air from your lungs.
all that exists is him – the slick heat, the straining length, every vein and ridge a searing imprint against your slick, yielding flesh.
it’s unnerving, almost invasive, how intimately he seems to know your body, mapping its secrets with a casual expertise. and with those all-seeing eyes, it’s foolish to think he doesn’t.
a wave of dizziness washes over you, coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pure sensation. the faint throb of his teeth marks on your neck is a distant hum against the overwhelming now – the relentless pounding, the feeling of being stretched and filled beyond capacity with each savage push.
the bed-frame creaks in protest with every thrust, the small room thick with the wet, smacking sounds and the friction of skin against skin. the remnants of their last bout, his slick warmth, are still trapped inside, each subsequent invasion driving it further, staking a deeper claim.
he’s not just moaning; it’s the most pornographic thing you've yet to hear, the most obscenely beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. he's whining like a bitch in heat, really.
“no, d- don’t stop,” you plead, your inner muscles clenching instinctively, milking him with desperate urgency.
“mm, not gonna stop,” he bites out, leaning down to press a hard, possessive kiss to your swollen lips. “but you gotta try not to squeeze so damn hard, sweetheart. i might just lose it.”
a mumbled apology escapes your lips, barely intelligible. you’re right on the edge, that familiar release beckoning with dizzying speed. you never stood a chance against him.
never with the way he fucks you, zeroing in on that core of pleasure with an almost cruel precision.
a strangled cry tears from your throat, breath hitching in ragged gasps. “i’m—"
"—i know,” gojo grinds out, cutting you off, his own breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “fuck, me too.”
when he comes, it’s a violent shudder that consumes his entire body, thick ropes of his seed erupting deep inside you. he collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, riding out the tremors of your own shattering climax.
then, he pulls back slightly, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded. “you know,” he says, his voice still thick with the aftermath, a tenderness in his gaze, “i think we should get married.”
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꩜ SUGURU GETO
veiny, thick tendrils of cursed energy snake around you, binding your wrists to the cold metal of the bedposts. they pulse with a subtle, unsettling warmth, a living restraint.
you don't even bother to struggle; experience has taught you the futility. instead, you brace yourself, a strange mix of resignation and fierce anticipation settling in your gut for whatever suguru is willing to give.
the cursed energy is as unyielding as any rope, maybe even tighter. you can already feel the pressure points, the faint burn that promises bruises blooming beneath your skin in the morning.
a small price, you think, a ridiculously small price to pay for the brain-scrambling, mind-numbing oblivion he can deliver.
a very, very small price indeed.
"what a good girl," he purrs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peppers light, almost clinical kisses across your forehead and cheeks. "thought for sure that little whimper earlier meant you were about to tap out."
you huff, the sound catching in your throat and breaking into a shaky whimper despite yourself. "i— i can handle it," you insist, squeezing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation already building. maybe focusing on your breathing will help. just a little.
geto clicks his tongue, a sound that vibrates with amusement. "i have no doubt." you can't decipher if it's genuine or laced with his usual condescension. he has a habit of that, a detached superiority that somehow only amplifies the raw intimacy of his fucking.
if your mind isn't already a hazy mess, you might ask him if he even realizes he's doing it. actually, no, you wouldn't. you like it.
"think you can even take some more?" he's baiting you, you know it. everything with suguru is a subtle power play, a quiet competition. it's the same for you, a bad coincidence, you'd said. him? he voiced it as "being made for each other."
"y— yes, fuck!" the word is a desperate gasp as his thick cock slams into you, a raw, visceral connection that steals your breath. his hand slides down, fingers grazing against your slick folds, teasing the swollen nub of your clit. always the deliberate tormentor.
you want to tangle your fingers in the silky length of his hair, to pull him closer, but the pulsing restraints hold you captive. a frustrating, exquisite helplessness.
"cute lil' pussy," he chuckles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your ear. does he even realize how devastatingly beautiful he looks in moments like these?
his long, dark hair cascading around his face like a fallen angel, a sex-driven, lust-fueled angel bathed in the dim light.
he bucks his hips, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he drives into you. your slick, aching hole does its desperate best to accommodate his size, that initial stretch always taking a painful, exquisite moment. by the time you adjust, he is already impatient, fucking you with a controlled ferocity that borders on brutal.
but you can never stay truly upset with him when it comes to this. he just… thrusts the discomfort away, slamming into your wet heat with a possessive intensity that drowns out everything else.
"sugu— 'm really close," you inhale, sharply, the words broken by a sharp intake of breath.
"yeah, princess?" he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, a flicker of something akin to tenderness in his dark eyes. "can feel you."
he finishes soon after, a series of deep, shuddering thrusts that wrack his body. but not before he ensures you follow, his fingers relentless on your clit until you cry out, your own release a messy, shuddering wave.
within a blink, the pulsing tendrils of cursed energy dissolve, leaving behind only the faint red marks on your wrists. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the irritated skin, a smug wink flashing in his eyes.
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꩜ KENTO NANAMI
nanami's great at sex. always has been. you didn't even think the guy could get better at it. and yet, here he is, showing you just how much more mind-numbingly good he can be.
with those long, surprisingly gentle fingers, he's got your jaw cupped, his thumb stroking your cheek as he murmurs, "can you feel me, darling?"
it's a stupid question, obviously you can feel him. every ridge and vein of his thick cock is pressed against your tight cunt, and you've never felt this stretched, you swear.
nanami just adores how your mouth falls open, your brows all scrunched up in that adorable little frown as his fat tip hits your sweet spot. his other hand slides down to your belly, pressing just lightly, like he's staking his claim. he's prideful, is what he is.
his thrusts are so controlled, so damn rhythmic it's almost hypnotic. every movement has a purpose, a precise intention. there's nothing sloppy or senseless about the way he's fucking you. it's like he's engineered your orgasm.
"oh, fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into the solid muscle of his back, trying to hold on as the pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.
"feels good, no?" he asks, his intense gaze locked on your face. honestly, you wouldn't have pegged him as the type to need his ego stroked, but the look in his eyes says otherwise.
you want to answer him, but your eyes roll back in your head, and you're practically useless, just a whimpering mess under his ministrations.
nanami lets out this low chuckle, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to your forehead. the bastard knows exactly what he's doing to you.
you can feel that 7:3 ratio thing he probably has going on in his head, even if he's not consciously counting. seven deliberate slides in, each one stretching you further, followed by three slightly shallower, teasing movements that keep you right on the edge.
your breath hitches in your throat, and you drag your nails down his solid back, leaving little trails of sensation. "i- i can't…" nanami just ignores your incoherent mumbles, because he knows you don't even know what you're trying to say. you're just strung out on the feel of him.
the slams of his hips against yours get a little less controlled, a little more urgent, but still with that underlying precision that's so distinctly him. you can feel the tension coiling in him, like a tightly wound spring about to snap.
"oh, love, i can feel – fuck – you clenching around me," he grunts, rutting his cock deeper into you. you're desperate for the release that's building, every muscle in your body contracting as you moan and whimper.
nanami lets out a low groan, his usual composed mask finally cracking as he follows you over the edge. his movements keep up, a little less methodical now, until he's shuddering against you, filling you with his hot, precise load.
he finally stills, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing a little ragged. "god, i love you," he murmurs, a rare hint of pure satisfaction in his voice.
seven minutes (and three seconds) in heaven.
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꩜ CHOSO KAMO
choso's stamina isn't just a flex; it's a goddamn superpower. the kind that leaves you wondering if he has some extra hearts tucked away somewhere. "monster-like" feels polite; "relentless" is closer to the truth. you're pretty sure your boyfriend can fuck through the apocalypse and still ask for another round.
his face is buried deep between your tits, the wet heat of his mouth a brand against your skin. his moans are thick and muffled, vibrating against your chest as he rides you, each thrust a deep, insistent press.
hours blur into a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs and desperate gasps. the digital clock on your nightstand glows a mocking 2:47 a.m. you feel like you've been wrung out and hung to dry, utterly, deliciously drained. meanwhile, choso looks like he's just finished his warm-up.
"ngh, baby," he groans, his voice thick with need. "i'm… fuck, i'm gonna cum." you've lost count of his "gonna comes" hours ago, each one a lie that somehow still manages to feel good in the moment. your own orgasms have been a dizzying parade, each one pulling another ragged whimper from your throat.
"oh, choso…" you whimper, your back arching instinctively as he hits that sweet spot. your fingers tangle in his loose, messy hair – those ridiculous space-buns have long since surrendered to the friction. you're probably pulling too hard, but the only sound he makes is a deeper groan of pleasure.
a shaky sob escapes you. "i… god, i can't." your muscles are screaming, every nerve ending raw and overstimulated.
"s— sure you can," he breathes, his lips trailing wet kisses up your neck. "last… last one, i promise." his voice is husky, laced with a desperate edge that almost sounds believable.
except, choso is a liar when he's this deep inside you. the second his hot load pulses into you, you can feel him twitch, his cock hardening again with infuriating speed.
and yeah, you love his blood manipulation, you really do. knowing it keeps him safe out there, facing whatever cursed shit he has to deal with — that's everything.
but this? using it to recycle his blood, straight from his balls to his dick, so he doesn't "waste time" getting hard again? you want to argue that the downtime is the only thing keeping you from dissolving into a puddle of pure sensation. the break is essential.
you need it like you need air.
"choso, please," you hiccup, a pathetic little sound.
"please what, baby?" he mumbles, finally lifting his head to press soft, wet kisses to your tear-streaked face. "please, more?" his eyes are dark and hungry, pupils blown wide.
"no! no… not more," you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut against the fresh wave of sensation building in your core. you can feel another orgasm clawing its way closer, and the traitorous part of you, the part that is addicted to his touch, actually wants it.
he barely waits a breath after his last shuddering release before plunging back into you, his movements insistent and demanding. "oh, but you're doing so good," he insists, his words broken by ragged gasps.
"this is it, okay? j— just this last one, baby." he sounds like he's begging now, his voice thick with desperation, and in your hazy, pleasure-addled state, you almost believe him.
but then you are coming again, that familiar, overwhelming rush consuming you, and he is coming too, his body bucking against yours, and… he is a goddamn beautiful, stamina-blessed liar.
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꩜ TOJI FUSHIGURO
yeah, toji doesn't have some fancy cursed technique to whip out in bed. so what? you think that ever stops him from getting exactly what he wants?
hell, no. the dude might be a deadbeat dad and a general pain in the ass, but when he commits to something – and he's definitely committed to you – he goes all the way. a real thorough bastard, that one.
right now, he has you locked in this brutal-as-hell mating press. your knees are practically glued to his sides, and his arms are like iron, squeezing you so tight you can feel his damn heartbeat against your own.
his fingers aren't just holding on; they're digging in, promising a nice little collection of bruises for you to discover later. a reminder, you figure.
his thick cock is stretching you open, filling you up in a way that makes your vision blur and your head spin. "you're a goddamn slut, you know that?" he grunts out between these rough, possessive kisses that leave your lips swollen.
"tell me," toji breathes, his hot breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat building between your legs. "you know what you are."
your head flops back, heavy and useless. all that matters is the feel of him buried so deep, the relentless back-and-forth stealing your breath and any semblance of thought.
you can taste blood where you're biting your lip, but the pain is just a background hum to the overwhelming pleasure.
"a… slut," you manage to choke out, the word sounding needy and desperate, already begging for the next brutal slide.
toji lets out this low groan that vibrates right through you, a sound that screams you're mine. his grip tightens even more, his thumbs now pressing hard into the slick, tender flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider, making him feel impossibly deep. it's almost violent, the way he handles you, but every rough touch sends these crazy sparks of sensation shooting through you.
he pulls back just enough to lock his dark, intense gaze on yours, and you can practically see the possessiveness burning in his eyes. "mine," he bites out, like it's the only truth in the universe. then, he slams back into you, and your nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging on for dear life.
the air's thick with your ragged gasps, the wet, slapping sound of your bodies grinding together, and you just know he's getting off on how tight you are, how you clench and tremble with each savage thrust.
one calloused hand leaves your side to roughly cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple until it's hard and aching. the other hand stays glued to the wet heat of your thigh.
"beg for it," he mutters, his voice low and rough, a total taunt.
a shaky cry escapes you, right on the edge of a sob. "please, toji, p— please…"
he lets out this low chuckle, a rumble against your ear. "yeah, yeah." and even though he acts like he doesn't give a shit half the time, he's always a sucker for you. the heat low in your belly coils tighter and tighter. your back arches, and you writhe against him, desperate for that release.
and when you finally come, it hits him just a few brutal seconds later. his hot load pumps into you, coating your insides, and toji groans, a deep, animalistic sound as you squeeze every last drop out of him.
"damn, ma," he breathes, his forehead pressed against yours, shoulders relaxing.
relaxing; only for a moment, because then you know the cycle will repeat.
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꩜ RYOMEN SUKUNA
it's no surprise sukuna is rough. he's sukuna. taunting, malevolent, deliciously so. a razor's edge of threat underlies everything he utters, a constant hum of danger that can be playful or genuinely menacing. except in this space, beneath him, it is always, undeniably, intentional.
you are splayed out, limbs heavy and unresponsive, reduced to a whimpering, slick mess under his gaze. his crimson eyes, sharp and predatory, burn into yours, pinning you down more effectively than any physical restraint.
he trails a long finger down the inside of your thigh, the touch surprisingly light, yet you still flinch, a tremor running through you. a faint, red line blooms in its wake, almost imperceptible.
"feel that, flower?" he rumbles, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your bones. "better listen close, wouldn't want you ending up in little pieces."
you know, somewhere in the haze of arousal and fear, that it's a hollow threat. he wouldn't destroy what he so possessively claims. yet, the fear still coils in your gut, sharp and thrilling.
terrifying, yes, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
his thick cock stretches you open, every inch a deliberate invasion. you can feel the head press against something deep inside, a hard knot pushing so far in it creates a visible bulge in your lower belly. the slick heat of him fills you completely.
then comes the unsettling, wet sensation of a tongue, not from his mouth, but from lower down, sliding between your slick folds.
"'kuna— can't..." you whine, which he whole-heartedly disregards. it traces a path of hot, insistent licks, right up to your swollen clit, leaving a shimmering trail of his spit.
"what a messy girl, huh?" he rasps, his voice thick with the effort, as if you aren't completely consumed by the feeling of him inside you. your only response is a helpless groan that vibrates against his skin.
your eyes squeeze tighter, the pressure building again, that familiar knot of another orgasm clawing its way up. your inner muscles clench around his shaft, slicking him even further as you squirt onto his thick length, milking him with each involuntary spasm.
it isn't long before his own ragged breaths fill the air, his hips bucking against yours as he empties himself inside, filling you to the brim with hot, pulsing pleasure.
"maybe," he says against your ear, a low murmur, "if you're lucky, next time i'll let you take both."
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❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜
tagging jazz (@jeonwiixard) + mia (@mia-can-yap-too) cus they wifey <33
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blank-potato · 2 months ago
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Something Special
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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader
Summary:
This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly. Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?” “A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts. The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles. “Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step. Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!” Or You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 
Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, sex plant, sex pollen, p in v, cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, crazy thoughts from horny!reader, Bob's good intentions backfiring
WC: 6.9k
A/N: I saw Thunderbolts earlier this week, and I felt compelled to write something! My Marvel obsession is so back, and I’m so in love with Bob, and consuming so much Thunderbolts fanfiction, I think I’m genuinely going crazy.
Part 2
⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡
Bob teeters on his heels as he looks around the flower shop. He was here to get a gift for you, but he had no idea what you would like. Then, while browsing the camellias, a woman appears, half scaring the life out of him, asking him what he’s looking for, and he tells her as best he knows how.
“I’m looking for something special for someone special.”
“Special, huh?” She replies with a mischievous smile, “I have just the flower for you.”
He watches as she disappears into the recesses of the shop and wonders if he’s making the right decision. 
You were important to him, but maybe flowers were too much; perhaps you would see right through it and see the feelings he was trying (and failing) to hide. The whole team could see it. Alexei kept giving him unsolicited —and mostly unhelpful— advice about it, while John and Ava never missed a chance to tease him whenever they caught him gawking at you. And Yelena and Bucky tried their best to nudge him forward in their own ways; Yelena with blunt encouragement, Bucky with quieter, knowing looks and the occasional grunt that somehow conveyed volumes.
But Bob remained resolute, content with just admiring you from afar.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Ever since you were introduced to the team as their live-in doctor, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. You were a ray of sunshine. Exceptional at your job and had this strange but beautiful quality where you could make anyone feel at ease within seconds of meeting them. 
He felt it firsthand when he walked into the med bay in the Tower. You were sitting there, clipboard in hand, and welcomed him in with a warm smile, motioning for him to sit. He obeyed without a word, nerves already prickling beneath his skin.
“I’m just going to take some blood samples, okay?” you said gently.
His eyes darted around the room—white, sterile walls, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Tests didn’t often lead to good things in his experience, and he felt that this one would be no different. His posture stiffened, and his breath was shallow. But as if sensing his unease, you placed a hand on his arm, steady, reassuring.
“If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m right here. And if you want me to stop, you just go right ahead and tell me.”
Bob nodded slowly, looking into your eyes—your beautiful, beautiful eyes that somehow made the rest of the world fade to background noise.
“I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”
You looked at him with such gentle care, and for a moment, he felt like he’d known you longer than just a minute. It felt crazy how fast he was falling for you, but it was happening all the same.
“Yeah… I can do that,” he replied, voice low.
And he had never been the same.
From that moment on, he’d been falling for you—hard. Making lovey-dovey eyes at you over morning coffee in the communal kitchen, pretending not to watch you when you laughed at someone’s joke, finding excuses to linger a little longer in any room you were in. 
He toys with his watch, waiting for the florist to come back and flinches as he hears crashes and curses. He has half a mind to go and check on her when she suddenly pops out with a crooked smile and her hair askew, presenting the flower to him. 
“Trust me, your girlfriend is going to love this one. Rarest thing in here.”
“She’s…” He stops, watching as the worker flits around the shop, putting the finishing touches on the arrangement. What use was it explaining anyway? How could he put you into words?
It was a strange flower, one he didn’t recognise. Its petals folded into each other. It was unlike any flower he’d ever seen, almost alien. But it was also beautiful, rare and special. Just like you. He buys it in a heartbeat, but the anxiety that follows is sickening. As he goes back to the tower, he thinks about turning around, getting something safer—chocolates, maybe. A coffee voucher. Literally anything else.
‘Maybe it’s not good enough, or what if she hates it?’
He plays with the loose yarn on his sweater as he nervously looks down at the plant. 
‘What if she pretends to like it but actually hates it and, in turn, hates me?’
He overthinks all the way down the street, onto the subway, up the Avengers Tower elevator, until he eventually reaches the door to your office.
Then—three knocks. His heart sinks into his stomach the second his knuckles leave the wood.
The door swings open, with you on the other side of it, a smile blooming on your face as soon as you see him.
“Bob!” You say excitedly. 
You’re clearly happy to see him and hurriedly usher him inside. The rest of the Avengers had been on a mission for the past two days and counting, so it was just you and Bob. It had been quite nice to spend time with him one-on-one. You even had a movie night the night prior, which ended with Bob falling asleep on your shoulder.
“What do you have there?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, catching sight of something he's hiding behind his back.
He hesitates for a beat, then slowly brings it forward, revealing a single, delicate flower—its petals a rich, otherworldly shade of purple, like something from a dream. It’s almost enchanting. You stare at it in awe, momentarily speechless.
“It’s a gift,” he says, placing it on your desk, voice shy but steady. “To celebrate you being here for a year. I… we really appreciate you.”
Your eyes soften at his words. You can see he’s nervous, waiting for your reaction like it might determine the course of his entire week.
But all you feel is warmth. You thought it was so sweet of him to do this for you; it was so thoughtful, so Bob. You’d felt a connection with him from the moment you met, something quiet but persistent that never quite went away.
“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. “I love it. Truly.”
You’re probably smiling too much, but when it comes to Bob, you can’t help yourself. You snap out of your loving stare as something flickers in your peripheral vision.
“Is it supposed to glow?” you ask, your eyes narrowing slightly as the petals shimmer faintly, a soft pulse of light running through them like a heartbeat.
“I, uh… I don’t think so?” Bob replies, frowning.
He leans in, squinting at the flower. The glow pulses again. Cautiously, he pokes it with one finger.
The flower twitches.
“It moved,” he says, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear.
“What? No way.” You step closer, trying to get a better look, equal parts sceptical and intrigued.
But then it twitches again, its petals bristling at the touch, and both of you freeze.
“…Did you buy this from a normal flower shop?” you ask slowly, eyeing him.
“I thought I did!” Bob says, his voice pitching just a little higher than usual.
You poke it again.
This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly.
Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?”
“A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts.
The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles.
“Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step.
Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!”
In hindsight, the florist did seem a bit sketchy. The shop was tucked away in a dark, back alley, its dim interior lit flickering by lamps that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’70s. The air was thick with a faint smoke that he had to try not to choke on, but in his defence, Bob had just assumed it was part of the shop’s "vintage" aesthetic. 
The flower twitches again, and one of the tendrils gently brushes your desk lamp, knocking it askew.
“We should probably contain that,” you say.
“Or burn it,” Bob offers weakly.
You don’t have enough time to deliberate before they’re coming straight for you. They coordinate a joint attack and grab hold of your shirt. It has a relentless grip on it and tears it apart without a care. In the back of your mind, you have to take a second to mourn one of your favourite work shirts.
The plant, however, is far from done with you. Before you can react, one of its slippery, vine-like tendrils reaches for your wrist, its texture cold and unnervingly smooth. It’s trying to pin you down, the tendril wrapping around your forearm like a slippery snake.
“Bob!” you yell, panic rising in your voice.
Bob springs into action without hesitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you back just in time. But in the chaos, both of you tumble backwards, your feet tangling in each other’s as you fall to the floor.
You land… on top of him.
For a moment, everything stops. Your breath catches, his heart races beneath you, and there’s a stillness, an accidental closeness that makes everything feel like it’s happening in slow motion.
“Well, that was eventful,” you comment, breathless, glancing back over your shoulder at the plant—still twitching, preparing for its next move. The tendrils are growing faster now, more aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it tries to grab you again.
“Watch out,” he warns, voice sharp, as he pushes you aside with surprising strength. The moment you’re clear, he rolls to his feet, eyes fixed on the plant.
It lashes out, one of its tendrils reaching for your throat, but Bob is faster, shoving you out of harm’s way just in time.
In the seconds it took you to escape from it, the plant had doubled in size, its tentacles now oozing with a thick, viscous substance. It seemed to pulse, almost alive with an aggressive energy, like it was anticipating its next strike.
The plant gives you no time to catch your breath. Before you can react, it swipes again, this time reaching for Bob’s jeans. With surprising strength, one of the tendrils successfully yanks him to the ground, dragging him closer to its growing mass. The little tendrils begin climbing up the inside of his trousers, slithering toward his legs like they have a mind of their own.
“Holy shit,” you exclaim, adrenaline flooding your veins as you rush to grab his hands, pulling with all your strength in a futile attempt to free him. Where are the Avengers when you need them?
Unfortunately, you have no super strength or any useful abilities. Bob’s still being dragged closer, inch by inch. 
But what you do have, is a pretty damn good throwing arm.
You glance around the room, your mind racing for anything you can use. Your eyes land on the lamp on your desk, your favourite one. Bob had always joked about how you wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Without a second thought, you sprint across the room, grab it in one smooth motion, and hurl it toward the plant’s centre of mass.
The lamp flies through the air, and you’re about ready to start celebrating, but just as it’s about to make contact with the plant, the tendrils shift, dodging the attack like it’s alive and aware of what’s coming.
“Crap,” you mutter. "It dodged."
This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 
Bob tries to crawl away, his muscles screaming in protest as he drags himself across the floor. His mind is a chaotic mess, every thought running a mile a minute. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to give you the gift and see that smile of yours light up your face, not get fondled by a plant monster.
The tendrils continue their relentless pursuit, now reaching the edge of his boxers, squirming and twisting, as if looking for any way to get inside. 
“Hold on, just a second!”
“Please hurry, it’s kind of ticklish,” He blurts out as he writhes on the ground, “And wet.”
They find their way inside his boxers, reaching his dick and starting to wrap their way around it, making him tremble. 
The tentacles continue to secrete that viscous liquid, slick and glistening as they slip up and around his cock, their movements still clumsy, but starting to adapt to what makes him react. Bob struggles beneath its weight, panic flashing in his eyes as the tendrils flick over his sensitive tip, starting to pulse around him.
You’re frozen for a moment, heart racing, watching him fight against the plant’s hold. The air is thick with desperation, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re going to be too late. But then your mind snaps back into focus. This can’t keep going. You need a plan and fast.
You scan the room, eyes darting from the plant to Bob and back again. The papers on your desk, the fire extinguisher near the door, the window—wait. Without wasting another second, you rush over to it, pulling it down with a swift motion. You have no idea if this’ll work, but Bob’s safety is the only thing that matters, and you’d do anything to ensure it.
“Hold on!” you shout, as you aim the nozzle at the base of the plant.
You pull the trigger.
It’s temporarily thwarted, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you see it retreat from Bob’s jeans.
“Come on!” you shout, reaching for Bob and pulling him to his feet. The moment you’ve got a solid grip on him, you both scramble toward safety, adrenaline fuelling your movements.
You rush toward the front door, but just as you reach it, the plant’s vines stretch out, blocking your escape. The thick, twisted tendrils curl around the doorframe, trapping you in. 
You turn on your heels, panic setting in as you dash to the far side of the room. There’s only one other way out, the door that leads to the lab part of your office.
You reach the door, flinging it open just in time, and drag Bob inside with you. As you slam the door shut, you quickly lock it, the sound echoing. The room is dim, but you barely notice the light as you both stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. It’s all you can both hear before you finally break the silence.
“What the fuck?” 
He’s panicking. He’s panicking hard. 
He attempted to do something nice, something to show just how much you mean to him and the rest of the team but instead he got you attacked by a plant that wanted to fuck you. 
“I screwed this up. I’m so sorry. I... I—” He stammers, his voice trembling with regret. He tries to continue, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He’s frustrated, overwhelmed by the situation and the guilt of what just happened.
You immediately notice the signs. The way he's retreating into himself, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding yours. The guilt and panic are all over his face, and for a moment, you realise how much this is affecting him. He must think you’re mad at him, but you’re not. Not in the slightest. You weren’t even sure if you could be mad at him; he was Bob. 
You take a step forward, placing yourself in his line of sight, standing in front of him. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need him to apologise again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” your voice acting as his source of stability, even though you’re both still shaking from the chaos.
But before he can respond, there’s a loud bang against the door. A deep, guttural scraping noise as the plant’s tentacles push against it, trying to force their way inside. They both jump at the sounds, and he tries to curl in on himself, his hands gripping into his hair as he shuts everything out, nothing but his own voice echoing in his head. 
‘Of course, you’d mess this up.’
“Bob, look at me, please.”
‘She probably hates you now.’
He opens his eyes slowly, and you can see it—the fear. The gold in his eyes flickers, a silent reflection of his inner turmoil. He’s been holding it all together for so long, but now, one mistake has him spiralling, and it’s all spilling out in front of you.
He hates that you can see it. The cracks in his composure, the weight of the guilt sinking into his chest. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of you, to let you see just how much he’s struggling with everything.
“I put you in danger,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the floor, shame and regret lacing his words.
You can’t let him carry this alone. You can’t let him drown in his own guilt when you know the truth: it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted to do something nice for you.
You step forward further into his space, cupping his face gently in your hands. His breath catches and you feel his warm skin under your palms, the tension in the air thick but not overwhelming.
“It’s okay,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m alright, aren’t I?”
‘She doesn’t mean it.’
“I try to do one thing, and I just made things worse. I ruined everything—” 
“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? I loved the fact that you got me a gift, and we’re going to get out of this.”
You pull him close, and you both embrace each other tightly, the chaos outside fading away for a brief moment as you both seek comfort in the silence of the hug.
But suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, you become acutely aware of every touch, every shift of his body against yours. The warmth of his arms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, it all feels intensified. It’s like you’re hyper-aware of the sensation of him against you, and it’s overstimulating in a way you weren’t expecting.
You subconsciously nuzzle into his touch, breathing in his scent. He smells so good, you would even describe it as intoxicating. The feeling of him holding you, so close, feels delicious. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin, mouth-watering.
You lean into him even more, a soft moan slipping out before you catch yourself. The sound barely escapes, but it’s enough to make you freeze. You jerk back from him, heart pounding in your chest.
From the look on his face, he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he’s pretending not to, but you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your body. The flush spreads down your neck, over your skin, and you can’t stop it.
“We’ll…get through this,” Bob says, agreeing with your earlier words.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, still feeling the heat spreading throughout your body. 
Then, as if his panicked brain finally catches up to the situation, Bob’s eyes flick over your form, and his eyes widen just a little when he realises you’re topless, wearing nothing but your bra. His face flushed with embarrassment, and in an instant, he looks away, his cheeks turning a shade of red at the fact that he had just hugged you in this state. Like the gentleman he is, he immediately averts his gaze, trying to give you some privacy.
“Oh. I uh, you should take my sweater.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I–”
Both of you nervously bumble until Bob starts taking off his sweater. The entire thing plays in slow motion.  His hands, a little shaky, reach for the hem. The fabric bunches up in his fingers before he slowly pulls it over his head. 
Bit by bit, his chest and torso are revealed. You can’t help but notice the definition of his muscles and appreciate them greatly. Finally, he hands the sweater to you, his expression nervous but kind. “Here…” he says softly, not looking you directly in the eyes.
Damn it. 
He’s ripped. 
You didn’t know when you woke up this morning that you’d be treated to an impromptu striptease courtesy of Bob Reynolds. You can’t believe all of that was hiding under that knitted sweater. There’s a sudden wave of arousal so strong it almost knocks you clean off your feet. Your eyes wander his sculpted form, and it’s like every part of him was made to drive you crazy. You know you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 
“So… how are we planning on taking back my office?” Your words come out breathy, your eyes are still very much fixed on his body, but he seems oblivious to the fact.
“Maybe we can…” He trails off, distracted by the way you were starting to sway, “Hey, are you alright?”
He had now started to become clued into the way you were staring him down like he was a full-course meal. And you’re just happy he couldn’t read your mind because you were thinking the most unhinged things, like how you wanted to lick the sweat off his abs.
“Holy fuck,” You mutter tiredly, shaking the thought away. You were a doctor, damn it, not a degenerate. Or at least not both at the same time. 
“Yeah, I’m just…” You start a sentence that you can’t finish as your body continues to heat up and your desire for him starts to hurt. You just want to be closer to him, and the overwhelming need to touch his abs comes back in full force. You try to focus on something else but just land on his arms and you wondered how’d they feel wrapped around your waist when he’d fuck you. 
“Fuck!” 
You start pacing around the room, trying to get rid of this madness that seemed to be overtaking you. And by pacing it was more of an awkward stumble as bit by bit your limbs turned to rubber and your brain to mush with horny thoughts of Bob. 
You stop moving and drop to the floor, hugging your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you cannot see the hot man, he cannot haunt you. You decide to take deep breaths because that always helps, and try to calm yourself down. You are, however, wearing Bob’s sweater, which smells like him and therefore smells like heaven. You moan, definitely loud enough for him to hear and bury your face in it. 
“Talk to me,” Bob says as he crouches down by your side, the comforting pats on your back feeling more like kisses on the neck. You just wanted to climb him like he’s a tree and live there forever. 
“Need to take this off.” 
You start kicking off your trousers as they start to stick to you, feeling more like sandpaper on your skin. Next, you peel off his sweater and hold it in your hands, resting it against your cheek, breathing it in every so often. 
“I can’t be near you right now.”
“Why?” He asks and if you had your head on straight, you’d state the obvious. Did he not see the fact that you were seconds away from grinding on him?
But you did have to think about what caused this, and there’s only one theory that makes sense. 
“I think the plant you got is a sex plant.”
Bob blinks at you.
“A what?” 
While falling down an internet rabbit hole, you had heard about plants like these with certain properties that lent themselves quite nicely to certain activities. These properties including sex pollen that seemed to only affect you and not him. At a later date, you’d love to run some tests to see why. Maybe it was something in the serum he was given that made him immune to certain things. But all logical thought was being dropkicked out the window right about now, replaced with the need to fuck yourself silly on his dick.
You explain to him the whole sex plant thing as best as you can without going feral. The need to have his hands all over your body was becoming near next to unbearable.
“Why do you know this?”
“God forbid a woman is informed,” You sigh as you fan yourself with the sleeve of his sweater, more of his scent wafting into your face, making you more hungry for him than ever.
“So, how do we fix this?” He asks, desperate to help you out.
“I can just wait it out,” you suggest, knowing full well you couldn’t “wait it out”.  Each second that passed was a second not spent bouncing on Bob’s cock which was a second wasted in your opinion. But this was Bob, your Bob, you didn’t want sex pollen induced horniness to reduce your friendship to rubble. You could see it now. Things would never be the same. No more book chat over morning coffee or late night milkshake runs and you’d be damned if you lost them. 
“You’re burning up.” He places his hand against your forehead, and you whimper at the contact, shocking you both.
“Tell me, what will fix this?” He repeats.
It’s clear that there’s no avoiding it, so you tell him. 
“...sex.”
There’s a heavy silence in the room, only accompanied by the background noise of the plant going on a rampage in your office. It was obvious, sex plant, therefore sex will alleviate the effects of said plant but saying it out loud didn't make it any easier. 
“But I won’t ask that of you. I won’t,” You say firmly. 
Did you want him? Yes, you wanted him bad. Ever since his floppy-haired, doe-eyed, cute self came in for his first check-up. But you didn’t want it under such dire circumstances, with a sex crazed plant trying to knock the door down. You wanted it to mean something. You wanted to know that he liked you as much as you like him.
You watch as Bob’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as if coming to a decision. There’s something in his gaze, something vulnerable but strong at the same time, like he’s finally deciding to take a step forward.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”
You shake your head, the words he says sinking in, but the effects of the sex pollen make it hard to respond.
“I can’t have sex with you like this. It’s not fair on you,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, almost defeated.
Bob’s face softens, his eyes flickering with understanding and something deeper. He steps closer, his tone gentler but unwavering. “It’s worth it if it helps you. You’re hot and shivering. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?”
The sincerity in his words hits you hard. You feel your throat tighten, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. You’ve always known Bob cared about you, but hearing that he was willing to do this for you was something else. 
“Bob…” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it.
He stops himself then, looking away for a moment, his own vulnerability creeping to the surface. "I care about you. I…" He trails off, a deep breath escaping him as if he's preparing himself for what’s to come. “I like you.”
You're struggling to find the words as the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear is finally said.
“You like me?”
Bob looks down, his eyes shifting nervously, afraid that he might be ruining everything.
“I like you too,” You admit. “You have no idea how much.”
Not wanting the moment to pass you by, you cup his face and kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and needy, your hands gliding over his body with such urgency. All that pent-up need and tension came out in this one kiss. You cling onto each other like kissing is the last thing you’ll ever do. 
You pull back, looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, your voice a mix of uncertainty and hope.
Instead of responding, he pulls you back in, his hands gentle but insistent, bringing you closer once more. Then, before you can say anything else, he lays you back down on the floor, his body hovering over yours.
“Does that answer your question?” he whispers, before leaning back in, his lips brushing against yours once more.
You smile into the kiss and wrap your legs around his waist from beneath him. 
You shiver as his hands travel up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It’s clumsy at first, fumbling with the hooks, the fabric catching between his fingers.
“Oh yeah, this one’s a nightmare to take off,” you comment, remembering the countless times you’d try to undo the clasps before giving up and just pulling it over your head instead. You chuckle lightly at the memory, tension easing for just a second.
“I think I almost got it,” he says, determination in his voice. Finally, after a few more attempts, he gets the clasp undone, tossing it aside with a small sigh of relief.
You feel a warmth spread through you, as look up at him.
“You’re perfect,” he says softly, his lips finding their way to your neck. The way he touches you, the way his hands move, everything feels electric, like every little action is charged with more meaning than you ever expected.
His hands wander down towards your panties next, rubbing at your core through them. He can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, your desperation no laughing matter. 
He knows that because you immediately trap his hand between your thighs and start lifting your hips to rub against it.
His eyes widen as he watches you roll your hips, so completely wrecked, and you’d barely even gotten started. This was a whole new side of you that he could get used to. 
“You need to let go of my hand for me to touch you,” Bob says, and you reluctantly do, only because you know he’s gonna give you something better.
He pulls off your panties and is met with the most beautiful sight. 
“You’re so wet,” he comments spreading open your dripping pussy and flicking at your clit.
He slowly inserts his fingers and smiles at how easily they slip in. “You can take two already,” he says and almost in awe as your walls clench around him. You’re mewling and twitching with every swipe of his fingers, your wetness spilling around them. His fingers are so thick and he stretches you out so good, you wonder how your own fingers ever felt like enough. 
“So good,” You whine out, and he feels encouraged to ever stop making you feel like this. 
He curls them inside of you, brushing against your sensitive spot over and over again, making you squeal. You start to squirm, but he holds you still, his thigh and spare hand keeping you spread open for him. 
He starts reassuring you with soothing circles on your thigh, “Right there?”
You blink away the haze and nod, “Yeah, keep going.”
He repeats his actions, his fingers threatening to bring you to an orgasm so fast that you’re almost embarrassed. 
“Need you so bad,” You whisper as you thrust back against his fingers, desperate to have more of him. You’d take his whole fist if he’d give it to you. 
“I need more than just your fingers.”
He looks up at you. This was a huge step, but one you were both ready to take.
“Condom?”
“I’m on birth control,” You say, and thankfully, you were. It’s not like you had a condom on you; they were in your purse, which was in the room with the raging tentacle monster.
He pulls off his jeans and boxers and he’s left exposed in front of you. He feels vulnerable, but he knows he can trust you.
“Ready?” You ask him and he replies with a breathy, “Yeah,” before laying a sweet kiss on your forehead. 
He lines himself up with your hole, which is actively trying to suck him in as he pushes into you slowly. The relief of feeling him inside of you is so good, the sound of his moans as he bottoms out inside of you is just as good. 
He starts thrusting into you deeply, as you grip his shoulders. It felt better than anything you’ve ever done with anyone else. It was partly the sex pollen, but more than anything, it was because it was him. You were finally with him after months upon months of pining. Finally able to feel his skin beneath your fingertips, to hear his moans vibrate against your skin, to lean his forehead against yours as he ruts into you. It was slow but passionate, as you finally confirmed how you both feel about each other. 
You feel like you were on another planet, but you wanted to experience every part of this man, so you whisper in his ear, “Wanna ride you.”
You’ve never seen him move so fast, in seconds you’re sitting up right, warming his cock as his lips attacking your neck.
You’re about to start moving when he stops you. 
“Just a second.”
You sit there, desperate to feel him moving inside you, but if he says to wait, then you’ll wait. He cups one of your boobs in his hands and his tongue flicking around your areola just enough to tease you.
“Bob…” You whine out, and he smiles up at you, and it’s one of his dopey smiles that makes your heart melt. Then as if you couldn’t feel any more sensitive, he starts sucking on your nipple, his eyes closed in pure focus and concentration. You fully scream, your legs quivering and walls fluttering around his cock. His tongue was working overtime, and you felt like you could come undone with just this. 
“You’re gonna kill me,” You cry out as you pull closer by his hair.
“You’re so dramatic,” He laughs before going back to his ministrations, determined to make you lose your mind. 
“Just like that,” You cry out as you wrap your arms around his neck. You shake and tremble so much that you just have to start riding him. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own.
Bob rests his head in the crook of your neck as you work his cock up and down between your folds.  “You feel so good.” His voice is shaky and needy as he’s unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure you’re giving him. His legs were shaking with how good it felt, and it was an ego boost to say one thing. 
“Wait a second,” he says before he holds your hips up and starts thrusting up into you from below, giving you everything he’s got. 
“Oh Bob…”
The feeling is so overwhelming that you start to cry, tears flowing down your cheeks, each one showing just how good he was giving it to you. But seeing your tears, he stops immediately, wiping them from your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”
His eyebrows are furrowed with a concern plastered on his face, worried that he had hurt you.
You shake your head profusely, “Keep going. I’m crying because it feels so good.”
“Yeah?”
With some renewed confidence, he continues thrusting into you, and it’s your turn to rest your head against his neck.
He whispers against your ear, “You feel so good.”
“Wanna turn around for me?”
“O-okay,” You stutter out, your mind half in the clouds as he spins you around and you land back on his dick, reverse cowgirl.
“Holy shit,” he says as he starts pounding into you again. You feel him so deep inside of you, you never want him to leave. 
You feel him gripping onto your ass so you imagine the view must be good. 
“Harder?”
“Yes, fuck please,” You reply immediately. The way he was thrusting up inside of you had you crying out for mercy, and if he wanted to go harder, you’d let him. He picks up the pace, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours is music to your ears. 
“So good, you’re such…” He stops for a moment, and you can hear him hesitate, but you suppose his internal thoughts won out as he finishes his sentence, “Such a good girl.”
And you’d be lying if those words, escaping his lips, in his voice, didn’t make you want to explode.
Then he slows down before pulling out of you, you’re about to whine and complain, but he intercepts that. 
“Can you hold onto me?” He asks, and you do it immediately, desperate to feel him on you again. You suddenly feel yourself being lifted into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He effortlessly lifts you over and lays you down on an examination table.
He lines himself up with your hole again and thrusts right into it, not holding back one bit. Your body is shaking and trembling with each thrust, and you’re screaming his name with each one.
“So good, so good,” he repeats like a mantra, like he can’t think of anything else but you.
He lifts your hips, tilting your pelvis and hitting your G-spot dead on, and you almost choke on your spit.  You’re not even sure what comes out of your mouth; you just know it’s not of this world. You head lolls to the side as you drool for his cock to be fed deeper into you. 
“Right there, right there, right…”, You bluster out before being cut off by your own scream. 
You weren’t going to last much longer; in fact, you’re surprised you lasted this long. You just needed one final thing to put you over the edge. 
“B-bob. Put…put your hand here,” You say guiding his hand above your stomach and bite your lip as he presses down feeling his cock inside of you.
“I’m gonna—” You sob before you’re cumming harder than you ever have, calling out for Bob all the while. Bob holds onto your bucking hips as he watches you squirt on his cock. The orgasm that hits you is blinding, your toes curl, your fists tighten, and tears fall from your eyes. 
You are gone. 
You’re only brought back to your senses by Bob saying your name and soft kisses on your face. When he sees you’re responsive, he smiles and starts brushing your hair off your face. But then you realise, he’s stopped moving and you absolutely can’t have that. You can still feel him pulsing inside of you and you needed him to cum.
“Keep going,” you mumble.
“Hm?”
You sit up closer to you, your fingers gripping his back. 
“Keep going until you’re done with me.”
You needed this, you needed him. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that your pussy remembered him, you wanted him to fill you up so much that just the smell of him would bring you to your knees and that wasn’t just the sex pollen talking. 
“I think I can do this day,” Bob says and that he does. He fucks you against the wall, the window, on the floor, if he had control of his Sentry powers he probably would’ve fucked you in the air too. By the time you’re done, the sex pollen has been well and truly pounded out of your system. 
But your troubles aren’t over. 
The plant knocks down the door with an ominous thud. Menacingly slithering over to the two of you, now triple in size, each tentacle bigger that the last, and you’re ready to accept your fate. This is how you would go out. Fucked to death by a plant.
The plant starts prodding at you both a tiny bit before pulling back away from you, much to your surprise. Obviously sensing its job was done, it reverts back to its original form in a matter of seconds and sits innocently in its pot. 
You guess your troubles are over. 
“So…can I be your boyfriend?” He asks and you laugh, “What do you think?”
Bob’s face lights up with a grin, and he kisses your cheek, “I think there’s a mess waiting for us in your office.”
“Well, couples that clean together stay together.”
Snuggling into his embrace, you let out a sigh of contentment. Nothing could ruin this day, not when you’d finally made Bob your man.
But, in the distance, you hear the shuffling of footsteps as the team has arrived back from their mission. You hear a faint, “What the fuck?” seemingly from Walker seeing the havoc the plant made but you’re too content in Bob’s arms to care. You’re exactly where you want to be.
Masterlist
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enviedear · 3 months ago
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while not abnormal, it was strange having jason out so long. you've managed to will yourself to perform menial tasks to pass the time, laundry, picking up your boyfriend’s books, sharpening his knives.
anything to fight the urge to be that girlfriend. in actuality, you're not, and you trust JASON TODD more than anyone.
you simply…miss him. in a different way than when he's out on patrol. no, tonight—while he's out with his friends—you selfishly miss him more than when his life's on the line. because at least then, he’s working. serving a purpose. and you can't really fault that.
but drinks with roy and dick? that’s leisure. that’s laughter and warmth and something you selfishly crave as much as you can. you try not to stare at your phone. somehow successful. but the moment you hear the front door open and the soft shuffle of boots against hardwood, you're practically at attention.
he stumbles a little—just a little—and kicks the door shut behind him. hoodie down, jacket open, trademark black tee, cheeks absolutely flushed. his eyes are trained on you, soft and glossy.
“hi, sweetheart.” he says, voice a little too loud for the quiet apartment. “miss me?”
you blink at him from the couch, blanket still pulled over your lap. “you’re drunk.”
he grins, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “little bit.”
you tilt your head, watching him, skeptical. “you drove?”
“nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “dick called us a ride. he’s annoying like that.”
“responsible, you mean.”
jason points to you, swaying just a bit. “that too.”
he trudges toward you with all the grace of a man who’s fought off armed gangs but now can’t quite coordinate his feet. the couch dips and groans when he crashes beside you. he immediately flops sideways into your lap with a dramatic groan, stifled by your sweatshirt and blanket.
“ugh. my girl.” he mumbles, face smooshed against your thigh. “missed you.”
you fight the smile curling at your lips, running a hand through his hair. “you smell like cheap whiskey, todd.”
“it was expensive whiskey.” he says into your leg, offended.
you hum, fingers dragging gently along his scalp. “you hungry?”
“nah. full of street vendor shit—buncha bad decisions.”
you laugh quietly, smoothing your thumb over the little scar near his temple. “you good?”
he rolls onto his back, head still pillowed by your thighs, blinking up at you like you hung the stars, “m’okay. just tired. and maybe a little tipsy...and definitely in love with you.”
your breath catches, eyes softening. he's too good at this—really. he says it so casually, so sweetly, it knocks the wind right out of your chest.
“…yeah?” you ask softly.
“mhm,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “love you so much it’s stupid.”
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writer's note .☘︎ ݁˖ you mfs loved drunk!reader and jason so ofc i had to give you drunk!jason. he's hot and i missed writing for him!! i'm glad to be back from my break—i hope you like my first little writing back! if you do—consider reblogging and/or commenting <3
@bunyx-kiss 4 u, thank you for wanting it !!
🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works
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a-hermit-pining · 4 months ago
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LaDS Men React To An Unexpected Pregnancy
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AN: Pregnant reader. Not the boys. That genre is currently unexplored on this blog but not for long 🤭👺
Pairing: LaDS boys x Fem reader
Ingredients: 75% fluff, 25% angst.
My Fav: Rafayel's (new segment because I want to discuss which ones I liked best when writing)
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Xavier:
You pass out during a mission. That’s how you find out. In the Hunter Association’s medical ward, you stare at the positive report in stunned silence.
The nausea hadn’t just been Xavier’s cooking.
How even…? You sit there, frozen, until he walks in, finding you pale and unmoving.
A child.
He leans against the wall, the report in his hand. God.
He had vanished the day he found out. Left you bitterly alone. But you didn’t need him, you could raise the child on your own. If Xavier was too weak to accept the truth, so be it.
But he returns. You don’t know where he went, only that when he comes back, he is broken.
"I couldn't change it." He falls to his knees. "The world remains unchanged," he repeats, voice hollow.
The destruction he had accepted, the grief he had worn like armor, now, it becomes unbearable. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if he can ever manage to save it for his child.
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Rafayel:
He dreams of it. Strange dreams.
He’s not one to obsess over omens, but even he, in his eternal wisdom, cannot decipher what a colony of seals playing with marbles is supposed to mean.
Then, one afternoon, he dreams of a baby seal. It coos at him, glumphing closer, making infant-like noises.
And in the dream, he bends down to pet it. Only for you to pick it up instead.
He jolts awake. Hands immediately over his stomach. Breath unsteady. No...not him...it was you. You picked the seal, that meant-
Then he stumbles out of bed, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to find you.
Drives like a madman. He counts the days. Two months. He counts the signs.
His heart refuses to slow down.
Barging into the Hunter’s Association, he’s chased by guards, by an exasperated receptionist, but none of it matters.
When he finds you, he grips your shoulders, searching your face. How could he have missed it?
By the tides, he was a fool.
And then—he feels it. A whisper, warm and murmuring, like the gentle pull of the waves.
A half-formed yawn, ringing softly in his mind.
The presence of his child.
Now all he has to do is tell you.
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Zayne:
You watch Zayne eat dinner, half-listening as he talks about his day. He absentmindedly bites into another baby carrot.
Not just baby carrots, baby corn, baby potatoes, those tiny tomatoes.
"How’s dinner, Zayne?" you ask, feigning nonchalance.
He nods, smiling. "It’s good. Very healthy."
"Notice anything?"
He hums in thought. "You’re trying Italian cuisine these days." He places his hand over yours, gentle. "But you don’t have to cook if you’re tired after work."
He’s too kind to mention the small incident with the oven last week. To be fair, the bun in the oven analogy is a classic.
A week. A whole week of hints, and still, he hasn’t caught on.
Sighing, you give up on subtlety. "Darling, did you visit the pediatrics ward today?" you ask, pushing food around your plate.
"I didn’t have time. Had to miss the volunteering event for surgery."
You grin. Taking his hand, you guide it over your stomach. "Well, luckily for you, we’ll have one right here soon."
His mouth hangs open. Eyes darting between you and your stomach before his fingers brush over the nonexistent bump.
"Really? Are we—"
"Yes, you dummy!" You pull him into a hug. "I’ve been trying to tell you for days."
For a man obsessed with your health, he somehow had been ignorant of the biggest of surprises. Unplanned or not, you were going to give him the longest late night shift of his life.
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Sylus:
The timing could have been better, he muses, wiping blood off his cheek.
But he had been too lax.
Not that it mattered. Everything was under control.
"Clean up," he orders, snapping his fingers. Shadows slither forward, dragging the remains of his enemies into the abyss.
The news of a child had changed things. He had let fate play its part for too long. Now, it was his turn.
Whatever slow-moving scheme he had let linger, ended now.
There was no way in hell he was letting you go on any mission while carrying his child.
Aether Core be damned. EVER be damned to NEVER. He would wipe them out if he had to.
For now, though, he had other priorities.
Leaving you safe at home, he finishes this last errand. Your only battle at the moment is morning sickness which, much to his surprise, isn’t just limited to mornings.
He wipes his hands clean, heading for his bike.
One last stop. You wanted pickles.
He smiles, revving the engine. Soon, only cars.
And then, he’s gone, speeding into the night, back to you. Back to his family. To cuddle the little dragon who gives you unrivaled heartburn and kicks like a menace at 18 weeks.
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Caleb:
He knew.
Some would say he saw it coming, but just because he kept track of your cycle didn’t mean he could predict your ovulation exactly.
He was just…good at math.
Mental math.
And taking you to a convenience store for cough drops, right next to the pregnancy tests, had been pure coincidence.
Not that he totally snuck a glance at you eyeing them. And if he excused himself to grab a snack right then? Also not planned.
You hand him the test. "I think I’m pregnant."
He goes through all the expressions shock, surprise, joy, tears. So dramatic that it fools no one.
Seriously, he’s atrocious at being subtle about it.
Instantly proposes. Shotgun wedding because the baby will need a family.
Grins like a madman when it turns out to be twins.
Secretly, he’s very, very proud.
Heavens, he thinks smugly, I really am amazing at math.
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prlssprfctn · 5 months ago
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Jason, who starts gaslighting his family members by saying that All Blades were always a thing and that they just didn't take him seriously, once they found out about it.
Bruce, frustrated: If you yielded a magical sword in the past, I would know, Jaylad.
Jason: Jesus fucking Christ, I told you, I don't use it often, since it uses my soul. But I did mention that I have it!
Dick: You did not!
Jason: I said that Robin gives me magic! I said I *am* magic!
Bruce: That's—
Dick: But—
Bruce and Dick, turning to Damian helplessly: Your verdict?
Damian, who got already paid by Jason (price was two sneaked in rabbits): That's true. Mother said Todd had always had them. He only ever was sent to All Caste because he needed to be taught how to use it correctly. Didn't Dulcra say that you were the chosen one, Todd?
Jason, intentionally irritated: Exactly! Thank you.
The rest of the family: ●○●
Bruce, sitting in the Cave, in the middle of his 300th existential crisis: I— If Jason is the chosen one, was I technically wrong in our argument?
Dick: ...I can't believe that this is what takes you to accept that you were wrong, and not the fact that— Dunno, he is your son— And you kinda failed him—
Tim: On the more important note, should we call Jason Harry Potter now or something?
Stephanie, snickering: Jason... You are a wizard!
Bruce, sniffling: He did like these books as a child. Perhaps it was his way to try to tell us the truth.
Dick: Damn... Once we were arguing, and I told him that he had no magic... How foolish I was.
Jason, pressing phone to the shoulder, while cooking: ...And now they are staring at me, like I am about to do the whole Enchantix transformation, lol
Talia: I admit, that's amusing. Damian did a great job at supporting this circus.
Ra's voice on the background: Enchantix? What is it? Had that boy found ANOTHER magical device plot?!
Talia: ...Do you think I am too old to pull the same move you did on my father?
Jason: Nah, it is never too late to trick your dad. Get his ass.
Talia: You are absolutely correct.
Talia, screaming to Ra's: He did, father. It is related to the constant cycle of being brought back alive.
Jason, turning around to Damian, who is playing with rabbits on his couch: Prepare, little gremlin. You are about to testify falsely again, this time to your grandfather.
Damian, snorting: Two golden fish and one parrot.
Jason: I will warn your mother.
Tim, with Excel Chart open: Okay, so we figured out that he has All Blades, strange version of immortality, quick recovery thanks to Pit... What other magic Jason can have we don't know about it yet?
Cassandra: Cooking?
Stephanie: ...I think he is just a normal person, Cass.
Dick: NO, no, listen, it is one thing to cook normally, another to be trusted by Alfred.
Duke: ...You are reaching, guys. I think he is just a good chief.
Bruce: He always makes me laugh.
Tim: That's not— B, no one laughs, but you, so what kind of magic power is that?!
Duke: Listen, y'all, what if he sees ghosts?
Everyone: (pauses)
Stephanie, hitting Tim on the shoulder: WRITE IT DOWN, WRITE IT DOWN—
Tim: I am putting it in the "unclear" column, but good idea, dude.
Alfred, glancing at all of this sceptically: Dear Lord, this family is not your brightest soldiers...
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cowboybeepboop · 2 months ago
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Rescue
"Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."
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Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x f! Reader 
Genre: Smut
Word count: 3.8k
Warnings: Needy and whiny Bob, kind of a dom fem reader, oral m! recieving 
a/n: Sorry chat.. This is such a ramble, but I  LOVE BOB omg Lewis Pullman is on top!!! As always, send any requests you have my way! I will write for any fandom or character, but I would especially love some Lewis Pullman character requests 😛
Bob stood in the dimly lit room, a flickering fluorescent light casting eerie shadows across the sterile walls. His arms were shackled behind his back, held tightly in place by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a woman who radiated calculation and control.
He felt utterly isolated. No one was treating him with any kindness; he was merely an object to them, a tool to be used and discarded at their convenience. After his shift into Sentry and then the Void, she’s kept him locked up in this damn room. 
The room he was kept in was small and confined, barely large enough for him to move a few paces in any direction. The air was thick and stale, almost stifling. There was no comfort here, no human kindness. It was as if they wanted him to feel isolated and forgotten.
Bob looked around the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner. The only sound was the steady hum of the fluorescent light and the occasional clink of his shackles as he shifted his weight. He tried to take deep breaths, to keep his fear and anxiety at bay, but it was getting increasingly difficult.
While he could use his powers, he’s simply just too scared to bring out the void again. So instead, he spends his time pacing his tiny concrete room. The fluorescent light overhead flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows on the sterile walls. 
Every now and then, he would glance up to see if the light was about to go out completely. 
He was exhausted. 
Not just physically, but mentally as well. The constant fear and anxiety of being in this small space with no human contact was taking its toll on him. He could hear footsteps in the hallway outside, but no one came to visit him. 
They weren't even giving him any food.
After Valentina realized she couldn’t *use* him for what she wanted, she decided not to deal with him at all, assuming he would be too fearful to try and escape. Plus, if he did use his powers against her once again, she would just hit her kill switch. 
You'd been working with Bucky and the "Thunderbolts" to rescue Bob from Valentina's capture. This plan only works if everyone works together, which, for the most part, they've been doing pretty well, at least until you became involved. 
Creaking open the door, you hold your breath as you step into the small and dimly lit room, the sound of your footsteps on the cold concrete floor making the space feel even more claustrophobic. The room is barely illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent light above.
As you enter, you notice Bob pacing the length of the room, his arms shackled behind his back, looking exhausted and tense. He glances over at you, his eyes widening slightly as he realises that someone has entered.
"You're Bob?" Your voice is gentle while you creep over to him, eyes roaming over him, taking in his timid stance. 
Bob pauses in his pacing as you approach, his body tense and wary, but he nods slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yes, I’m Bob,” he says softly. He studies you warily, his eyes darting to the knife between your teeth before returning to your face.
"I'm Y/N, I'm gonna get you out of here, alright?" You slip the knife into your pocket, skillfully you begin to pick the locks on his shackles, which are surprisingly weak for being meant to hold someone with his powers. 
Bob looks at you with a mix of surprise and relief, his eyes widening slightly as you begin to pick the locks on his shackles. "You're...you're here to help me?" he whispers, his voice cracking slightly.
He watches you with a sense of awe as you work on the locks, clearly impressed by your skill. The locks seem to come undone surprisingly easily, given the fact that they're meant to hold someone as powerful as him.
"Of course, I'm here to help you." You smile sweetly at him, brushing your fingers against his shoulder, offering some comfort, waiting for Bucky's all clear signal. 
Your touch seems to momentarily surprise him, and he flinches away from it, before realising that you’re trying to help him. He gives you a small, hesitant smile back, clearly not used to any kind of human contact in this place.
As you wait for Bucky's signal, the tension in the room continues to build. Bob glances around the room, his eyes darting to the door, clearly anxious to get out of here as soon as possible.
Bucky lets you know that it's time to move, you carefully pull out your knife again, preparing for any necessary defense. "Come with me, Bob, stay close and hold onto this just in case." You hand him the blade, pulling out a small gun as both of you move toward the exit. 
Bob takes the blade from you, holding it tightly in his hand. He follows you closely as you move towards the exit, his footsteps quiet behind you. He’s clearly on edge, glancing around the room as if waiting for someone to come bursting through the door.
The gun in your hand is a reassuring presence for him, and he sticks close to your side, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of danger. As you reach the door, Bob places a hand on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll p-protect me, right?" he whispers.
"I'll keep you safe," you respond gently, using your free hand to pat his hand that's resting on your shoulder before moving forward. Putting your focus back on getting him out. 
Bob nods at your reassurance, his hand remaining on your shoulder for just a moment longer before pulling away. He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to steel his nerves as you move forward, your focus now fixed on getting him out of this place.
Together, you move through the building, keeping an eye out for any guards or obstacles in your path. Bob keeps close by your side, gripping the knife tightly as he follows you, his eyes darting around nervously.
With Bob safely in the back of the vehicle, you let out a ragged sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been rushing through your veins starts to wear off, and you suddenly feel the overwhelming tiredness of the rescue mission catch up to you.
As soon as the vehicle starts moving, you look over at Bob, who is now sitting next to you, still clutching the knife in his hand. He seems just as exhausted as you are, if not more, his eyes tired and weary.
Brushing your fingers over his hand, you gently pull the knife away from his grasp. "You're safe now, Bob, I promise." The team knew that Val wouldn’t come after them, not with their hold over her, so it would be an easy trip back. 
Bob doesn't resist as you take the knife from him, his grip loosening as soon as your touch. He looks up at you, his eyes weary and tired, but there's a glimmer of trust there now, a hint of vulnerability that he couldn't have shown before.
"Thank you," he whispers softly, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for getting me out of there."
"Of course," you grin at him, scooting closer to his side so he can rest against your shoulder. "You should rest, close your eyes."
Bob looks at you with a tired expression, seeming hesitant for a moment. But then, as if too tired to resist, he starts to lean into your shoulder, his head heavy against your body.
He lets out a weary sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to relax, finally feeling safe in your presence. "I...I haven't slept in days," he admits quietly, his words slurring slightly with exhaustion.
"You deserve some good rest, Bob." You run your fingers down his arm, attempting to lure him to sleep.
Bob's eyelids seem to grow heavier with every passing moment, his body sagging against yours as fatigue washes over him. With your gentle touch, he seems to relax further, his breathing beginning to even out as he drifts closer and closer to sleep.
He mumbles something, a single word that escapes his lips in a tired slur. "Safe," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
A few weeks have passed since you all successfully rescued Bob, and thankfully, Valentina never tried to take him back. You sigh as your training with The Winter Soldier ends in another defeat, lying against the exercise mat, you take a few steadying breaths.
Bucky stands above you, a smirk on his face as he regards your defeated form. He offers a hand to help you up from the mat, his grip firm as he pulls you to your feet.
"Not bad," he says, eyeing you up and down. "You're getting better." Despite your defeat, there's a hint of pride in his voice, as if he's impressed by your improvement.
You catch a glimpse of Bob outside the room, letting go of Buckys hand and ignoring his compliment, you practically skip over to him. "How are you doing this morning, Bob?"  
Bob looks up as you approach, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he sees you. "M-morning," he manages, his voice soft and tentative. "I'm, uh, I'm alright," he says, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He glances down at the floor, then back up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away.
"Wanna grab breakfast with me?" you grin sweetly, stretching and cracking your back. 
Bob nods shyly, a slight flush on his cheeks as he watches you stretch, his eyes darting away quickly when he realises that he was staring. He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking every bit the shy, awkward, but sweet man you're beginning to learn he is.
"Uh, yeah, that sounds nice," he replies, barely managing to meet your gaze. He's clearly trying to hide his nervousness, but failing miserably.
"Here, let's grab something from the kitchen, and then we can watch a movie in my room!" You're giddy at the thought of spending more time with him, you’ve been doing everything you can to get him more comfortable with you. 
Bob nods eagerly, his eyes lighting up at your suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds great," he says softly, a small smile on his lips. He follows you eagerly as you lead him toward the kitchen, his footsteps light behind you.
"Movie in your room?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. "J-just the two of us?"
"Yeah, why not?" You grab some cereal for both of you, focused on the small task at hand. 
"Uh, no reason," he says sheepishly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks again. "I just, uh, didn’t expect it to be just the two of us." He fidgets nervously as he follows you back to your room, his hand occasionally clenching and unclenching at his side.
You open the door for him, gesturing for him to walk in. "Well, we can keep things purely PG," you tease as you shut the door behind you, which is more a less a goal of yours than anything else. 
You find him simply irresistible; his kind, sheepish demeanor gets you weak in the knees. The two of you have never been alone in a private space very long before, so this opens up the opportunity for more than just friendly interactions.
Bob's cheeks visibly redden at your playful comment, and he lets out a small, nervous chuckle as he steps into your room. He looks around, taking in the space with a sense of curiosity and wonder. It's clear that he's a bit out of his comfort zone.
"Purely PG," he repeats, his voice cracking slightly. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for you to lead the way.
"Come sit," you plop on the bed, patting the mattress beside you. "We can find something together," your heart races as you notice the flush of his cheeks. 
Bob hesitates for a moment before slowly walking over to the bed and sitting down next to you. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his body tense and stiff as if he's afraid to get too comfortable.
He glances at you, his cheeks flushed red, as he tries hard to avoid your gaze. "Uh, sure," he stutters, his eyes darting around the room. "What do you like to watch?" he fumbles with the sleeves of his shirt. 
"I like comedy, shit to take my mind off of... Well, all of this." You scoot closer to him, reaching over his lap for the remote on the other side of him. Your breasts slightly brushing over his thighs with your swift movements. 
Bob's eyes widen and his cheeks flush bright red at the unexpected contact, and he tries hard to keep his gaze averted.
He lets out a soft, strangled noise, something between a whimper and a gasp. There's a brief moment of tense silence as he tries to recover his composure, his body completely stiff under your touch.
"You can relax, y'know," you grin as you turn the TV on, enjoying his reaction to your subtle touches. "I don't bite, Bob."
Bob blushes even harder at your words, his body slowly starting to relax under your touch. He tries to laugh it off, though the sound comes out as more of a nervous cough. "I know, I know," he stutters, his eyes flickering over to you before darting away again.
You find a random movie, glancing over to him, you question, "Is this okay?" Bob nods, his body visibly relaxing a bit more as he hears your words. He risks a glance at you, a small, shy smile appearing on his lips.
"Yeah," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is...yeah, this is fine." He shifts a little closer to you, his thigh now lightly brushing against yours, as he focuses on the movie playing on the screen.
Butterflies fill your stomach as you notice the small gesture he makes; it's nothing crazy, but it's the first time he's really initiated anything between you since the day you met.  
Bob seems to realise what he's done, and he quickly stiffens up again, his cheeks reddening once more. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression a mix of nervousness and shyness.
"Uh, sorry, I, uh...sorry," he mumbles, his gaze darting back to the screen. 
"Hey, it’s okay! Don't worry about it at all." You both begin eating your breakfast, your eyes wandering to him every once in a while to admire his adorable features. 
Bob seems to relax a bit more with your reassurance, his body slowly unclenching as he starts to eat his cereal. He notices you glancing at him, and every time you do, he can't help but feel his cheeks heat up again.
He steals glances at you as well, his gaze darting over to you every now and then, his eyes lingering on your face for just a moment before darting back to the screen. There's a growing sense of comfortable intimacy between you two.
With a sigh, you push the empty bowl to the side, content with the feeling of fullness, you lean back on your arms with a small yawn. Bob finished eating his cereal as well, placing his bowl beside yours. He glances at you as you lean back on your arms, a slight smile on his lips as he hears your yawn.
He looks more relaxed now than he did when you both first walked into the room, his body no longer as stiff as before. "You tired?" he asks softly, tilting his head slightly to the side as he looks at you.
"Yeah, Bucky kicked my ass in there," you groan, thinking back to the morning training. "He always does." 
Glancing over to him, your lips curve into a small smile as you move to rest your head in his lap. "Is this alright with you, Bob?" You’re making some sneaky moves, which you know you shouldn’t, but fuck, the way he looks at you has your body aching. 
Bob blushes furiously as you rest your head in his lap, his body stiffening for a moment before relaxing again. He tentatively places a hand on your shoulder, his touch light and gentle.
"Yeah," he mumbles, sounding a little breathless. "I… I don't mind." He seems surprised that you're being so close to him, but there's a hint of pleasure in his eyes as he looks down at you.
"You're so cute," you give him a slight teasing response, nuzzling into his warmth as you relax, eyes slowly fluttering shut.
Bob blushes even harder at your words, a soft, startled noise escaping his lips. He's not used to being called cute, and your teasing comment has thrown him off slightly.
He feels a pleasant shiver run through his body as you nuzzle into his warmth, and he unconsciously starts to stroke your shoulder gently with his hand. "Y-you're the one who's cute," he mumbles, his words coming out a little indistinct.
It was your turn to be flustered now, his response catching you off guard. "Yeah? You think so?" You bite down on your lip, fingers tracing small shapes into his thigh mindlessly. 
Bob seems to realise that he's made you flustered this time, and he can't help but feel a small sense of pride in it. He looks down at you, a small smile on his lips as he notices your fingers tracing shapes on his thigh. 
He subconsciously moves his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his touch light and tentative as he starts to run his fingers through it. "Yeah," he says softly, his eyes flickering away from yours briefly before returning. "I...I really do think so."
Bob's breath hitches slightly as he feels your hand moving further up his thigh, your nails grazing him, sending a wave of tingling through his body. He tries to keep his composure, his eyes darting away from you for a moment as he struggles to control his reaction.
"S-stop that," he mumbles, his voice shaky and uneven. "You're teasing me," he practically whines the last part.
"Teasing?" you question, knowing exactly what you're doing, fingers getting achingly close to his crotch. 
Bob lets out a soft whimper as your fingers get ever closer to his crotch, his eyes widening as he looks down at your hand. His cheeks are flushed red, and his words come out as strangled stutters, "You know you're teasing me."
His body is tense under your touch, every muscle coiled taut as he tries to control his reaction to your actions.
"Is it okay?" You shift slightly, lips pressing gentle kisses onto his clothed thighs. "Can I touch you, *tease* you like this?" your fingers continue their wandering, slowly inching closer and closer to his cock. 
Bob's breath hitches at the feel of your kisses on his thighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to control the sensations coursing through him. His hands clench and unclench, and he can't help but whine softly under his breath.
He nods, his head tilting back just a bit, and his voice comes out as a strangled whisper, "Yes, yes, it's okay. You can, uh, you can touch me like that."
You fumble with the waistband of his sweat pants, slowly exposing his lower half, eager to taste him, to take care of him. "I wanna make you feel good, Bob..." Your lips continue their torment, but this time against bare skin. 
Bob's breathing becomes more ragged as you start to expose his lower half, his body quivering under your touch. He lets out a soft gasp, his eyes wide and fixed on you as you begin to lay kisses on his bare skin.
"Oh, God," he manages to groan out, his thighs trembling with anticipation. He wants you just as badly, his words coming out in a breathless, needy whisper, "Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."
You push Bob's boxers down, revealing his hardened cock. Your eyes rake over the length of him, admiring his size and girth before you lean in closer, letting your warm breath tickle his skin. 
Bob's entire body jolts at the sensation, his cock twitching in anticipation of what's to come.
You wrap your soft, warm lips around the tip of his erection, your tongue swirling around the head as you gently suck. Bob's hands instinctively grab onto the bed sheets, knuckles turning white with the effort it takes not to touch you. 
You can hear his muffled gasps of pleasure as you slowly take more of him into your mouth, your teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin. Your hands come up to gently caress his thighs, the smoothness of your skin gliding against his. 
Increasing the pace, your tongue dances around his shaft as you take him deeper, your throat muscles tightening around him. You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge with each stroke, his hips bucking slightly as he tries to keep still.
The wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the air, mingling with Bob's breathy moans. You're thorough in your ministrations, not wanting to leave any part of him untouched. 
Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping in rhythm with your mouth, your other hand gently cupping and playing with his balls.
Bob's breathing becomes more erratic, his moans growing louder as you work him closer to climax. His thighs quiver under your touch, and you know he's close. You look up at him, eyes locked with his, the intimacy of the moment almost too much to handle.
With one final, deep suck, you feel his cock pulse in your mouth, and with a strangled cry, he releases, his warm seed filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not missing a drop, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as you pull away, giving his sensitive tip one last lick before sitting back with a satisfied smile. 
Bob's body goes lax, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to catch his breath, a blissful expression etched onto his face.
The room is filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, and the sight of his spent cock against his stomach is incredibly satisfying. You lean up to kiss him, sharing the taste of him on your lips, and whisper, "I told you I'd take good care of you."
Bob's mind is completely overwhelmed by pleasure, his body trembling beneath your touch. He can barely form coherent thoughts, his whole world reduced to the sensations you're bringing him. Your name escapes his lips in a breathy moan, and he clings to the bed sheets tightly, trying to anchor himself to reality. 
When you finally pull away, he pants heavily, his body flushed and spent. He looks up at you, his expression one of pure bliss, and he can barely manage to speak, his voice rough and low as he whispers, "You're...you're incredible."
Here’s part 2 😛
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