#this movie couldn’t have come at a more perfect time

[ch0llies]

FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you’d eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other’s first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, creampie, heavy breeding kink, pregnancy, established relationship, etc… if any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 6k

a/n: thank you so much for 1k followers!! i love you all so much!!

The rain taps gently against the window. Your shared apartment is dimly lit, warm, filled with the faint trace of Chris’s cologne- the kind of smell that feels like home, like safety.

Chris is beside you on the couch, one arm draped lazily over your legs, his other hand scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. The TV plays some old movie in the background, half-forgotten.

Your fingers trace small circles on his forearm, the soft fabric of his hoodie warmed by his skin. He hums in contentment, shifting just enough to glance at you.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, voice soft, familiar.

You smile, but your mind is elsewhere, caught in the years before this moment. Because this love didn’t start here.

It started long before.

FIFTH GRADE.

You met Chris at ten years old, standing awkwardly in the doorway of your parents’ friend’s house.

“This is Chris,” your mom said, nudging you forward.

He had messy brown hair, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that made you think he probably got in trouble at school a lot.

He gave you a shy nod. “Hi.”

You stared for a moment, then mumbled, “Hi.”

The adults left you alone, and somehow, within an hour, you were arguing over who could beat who in Bedwars. By the time your parents came back, you were already thick as thieves, plotting some grand scheme to get extra dessert at dinner.

From that day on you couldn’t remember a memory that he wasn’t in.

EIGHTH GRADE

You learned that heartbreak could come before high school.

There was a boy- your first real crush. He was charming, sweet, made you feel special. Until, suddenly, he didn’t.

You found out from a friend that he had been texting someone else the entire time. That everything he said to you, he said to her too.

Chris found you at the park that night, sitting on the swings, kicking at the dirt, trying not to cry.

He sat next to you without a word. Just there. Present. Until you were ready.

“I really liked him,” you admitted eventually, voice small.

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s an idiot.”

You sniffled, glancing at him. “You think?”

Chris nodded firmly. “Obviously. He had you and still wanted someone else? That’s just stupid.”

Something about the way he said it, so certain, made your heart feel just a little lighter.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Chris made you feel like you were worth more than the people who hurt you.

It wouldn’t be the last.

JUNIOR YEAR.

Prom was supposed to be perfect.

Instead, your date cheated. Chris’s date bailed.

And somehow, you ended up at prom together- dressed up, but ditching the actual dance for a late-night drive, fast food in hand, sitting on the hood of his car in the school parking lot.

“You think we’re cursed?” you joked, pulling a fry from the bag.

Chris smirked, leaning back on his palms. “Or maybe we just keep picking the wrong people.”

You glanced at him then- at the way the Boston lights reflected in his eyes, at the way he always showed up when no one else did.

For a moment, you almost said something. Almost realized something.

But instead, you just smiled. “Guess we’re each other’s backup plan now, huh?”

Chris had looked down at his feet and let out an almost sad sounding chuckle, “Guess so.”

But he didn’t feel like a backup plan.

Not even then.

SENIOR YEAR.

It wasn’t sudden.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment where everything clicked into place.

It was gradual. Like the slow rising of the sun, creeping into your life until one day, you realized- he had always been the light.

Chris had always been there. Through every heartbreak, through every bad decision, through every night spent crying over people who didn’t deserve you.

And then one day, you just knew.

It was late, past midnight, the two of you lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, laughing about something dumb, something unimportant. And then the laughter faded, and suddenly, the air felt different.

Chris was looking at you. Really looking at you.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

Your heartbeat quickened. You swallowed.

“Chris.”

He shifted, his fingers barely brushing against yours between the sheets. “Yeah?”

You took a breath.

“I- I think it’s always been you.”

Silence.

His breath hitched, but his fingers curled around yours, holding tight.

“I-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “God, I was scared to say it first.”

Your chest ached, but for the first time, it wasn’t painful. It was full.

You smiled, biting your lip. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes soft, full of something you had been searching for in everyone else but only ever found in him.

And then he kissed you.

And everything made sense.

Back in the apartment, Chris shifts beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Just remembering.”

He hums. “Good memories?”

“The best.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you. “Wanna share?”

You turn to face him, meeting the gaze of the boy who had always been there, who had never let you go.

The rain outside is still steady and you let your head rest against his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Home.

“You ever think about soulmates?” you ask, voice quiet but certain.

Chris smirks, locking his phone and setting it aside. “Yeah.”

You lift a brow, tilting your head to look up at him. “Oh really? Always been me?”

He chuckles, low and warm, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back against the couch. “Yes, my love. Always been you.”

Your heart swells. Even after all these years, hearing it still makes something in your chest ache in the best way.

Chris shifts, pulling you even closer, wrapping his arms around you completely, tucking your head under his chin. You sigh against his hoodie, breathing him in, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

For a while, you just exist like that- wrapped up in each other, listening to the rain, the outside world feeling so far away.

Then Chris hums. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “What about some PF Chang’s?”

His face lights up. “That sounds incredible.”

You grin, watching as he grabs his phone and pulls up DoorDash, immediately placing the order without hesitation. Because it’s the city, and neither of you want to go out in the rain when food can be delivered straight to your door.

When the food arrives, you both sit on the couch, containers spread out on the coffee table. You grab a pair of chopsticks, but Chris, like always, opts for a fork, shooting you a smug look like he’s superior for it.

“You’re so uncultured,” you tease, grabbing a dumpling.

Chris snorts. “I just don’t like fighting for my food.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it- just warmth, just love.

As you eat, the conversation shifts to your future, like it always does.

“What about baby names?” Chris muses, stealing a bite of your lo mein like it’s his. “What do you like?”

You smirk. “You planning on knocking me up tonight or something?”

Chris smirks. “Definitely planning on fuckin’ you but, getting you pregnant? We’ll see.”

You shrug nonchalantly, picking up a garlic noodle with your chopstick. “I still want you to cum inside me tonight regardless.”

He chokes on his food, coughing as he glares at you. “Jesus, give me a warning before you say stuff like that. I’m gonna get hard.”

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious, though. You ever think about it? Baby names, becoming parents, getting me pregnant…?

Chris swallows, setting his container down before shifting to look at you fully. His expression softens, thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have.”

You raise a brow. “And?”

He smirks. “You first.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back into the couch, pretending to think. “I like the name Owen for a boy,” you say eventually. “And maybe Elliot for a girl. Her nickname would be Ellie”

Chris nods. “Owen? That’s my middle name. But Ellie is really cute. I like that.”

“Yeah, goof. It would be named after you, handsome. But what about you?”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand as he blushes softly. “I’ve always liked the name Weston for a boy,” he says, glancing at you. “And for a girl… maybe Aria.”

You smile. “Aria is cute.”

Chris nudges you. “So, our kid’s name is either Owen, Ellie, Weston, or Aria. Got it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells anyway. “I can’t imagine having a kid anytime soon.”

Chris grins, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “No rush,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair.

“Okay, more future talk,” he says after a moment. “Houses. Where do we end up?”

You hum. “Do you wanna stay in Boston?”

Chris tilts his head. “I like Boston, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter. Maybe something coastal? A place where we can sit on the porch and watch the sunrise. What about my family's cape house?”

You smile. “That sounds perfect.”

Chris grins, tapping his fingers lightly against your back. “Can you imagine being as a full time suburban dad?”

You snicker. “Hard to imagine you giving up city life and inheriting Matt’s minivan to truck our kids around.”

Chris groans. “Please never let me get that goddamn minivan.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

The remnants of dinner are still scattered across the coffee table- half-empty takeout containers, crumpled napkins, chopsticks resting haphazardly in cartons, four empty pepsi cans. Chris groans, stretching his arms before nudging you with his knee.

“You ready to clean this up?” he asks, though he doesn’t look like he wants to move any more than you do.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Or… we could just leave it here and deal with it in the morning.”

Chris snorts. “No way. You hate waking up to a mess.”

You grumble, knowing he’s right. “Fine. But you’re taking out the trash.”

“Deal.”

The two of you move in sync, cleaning up without much thought- him stacking the containers, you wiping down the table. Domesticity has always been easy with Chris, effortless in a way that feels like breathing. It’s not something you ever have to think about; it just is.

Once the apartment is back in order, you stretch, letting out a soft yawn.

Chris grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin against your shoulder. “Bed?”

“Yes.”

You slip into the bathroom while Chris grabs water for both of you. The space is warm, the soft yellow glow of the vanity lights reflecting off the marble. You change into one of your favorite comfy outfits- an oversized, faded navy sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your lace bralette underneath, paired with soft gray Calvin Klein boyshorts that hug your hips just right.

The fabric of the sweatshirt nearly swallows you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, the sleeves hanging just past your wrists. It smells like detergent, a little like Chris, a little like the home you’ve built together.

By the time you start brushing your teeth, Chris enters, setting the water bottles on the counter before glancing at you in the mirror.

His eyes darken immediately, lips parting slightly as he takes you in- the way the sweatshirt slips off your shoulder, the way your shorts sit snug on your curves.

“You trying to kill me, baby?” he mutters, voice thick.

You smirk around your toothbrush. “I just put on something comfortable.”

Chris shakes his head, stepping closer behind you, his hands skimming the edge of the sweatshirt before resting low on your hips. “Yeah? This is comfortable?”

You nod, watching his gaze flick between your reflection and the way his hands trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

You fumble your phone, and it slips from the counter, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

You sigh through your toothbrush, bending over to grab it.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp inhale. The softest curse under Chris’s breath.

“Fuck, baby.”

Before you can straighten, his hands slide over your hips, firm but reverent. One palm presses against the small of your back, the other smoothing over your ass, fingers flexing as if he can’t help himself.

You swallow hard, heat creeping up your spine as you grip the sink for balance.

Chris leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You still up for that promise, baby?” His voice is low, gravelly, dripping with want.

Your breath hitches. “What promise?” you ask, playing coy.

Chris chuckles, dark and knowing, his fingers pressing a little more insistently into your skin. “The one where you let me cum inside you.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and the heat in his eyes makes your knees weak.

Chris smirks, running his hands up your sides before spinning you to face him fully. His fingers slide under the hem of your sweatshirt, gripping your waist as he pulls you closer.

“You still want that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

Chris’s smirk deepens, satisfaction flickering in his darkened gaze. His grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he wants to leave his mark there.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing, as he drags his hands over your hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles. “You want me to fill you up, make sure you feel me long after, huh?”

You swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. There’s no hesitation when you nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze yours- featherlight, just enough to tease.

Chris hums, his hands sliding lower, squeezing your ass before lifting you onto the counter with ease. His body slots between your legs, firm and unyielding. He keeps you there, locked in place, his forehead resting against yours.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough with want.

Your fingers tangle in his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

“I want it, Chris,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. “I want you to cum inside me.”

A sharp inhale from him, and then his mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and hunger. His fingers slide under your sweatshirt again, this time with purpose, exploring, claiming.

“Shit, baby,” he groans against your lips, his hands pushing higher, tugging at your clothes.

He doesn’t waste another second. His hands slip beneath your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the counter with effortless strength. Your arms loop around his neck instinctively, your breath coming in short, heated bursts as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

The air between you is thick, charged, every step he takes toward the bedroom making your anticipation coil tighter. His lips find your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat as he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, your body is already burning for him. Chris hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, his darkened blue eyes devouring every inch of you.

“Been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs, fingers dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt again, this time pushing it up with agonizing slowness. “Take my time with you.”

Your stomach tightens as he peels the fabric over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze drinks you in, lingering on your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

“Ma,” he breathes, his hands already roaming again, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You reach for his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem as you tug. “Then take this off,” you whisper, your voice breathless, needy.

Chris smirks but obliges, pulling it over his head and letting it drop to the floor. His toned chest and arms are bare now, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows over the ridges of his muscles.

Your hands roam over his skin, tracing along his collarbones and his happy trail. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breathing heavy as he slides his hands down your body, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“These too,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire, as he hooks his fingers into them, dragging them down your legs inch by inch. The sensation sends a shiver through you, every inch of your exposed skin burning under his touch.

Once your shorts are gone, Chris kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your soft and wet cunt. His lips trail higher towards your clit, teasing, making your breath hitch.

Then, just when you think you might combust, he pulls back, standing to his full height.

Your eyes lock onto his as he unbuttons his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He doesn’t look away- not as he pushes them past his hips, not as they fall to the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

“Your turn,” you whisper, eyes flicking to the last piece of clothing between you.

Chris smirks, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down.

Chris lets his boxers drop to the floor, kicking them aside before crawling back over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His hands find your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his weight pressing into you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Yeahhhh,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking perfect. Every single inch of you.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing you all over again, tracing over your curves, his thumbs brushing against your hip bones.

You shudder under his touch, gripping onto his shoulders, needing something to anchor you. Chris smirks against your skin, his lips pressing sloppy kisses over your collarbone, then lower, taking his time.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispers, his breath hot against your peaked nipples. “Never get tired of touching you, tasting you… fucking filling you up.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words. His hands slide down, gripping your hips firmly, fingers pressing possessively into your skin.

“You love that, don’t you?” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch your reaction. “Love knowing I wanna fill you up every time. Keep you like this-” he grinds his hips against you, slow and deliberate, making you gasp. “So full of me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and Chris groans, rolling his hips again, teasing you, making your body arch into his.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough, edged with need. “Tell me you want it, baby.”

Your head tilts back against the pillows, a whimper slipping from your lips. “I want it, Chris,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Want you to fill me up.”

Chris growls low in his throat, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips ghosting over yours. “Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs. “You know that? The way you say it… the way you look at me like that. I swear, I could spend every fucking day buried inside you and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers trail down, teasing, testing your patience.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asks, voice thick, teasing as his eyes flick up to meet yours. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “I need you, Chris.”

Chris groans, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to line himself up, swiping his cock a few times through your built up arousal. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering.

“Then take it,” he murmurs. “Take all of me.”

Chris doesn’t hold back. He pushes in slowly at first, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you gasp and clutch at his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. His jaw clenches as he watches you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with need.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “You feel so good, baby. Always so fucking perfect for me.”

Your breath stutters, your nails dragging down his back as he sinks deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a slow burn that makes your head spin, and Chris eats up every little sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. He leans back just enough to watch your expression, his hands roaming over your tits and cupping them, mapping every inch of you. “You take me so fucking well. Every time.”

Your head tilts back, a moan slipping from your lips as he rolls his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm. Chris groans at the feeling, his fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down to your throat. “Let me in- let me fill you up just the way you need.”

His pace quickens just a little, his control hanging by a thread as he watches you come undone beneath him. Every thrust pushes him deeper, making you gasp, your body arching into his.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. “So fucking tight, so warm- like you were made for me.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips parting in a desperate gasp as he hits the perfect spot inside you. Chris feels it, sees the way your body responds, and it makes something primal snap inside him.

“That’s the spot, huh?” he murmurs, a smirk playing at his lips even as his own breath is ragged. “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna let me fill you up like you need?”

“Chris,” you whimper, your body tightening around him, heat coiling low in your stomach.

“Say it,” he growls, his thrusts getting rougher, more desperate. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you need me to cum inside you.”

Your back arches, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm hits and you squeeze him impossibly tight. “I need it- I need you to fill me up, Chris. So bad.”

He groans, his grip on you tightening as he thrusts harder, deeper, chasing his release. “F- fuck, baby, I’m gonna- ” His breath shudders, his movements getting sloppier as he buries himself as deep as he can, his body tensing.

A guttural moan tears from his lips as he spills inside you, holding you tight, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of it, and he presses lazy kisses against your skin as he comes down.

“Shit,” he breathes, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you flush against him. “I swear, I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair, still coming down from your own high.

Chris doesn’t move for a moment, still catching his breath, his body heavy and warm against yours. But then, as if something clicks in his mind, he shifts, gripping your hips with both hands.

Without warning, he pushes your hips up, angling them just enough to keep every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the sudden movement, your body still sensitive, your legs trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Chris- fuck.” you murmur, a dazed little laugh slipping from your lips, “what are you doing?”

His fingers press into your skin, his grip firm, possessive. His darkened blue eyes flick down to where you’re still connected, then back up to your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Making sure it stays,” he murmurs, voice rough, teasing but laced with something deeper, something almost primal.

Your breath catches. “I thought you didn’t want me to get pregnant.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans down, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips lingering, his hands still keeping your hips in place.

“I never said that,” he finally murmurs, his voice husky, “maybe I like the idea more than I let on.”

Your heart stutters. Heat blooms in your chest, pooling low in your stomach again despite how spent you already are. Chris tilts his head, watching your reaction closely, his smirk deepening as he sees the way his words affect you.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he teases, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “You’re the one who begged me to cum inside you.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted-”

Chris cuts you off with a slow roll of his hips, just enough to remind you he’s still inside you, still keeping everything right where he wants it. You gasp, your fingers gripping his arms.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he murmurs. “You know how fucking good it feels. How right it feels.” His lips graze your ear. “Tell me you don’t love it.”

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “I do,” you whisper.

Chris smirks against your skin, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he breathes. “And who knows… maybe one day, I won’t just be filling you up for fun. Maybe one of these days I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body flushing at his words. Chris just chuckles, his expression dark and full of satisfaction as he kisses you again- slow, deep, claiming.

“But for now,” he murmurs, letting his weight settle over you again, his hands still holding you in place, “we’ll just make sure it sticks.”

Chris finally releases his hold on your hips, letting you relax into the mattress, though he doesn’t pull away just yet. He presses a few lingering kisses against your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your sides as he breathes you in.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice warm and tender now, the teasing edge from before softened.

You nod, still catching your breath, your body pleasantly sore in the best way. “Yeah… just feel like I can’t move.”

Chris chuckles, rolling off of you but staying close. “Guess I did my job right, then.” He smirks, but before you can throw a pillow at him, he leans in, brushing his lips over your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”

He helps you up, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as you both make your way to the bathroom. He’s gentle as he runs a warm washcloth over your skin, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your shoulders, wherever he can reach. It’s such a contrast from the heat of earlier, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

Once you’re both cleaned up, you slip on one of Chris’s hoodies- something oversized and soft- and climb into bed. Chris follows, pulling you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he buries his face in your hair.

“Love you,” he mumbles sleepily, his lips brushing against your temple.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Love you too, Chris.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

You groan, dropping your forehead against the kitchen counter as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “Ugh, I feel awful.”

Chris looks up from where he’s leaning against the fridge, brows furrowing with concern. “Still feeling sick, baby?”

You nod, rubbing your stomach with a frown. “Yeah… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep feeling nauseous at the most random times. And I swear, I smelled coffee earlier, and it made me want to throw up.”

Chris winces, stepping closer and rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, baby. Can I do anything?”

You shake your head, sighing. “I don’t even know what would help. It’s just been happening out of nowhere.”

Chris presses a kiss to the side of your head, his touch warm and comforting. “Maybe you just ate something bad? Or you’re stressed?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, but you’re not entirely convinced. “Are you sure the chicken last night was fully cooked?”

“I check it twice. It was.” Chris gives you a sympathetic look. “Tell you what- I’ll make you some tea, and then we can just chill on the couch, yeah? I’ll rub your back, we can watch whatever dumb reality show you wanna put on.”

That makes you smile a little, and you nod. “Okay. That sounds nice. Thank you baby.”

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before heading to the kettle. “Anything for my girl.”

ONE WEEK LATER

You groan as you lean over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on your face in a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering nausea. It’s been happening every morning now- like clockwork. And as much as you’d been hoping it was just a stomach bug or something that would pass, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is groggy, laced with sleep as he steps into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “Same as yesterday. And the day before that.”

Chris frowns, stepping closer, his hands settling on your waist as he looks you over. His touch is warm and grounding, but when his thumbs brush against your sides, you wince subconsciously.

Chris notices immediately, his brows drawing together. “Hey… why’d you flinch?”

You shake your head, still trying to wake up fully. “I didn’t-” But then his hands slide up a little higher, skimming under your hoodie, and the moment his thumbs brush against the curve of your breasts, you jolt.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Okay. That was a reaction.”

You frown, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest. “They’ve just been… weirdly sensitive lately.”

Chris tilts his head, his gaze flicking down before his lips curl into the smallest smirk. “Not to mention…” His hands return to your sides, his touch slow, almost hesitant. “Baby, I swear to God, they look bigger. Like huge. It makes me so horny.”

You scoff. “Chris!”

“I’m serious!” He gives you a pointed look, stepping back just enough to take you in. “They’re… I don’t know, plumper? And you’ve been nauseous for over a week. You’re throwing up every morning. You don’t think…?”

You blink at him, brows furrowing. “Think what?”

Chris’s expression shifts- something between excitement and pure realization flickering across his face. He licks his lips, searching your eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“Baby,” he says slowly, carefully, “you don’t think you could be… pregnant?”

The words hang between you, heavy and thick in the quiet morning air. Your stomach twists- but not from nausea this time.

Your lips part slightly, a small laugh slipping out- almost disbelieving. “Chris, there’s no way…” But then, as you say it, the last few weeks flash through your mind. The exhaustion. The cravings. The nausea. The sensitivity. The way you haven’t used a condom with him in months and he hasn’t been pulling out.

Chris watches you closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more serious. His hands settle on your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, “when’s the last time you had your period?”

Your stomach drops. Your mind races as you try to remember, but the more you think about it, the more your chest tightens. You should’ve had it by now. You always keep track. But with everything going on, you hadn’t even noticed.

Chris sees the realization hit you. His hands tighten just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Shit,” you whisper.

Chris lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Shit.”

You look up at him, heart pounding, eyes wide. “Chris… what if I am?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just looking at you. And then, slowly, his lips curl into a grin.

“Guess we should find out.”

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment the realization fully settles between you, he’s already moving. He grabs his phone and wallet off the nightstand, shoving his feet into the closest pair of sneakers.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before darting toward the front door.

You blink, still in shock. “Wait- Chris, where are you-”

But he’s already gone.

You stand there for a moment, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. This has to be a joke, right? There’s no way this is actually happening. But as you place a hand over your stomach, the reality starts creeping in.

A few minutes later, you hear the front door swing open again, followed by the unmistakable crinkle of plastic bags.

“Alright, baby, let’s do this!” Chris’s voice is practically beaming as he jogs back into the bedroom, his arms full of pregnancy tests. You stare in disbelief as he drops multiple boxes onto the bed, some falling onto the floor in the process.

“Chris,” you say slowly, eyes widening. “What the fuck is this?”

“Options,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got every brand they had. Digital ones, line ones, ones that apparently have smiley faces-” He pauses, flipping a box over before tossing it onto the pile. “I didn’t know there were this many kinds, honestly, but we’re covering all bases.”

You shake your head, staring at the sheer amount of tests in front of you. “Ten tests, Chris?”

“At least ten,” he corrects, grinning.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Why are you so happy about this?”

Chris hesitates for half a second before letting out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? I don’t know. I just… am.”

You search his face, expecting to see panic or nerves, but all you find is pure excitement- like he wants this. Like the idea of you possibly carrying his baby is something he’s already embracing.

Your stomach twists, but not in a bad way. It’s terrifying and overwhelming, but with the way he’s looking at you, it also feels… oddly okay.

Chris claps his hands together, bringing you back to reality. “Alright, let’s go. Go pee on some sticks.”

You snort despite yourself. “Some?”

“All of them,” he corrects, already scooping up the tests into his arms. “We need solid confirmation, baby. I need a goddamn unanimous decision from these things.”

Shaking your head, you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair before turning toward the bathroom. “This is insane.”

Chris follows right behind you, grinning. “This is science.”

You roll your eyes, but as you close the bathroom door behind you, Chris leans against the sink, watching you with nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“Whatever happens,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Wait! Let me see what they say first. Don’t pee on anything!” Chris rips open one of the boxes with the same energy he probably had during his high school finals. He pulls out the instructions, unfolds them with an exaggerated flourish, and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he announces, squinting at the paper. “Step one: Remove the test from the wrapper.”

You snatch a test from one of the open boxes and rip it open with ease. “Done.”

Chris nods approvingly, scanning the next step. “Step two: Hold the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds. Or dip it in a cup of urine for twenty seconds.”

You give him a flat look. “Absorbent tip?”

“Hey, I’m just reading what it says,” Chris says, holding up his hands in defense. He glances down again, then smirks. “Oh- this part’s important: Make sure you don’t pee on the result window. We need a clear reading, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the groundbreaking information, Chris.”

“Just looking out for accuracy.”

You shake your head, but your heart is thudding in your chest. This is actually happening.

Chris notices your hesitation and softens slightly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Chris nods, setting the instructions down on the counter before placing his hands on your hips. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. Got it?”

You nod, exhaling against his chest. “Got it.”

He smiles, giving you a small squeeze before stepping back. “Alright, go do your thing. I’ll be right here, being incredibly supportive and not at all annoying.”

You snort. “Mhm.”

Chris gasps dramatically. “Wow. So much doubt for the man who just spent a ridiculous amount of money on pregnancy tests for you.”

Shaking your head, you grab the cup from the counter- because there’s no way you’re risking peeing on your own hand in the middle of a life-altering moment- and step toward the toilet. “Okay, turnaround now.”

Chris throws his hands up. “I literally fucked this baby into you?!”

“We don’t know if there’s a baby yet!” You roll your eyes but do what needs to be done, filling the cup and carefully dipping the first test. Then another. And another. You cycle through each one, following the ridiculous variety of instructions. Five seconds for one. Twenty seconds for another. One where you had to cap it immediately and lay it on a flat surface.

Chris stands by the counter, eyes wide as he watches you line up ten tests in a perfect row.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That’s a lot of science happening at once.”

You let out a breath, setting the last test down. “Now what?”

Chris grabs one of the boxes, scanning the fine print. “Now we wait.”

You swallow hard, wiping your hands on a towel before gripping the edge of the sink. “How long?”

Chris squints at the instructions. “Three minutes.”

Three minutes.

Three minutes to find out if your whole world is about to change.

Chris must sense your nerves because he steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing your jaw. “I can set a timer. Or we can just stare at them aggressively until something happens.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back against him. “Okay… let’s do it.”

Chris’s phone is already in his hand before you even say anything. He holds it up, pressing record with a grin.

“For our future kid,” he says, his voice full of barely contained excitement.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know if it’s positive yet.”

Chris smirks, shaking his head. “I have a feeling, baby.”

Your stomach twists as you reach for the first test. Your fingers tremble slightly, and you can feel Chris’s anticipation radiating off of him. With a deep breath, you flip it over.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your heart stops.

Chris lets out a sharp inhale, but before either of you can fully process it, you reach for the second test.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

Every. Single. One.

Chris stares at them for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit.” His phone lowers slightly as he turns to look at you, his eyes shining. “Baby- holy shit!”

Before you can react, he grabs you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You gasp, gripping his shoulders as a laugh bubbles out of you, your nerves momentarily forgotten.

“Chris!” You giggle, clinging to him as he twirls you.

“I knew it,” he exclaims, setting you down just enough to crash his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, but full of so much love that your chest tightens.

Then, before you even realize it, tears start slipping down your cheeks. You pull back slightly, your hand flying to your stomach as a sob escapes you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Our baby is in my stomach.”

Chris freezes, his hands still gripping your waist. He stares at you like he’s just now fully comprehending it, like the reality of it all is truly sinking in. His lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

“Our baby,” he murmurs, and the way he says it- so full of awe, of love- makes your heart ache.

But then, almost instantly, his entire demeanor shifts. His grip tightens, his eyes darting around the room like his brain is moving a mile a minute.

“Shit. I need to tell my mom. And my dad. And my brothers.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “What about your family? Should we call them first? And the apartment- fuck, we need to start looking at places with an extra room. Or at least be ready for when she grows up- ”

You blink. “She?”

Chris stops, looking at you dead serious. “I don’t know, baby, I just know. I have this gut feeling that my new babygirl is growing inside you right now.”

Your heart clenches at the sheer certainty in his voice.

But then he’s spiraling again. “Oh God, we don’t have anything for a baby. I need to research cribs- what’s the safest crib? And strollers- shit, what’s a good stroller brand? I don’t know anything about strollers! And- fuck, baby, we’re twenty-one. I haven’t even married you yet!”

He turns to you, panic written all over his face now, and for the first time ever, you’re the calm one.

You step forward, reaching for his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Chris, baby, breathe.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he listens, taking a deep inhale as his eyes lock onto yours.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, pressing his hands against your stomach. “The way you reacted tells me all I need to know. You’re gonna be an amazing father.”

Chris swallows hard, his panic giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. His fingers flex against your stomach, like he’s already trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside you.

“You think so?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You smile, cupping his face. “I know so.”

Chris exhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

And in that moment, standing there in the tiny bathroom with ten positive pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, everything feels exactly as it should be.

MASTERLIST

tags: @bernardsbendystraws @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[atzloverr]

Our unsaid truths - chapter 5

previous chapter - next chapter

series masterlist

pairings: poly atz x reader, Yunho x reader focused

cw: (MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS) smut (it’s tiiimeeee), reader is a waitress, some would consider it dubcon, fingering, groping, neck kissing, tongue kissing, exhibitionism (maybe), Yunho is a tease lol

It was a Thursday night, and while you had expected to be at home packing for the trip right now, you instead found yourself at work. It was one of those stressful nights where the guests kept rolling in, never giving you a break.

Working as a waitress wasn’t something you had anything against, but it wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed either. You knew you didn’t have to take these extra hours, but when your boss asked you - and he made sure to really emphasize how well payed you’d get - you couldn’t say no.

So here you were, at nine p.m, running around in the restaurant. This job wasn’t the greatest, salary wise and enjoyment wise, but it did pay the rent. The thought had crossed your mind: was it really worth it when you were practically living at Seonghwa’s place? But you didn’t want to settle and move in with him just yet, now that you had fought so hard to get your apartment.

And, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were intruding. That you came into their perfect life and gave them another mouth to feed. You shook your head, continuing to wipe the table before moving on to the next one.

Finally, after all of these stressful hours, the guests were starting to leave for the night.

”Good going Y/n!” you heard one of your coworkers cheer silently as he walked past you. You smiled at him, even though your cheeks almost hurt from having done so all night.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, and to your surprise, you only had twenty minutes left of your shift. You hummed a tune as you continued cleaning the tables, imagining the bliss of getting to finally lie down and rest for a bit when you eventually got home.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You closed the door to Seonghwa’s house with a sigh. You hadn’t really realized how tired you really were until you felt like you were about to fall asleep on the short drive to their place.

The sound of some movie playing on the TV filled your ears, and as you took off your shoes, you realized how silent it was.

It was usually buzzing with sounds at this time. At least three of them always seemed to be in the living room, chatting or eating dinner because of working a late shift. That’s why you were so shocked when you entered the living room.

You almost melted when you saw Yunho, cuddled up in the couch, watching a movie by himself. ”Hey,” you smiled, throwing your bag at a chair. He raised his eyebrows with a smile. ”Y/n? I didn’t know you were coming!” he said as he opened his arms, inviting you to join him.

“I’m not planning on staying very long, just gonna get some of my stuff for the trip,” you explained, slowly dragging yourself to the couch.

It wasn’t odd for the two of you to watch movies with one another, cuddle or just simply spend time together. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself into his arms on the couch. He was on his back, and you faced him on your side, one of your legs thrown over his.

You sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the soft couch under your tired body paired with the warm blanket being thrown over you and Yunho’s bodies. Yunho let out a laugh as you buried your head in his neck.

“Tired?” he asked. You groaned at the question, cuddling closer to him, perhaps closer than you usually would. But it was as if an invisible line had been crossed that night when you kissed him.

Although you felt as if you could be more intimate with him, you still couldn’t help but gasp when one of his hands snaked up the back of your shirt, his slender fingers running up and down your back.

Yunho smirked as you suddenly seemed full of energy, your breath quickening. “Hm? Did I catch you off guard?” he whispered into your ear, too sensually for you to not feel a tingle in your stomach. “I’m a man of my words.”

You suddenly felt bold, and decided to treat his action as a challenge. You let your face bury itself deeper into his neck, until your lips almost touched his soft skin. You breathed on his neck, making him shiver, before you finally started kissing it.

You didn’t miss the way his hand stopped tracing your bare back as he felt your lips on him. You smiled victoriously, but forgot that he was just as competitive as you.

You sucked in a breath when his hand instead moved to your front, still touching under your shirt. You almost stopped breathing when his hand almost reached your bra, but stopped right there.

“Oh~” you sang, understanding that he was too, willing to take things further. That’s when you decided to move your knee ever so slightly, dangerously close to where you knew he wanted it to touch. And right when he thought that you were using his tactics of teasing, you made him almost whimper in shock when your thigh brushed up against his erection.

“Hmm,” you smiled, feeling his hardness through his sweatpants. You raised your head from the crook of his neck to see his face, and he was also wearing a grin, slightly parted lips and eyes that told you everything you needed to know.

Distracted by his beautiful face, you missed when his hand slowly started traveling further down, until you felt his fingers against the hem of your panties. Your eyes widened, but soon, you let his action motivate your next one.

You looked into his eyes as your hand traced the outline of his cock outside of his pants, making his hips involuntarily thrust upward slightly.

“Ahhh, Yunho?” you heard a voice whine, entering the kitchen. You immediately retracted your hand, laying on your back next to him as the person kept talking. “Have you finished packing?” you heard, and you realized that it was Yeosang.

“Hmm, yeah I’m about done,” Yunho answered, keeping his eyes on your wide and slightly panicked ones. Why were they panicked? Well, Yunho’s hand hadn’t stopped moving just because you got company.

You closed your legs around his hand, attempting to make his hand stop moving, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh, Y/n, you’re here too?” Yeosang said as he entered your field of view. You smiled, and just as you were about to answer him, Yunho’s hand reached the place your body had begged him to.

You cleared your throat, trying to cover up the sound that escaped you as you felt his hand on your heat, exploring you.

“Uh— I, yeah! I’m here!” you said, making Yeosang tilt his head in confusion. “Um, yeah,” he smiled. You begged he didn’t notice when your hand moved under the blanket, laying itself on Yunho’s as a weak attempt to get him to stop moving his fingers.

But you didn’t really want him to stop, because the feeling of his slick fingers circling your clit in an almost hypnotic motion, it was irresistible.

“Are you sleeping over?” Yeosang asked, starting to go back to the kitchen, opening the fridge. You thanked god that he left. “No, I’m just getting some stuff for the trip!”

You tried to keep your words few, because holding back from making a sound was harder than you’d like to admit.

“Is ‘stuff’ Yunho?” Yeosang laughed, and you faked one. Honestly, you just begged him to go already, and save you from this humiliation. “I guess I couldn’t resist his cuddles,” you said through gritted teeth, looking at Yunho’s fake innocent face.

“Alright, have a good night! I’m going to bed now!” Yeosang said. You mentally sighed in relief. “Okay, see you later!” Yunho said, smiling at you.

“What on earth do you think you’re—“ You were about to start cussing him out when one of his fingers entered your hole, making you gasp. “Better keep quiet,” Yunho said, curling his finger deep inside of you. “Never know when someone’s gonna show up.”

You tried to look angry, but you couldn’t even manage that. The pleasure of his skilled fingers pumping into you while rubbing your clit made your face contort in pleasure. “There you go,” Yunho whispered, face coming closer to yours.

You couldn’t hold back, and honestly, you didn’t care too much, so you grabbed his face, kissing him desperately as he added another finger inside of you. The size of his fingers made you fantasize. How big was he? Sure, you felt that he was big when you touched him outside of his pants, but how would he feel inside of you? How much would he stretch your insides? Would he go fast? Rough? Slow? Passionate?

You hungrily let your tongue enter his mouth, feeling yourself coming closer to orgasm as his pace quickened.

Yunho broke the kiss, his half-lidded eyes dripping with lust. “That’s it,” he said, watching as you - as silently as possible - got closer to the edge. “Give in.”

You wanted to wipe that smug smirk off of his face when you finally came, clenching around his fingers and covering your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds that left you.

You watched as he withdrew his hand, his digits entering his own mouth. He sucked them seductively, making you imagine what his mouth was capable of. He did this on purpose, you were sure of it.

“Let me,” you impatiently wanted to repay the favor, but he stopped your hands. “You had some “stuff” to get, didn’t you?” he smiled, getting off of the couch. “I’m sure you’ll want to come home at a reasonable time, considering you probably haven’t even started packing,” he smirked.

You watched with your jaw dropped slightly as he walked up the stairs, waving you with a grin.

“Good night, Y/n.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You tiredly threw the clothes into your bag, still feeling flushed, even though it happened an hour ago. When you had entered Seonghwa’s room, he’d asked you why you were so red, and why you looked so disheveled, and you simply shook your head. Luckily for you, he bought the ”tired” excuse, and you could retrieve your things and go home without having to discuss the night’s events.

That night when you went to sleep in your small bed in your apartment, two thoughts dominated your brain.

One: how excited you were for the trip tomorrow, and two: how you were going to get back on Jeong Yunho.

taglist: @ateezswonderland @sxdisteez @heiswan @hwxbibi @rainfrogsimp @emilysecresy @suns1sweetheart @symmieangela @pocket-hwa @gghzzc @wooyoungsbrat @dawn-iscozy @fairy-jojo @soso59love-blog @gigglensnort @mimikittysblog @maplelilly05 @pixie0627 @cotton-candycloudz @gugggu6gvai @cpg2020 @therealcuppicake @whyismingi @yizhou-time @vtyb23 @the-belching-toe @mrsminseochoi @m00njinnie @lucyspage

sidenote: this is so unrelated but regular by nct 127 is literally unironically one of the best songs I’ve ever heard

masterlist

[gingerteafairy]

switch button (todd haynes x reader)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ If there was one thing Todd Haynes wasn't, it was cute. Not even close.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, dirty talk, love bites and kisses. word count: +700. masterlist

Once again, you were tangled up with Todd, kissing your amazing boyfriend in the warmth of his bed. The two of you had always loved being close like this—comfortable, intimate, perfect. But today, something felt different. More intense.

Your leg was hooked around his waist, pulling him in as if you couldn’t bear to let go. His hands, warm and possessive, had slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips pressing into your hips, leaving faint imprints against your skin. He groaned into your lips, a low, needy sound, tugging you closer with every passing second.

It was no secret that your relationship was intimate—maybe even too much so—shocking everyone around you. But what no one knew was the most intriguing part: you and Todd never had sex.

Which was at least weird considering the humongous amount of times you kissed standing up, on the couch, bed, hands touching the warmest places, but nothing more. You had been dating for a month, however, anytime things got a little warmer down there, Todd stopped, mumbling that it was time to watch a movie or do something else.

But not today, because he seemed so desperate to devour your lips that you even forgot to ask why he always stopped.

Come on, Todd Haynes was so cute, it didn't even seem like he had dirty thoughts under those curls. He was always a gentleman, adoring you. The poor boy blushed violently when you kissed his cheek in the hallways at college. You’d die to find out if Todd was as cute in bed as he was in life.

“Shit, you’re so hot,” he muttered, his hands reaching into your shorts to pull you closer to his visible erection.

“Todd, I want you so bad,” you mewled, hearing him moaning softly into your mouth, pressing your fingers even deeper into your ass. "It's not even funny."

“Hmmm, really?” He whispered, moving your hips to grind on his covered cock, chuckling at your surprised reactions. “You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

“Why don’t you show me?” You hurried, unable to handle the excitement building up in your body any longer.

“With pleasure,” He smiled, taking one last bite at your lower lip.

Todd changed position with impressive ease for someone so cute, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

“Perfect,” he whispered, attacking your neck, not giving you time to consider whether that was really your boyfriend or some succubus possessing his body.

The thing was, Todd was dying to do God knows what to you every time you kissed his rosy lips, knowing that you were wet and needy beneath him. Jerking off after kissing sessions was a common thing, especially thinking about pinning your wrists or your legs impossibly spread wide open for him.

If there was one thing Todd Haynes wasn’t when his cock was aching hard on its confinements, it was cute. And his game-changer was precisely you asking for it.

“God, you’re so needy.” he murmured, sucking on the pressure point, squeezing your wrists slightly tighter. “You have no idea of the effect you have on me."

“Wh… What do I do?” you stuttered, grunting when he sucked harder, scraping his teeth over the spot.

“What you—Do you even know how hard it’s to hold back?” He gasped, pulling away to look at your face as his hands roamed your curves, grabbing the most sensitive places. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, wearing those tiny shorts, moaning when i kiss you. Fuck, I get hard every time you bite my lip with that face. I wonder if it’s to tease me.”

“Sorry, it's just…i want you so much, baby…” You cooed, knitting your eyebrows together on your face, feeling yourself heating up with each word your boyfriend said. "Can't stop thinking about your cock. Just wanted to feel you."

“You're so—fucking cute begging like this,” He chuckled softly, coming close to your lips with his eyes almost closing without leaving yours. “I like that. Almost like you want me to fuck you hard till you forget your name, doll.”

“I—i want it.” you shivered, pulling his face with clear eager. “I want it all, please… just—just fuck me okay, i can't take it anymore.”

“As you wish, baby,” he muttered, already taking off—ripping—your clothes, hovering your legs over his shoulders. If there was one thing Todd Haynes wasn't, it was cute. Not even close. And you learned that the best way. Well, with a little back pain the other day. He knew some really weird positions.

[iwantmygun]

I wish I could see it every fucking day.

This movie was made literally just for me. Genuinely for me to sit and cry alone in a theater.

When this thing gets released it will be all that plays on my TV until I cannot take it anymore

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

[springtyme]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries. 

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision. 

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You. 

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease. 

Maybe this could work out after all. 

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there. 

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them. 

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete. 

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him. 

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings. 

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing. 

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own. 

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the request here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: When a movie night has you questioning your bodies worth, Simon catches you in the shower to show you that your body is perfect just the way that it is.

Word Count: 4.3 k

Warnings:

“Look at the jugs on her,” one of the guys says at the busty blonde that has just been introduced for the first time in the film. A few others follow suit, whooping at the gorgeous, petite female main character popping up on screen as the movie really gets going. “That’s a woman you could lose yourself in. Fuck, I wish I could find a girl like her; I’d be a happy man for life. To have that waiting at home for me, I’d never even be tempted to stray.”

This is usually how movie night on base goes: people piling into the rec center ready to watch the latest movie from the personal collection from one of the members, but mostly it just devolves into a testosterone fest of horny boys itching to have something to focus their sexual frustrations on by ogling at the new pretty little thing on screen. Usually it doesn’t bother you, you’re used to being around all that chaos, but tonight just feels different.

Simon isn’t one for this type of gathering, but he comes to keep an on the crowd and be nearer to you and as he watches out of the corner of his eye from his place standing towards the back, he notices how your body language changes as the guys continue to raucously talk about the leading lady and how beautiful she is. It’s almost imperceptible the way you shift in your seat while you pick at the skin of your lower lip with your teeth, your shoulders slumping down as you cross your arms, but he catches it outright. He knows you and he knows this isn’t normal. 

Something is bothering you.

The longer you sit there the worse it gets. Their lustful words just cut different tonight; maybe it’s exhaustion from being overworked or perhaps you’re just having an off day, but the longer they hoot and holler over the girl plastered before your eyes, the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

It’s about halfway through the movie when you slowly get up from your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself by leaving too quickly and exit the rec without looking back. Simon is instantly concerned and wants to rush after you, but one of the newer recruits that seems to be the ringleader in all this turns to him as if to drag him into the depraved fun.

“Whatcha think; gotta admit she’s a fine thing, ain’t she Lieutenant?” he asks, nodding back at the screen. “Come on, even you gotta admit she’s perfect. Couldn’t hope to find anyone better.” 

The look that Simon gives the young man through his mask, that stone cold glare that could make even the bravest man shiver, instantly shuts him up and has him facing forward again to join his brothers in arms in their jokes. His brow furrows angrily behind the fabric as he looks over the crowd of boys once more before heading out, leaving quietly like a specter on his way to find where you had gotten to. 

Simon checks all the usual places, but you are nowhere to be found: the little area outside the rec where you usually join him for a smoke break, the mess hall, even your barracks are empty. Then he hears movement in the communal bathroom and knows he’s finally found you. 

It looks like you’ve been rushing to get done before anyone can catch you. Your hair is damp from the shower and it drips down to leave dark stains onto your t-shirt as you stand staring at yourself in the mirror behind the sink. Simon watches quietly from his obscured place by the door as you look yourself over, scrutinizing each detail from head to toe before you give up with a sigh and a diversion of your eyes, focusing on your toothbrush instead as you pick it up and turn on the faucet. So absorbed in what you are doing, you don’t hear the lock click closed or the pair of heavy boots that cross the length of the room until there is a presence upon you. 

“God, you’re so beautiful baby,” you hear that deep, gravelly voice sound from behind you while a bulky arm wraps itself around your waist from behind as Simon presses up against your back. You look back up into the mirror in front of you and are instantly met with a pair of brilliant brown eyes as he slowly removes his balaclava. “Just standin’ there fresh outta the shower and ya look like a fantasy.”  

Setting the mask on the sink he joins his other arm around you and leans his face in, the tip of his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck before he presses his lips against your jugular. His lips catch the feeling of your pulse quickening through the vein at his touch. Rough hands begin to splay across your clothed stomach, running across and down to your hips with gentle caresses that make you pause. Your eyes stare into the mirror to take in your combined form as he drapes himself over you, hot lips peppering your skin with no sign of letting up.

You chuckle dismissively, trying to play off his words as a joke. Your head still isn’t in the right place and even though you enjoy the feeling of his touch, disastrous thoughts still circle throughout to cloud your mind so that you second guess even his affections. 

“Oh, come off it,” you return as you grab the toothpaste off the countertop. “I do not.” 

There is no hesitation in his reply. “I’m serious,” he breathes that husky whisper against your skin as his lips continue down to your shoulder as his fingers pull the t-shirt away from your collar bone to reveal more skin for him to adorn with his mouth.

You roll your eyes in the mirror so that as he looks up briefly he catches the movement. “Yeah, sure,” you again dismiss him. “Whatever you say.”

Before you can even unscrew the cap to the toothpaste, Simon reaches past you to turn off the tap and take your things out of your hands before he rotates you around so that you face him. Your backside presses into the edge of the sink as you rest up against it, mouth scrunched to one side as he gazes back at you with intent. There is a subtle frown on his lips and an anxious look in his copper eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Somethin’ happen? Cause I did see ya leave in a hurry back there.”

You divert your eyes, ashamed of your lack of confidence that has come forward tonight. “I don’t know, it’s nothing,” you shrug, but he isn’t buying any of it. 

His large hand rests itself up under your chin, pulling your head back up to look into his face. “I think ya do know,” he says. “Will ya tell me?”

Clearing your throat, you give yourself a moment to figure out how best to proceed. “It’s just,” you say hesitantly, “I guess sometimes I just wish I looked like that, you know? I know I’m usually not this self-conscious, but tonight I guess I just hit a rough patch with my insecurities and something about the shit they were saying just got to me I guess. You see the way the guys talk about girls like in that movie, like she’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. She’s so perfect and… I…”

You gesture with your head down the length of your body to emphasize your point that you are nothing like the actress: your breasts are on the smaller side, your thighs are incredibly thick, and your stomach is not completely flat. Simon follows your hand, looking you up and down before his eyes meet yours again.

“I’m not. I know it’s fucking stupid and I shouldn’t care about all that, it doesn’t really matter, but sometimes it’s just hard to ignore. I’m not the standard when it comes to beauty, but sometimes I just want to feel like I’m the most irresistible person in the room.”

It seems like he wants to say something, you can see his mouth shifting, but instead his gaze drifts down to your lips and he pulls your chin forward to close the distance between your mouths. Instantly he overtakes your mouth with his own, tenderly capturing your lips over and over with a gentle desperation that makes him shudder against you as he moves in closer. 

“Who the fuck said ya ain’t perfect?” he asks, his voice breathy against your lips. “Gimme that bastard’s name. You tell me right now so I can go ring their fuckin’ neck. Cause that is a goddamn lie.”

“No one said anything like that, it’s just the way I feel,” you answer honestly. “And you’re only saying that because you like me.” 

Immediately Simon pulls you into another long kiss as if he is trying to take those insecure words right out of your mouth before you can say anything else. Breaking the kiss, Simon licks his flushed lips and shakes his head. “Really? Ya don’t think your body can drive someone wild? Then what’s this, hmm?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand forward so that he can place the palm over top of the soft bulge growing in his boxers. “See whatcha do to me, sweetheart? Ya think that’s lyin’?”

Your hand rubs over the swell and his hips unconsciously buck slightly against your hand as he hums in approval of your touch. It is instantaneous the way you have him begging for even a simple touch from you; no other has ever held that kind of power over him, not anyone that he would give it to so freely like he does you. The warm pressure from your hand causes the pulsing to intensify as he grows harder and you find your heart beat starting to match its throbbing.

“Ya don’t think I catch the men lookin’ at ya from time to time?” he asks as he leans his head forward until it rests against your own, hands moving up under the hem of your shirt to play with the toasty skin of your abdomen as he talks. “Ya don’t think I see that their eyes glaze over as they linger on your body a bit too long for my fuckin’ likin’? Just cause they won’t say it out loud doesn’t make it any less true that you have something about ya that would drive any man wild.”

His words are like a balm to your mind and the longer he speaks the more you find yourself falling under their spell. Rough fingers are pushing up higher into your shirt, pulling it up over your waist as he runs his palms across the area while his hips press into yours. He’s not forceful or harsh, his advances are only full of adoration in that type of intense devotion that only Simon Riley is capable of when it comes to savoring the best damn thing he has ever had.   

“Don’t let what ya heard back there hurt ya,” he says softly. “Yeah, ya don’t look like that bird on the screen, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an absolute beauty. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and I ain’t just sayin’ it, baby. But ya don’t just have ta take my word for it. Let me show ya that no one can hold a candle to what ya got.”

Simon pulls you over to one of the empty showers and gets it going, fiddling with the taps to make sure the water is going nice and warm before he turns his undivided attention back to you. Instantly his mouth is back on yours as one by one each piece of your clothing is removed and set aside in tandem with his own until you both stand before the other bare.

“I’ve already showered,” you mutter out between pauses as merely just a statement of fact rather than a reason to deny him.

Simon murmurs his disagreement into your mouth. “Don’t care,” he replies through a break in his kiss, continuing to take off your clothes as he dizzyingly tries to get at your body. “Can’t be havin’ those fuckin’ negative thoughts in that head of yours. Wanna take care of ya, make ya feel like the true beauty ya are.”

More kissing, so much that your lips are burning and raw from the friction. His mouth must be aflame too, but he doesn’t let up; he can’t, he’s captured in the wake of your allure and there is no getting out. 

“What if someone comes in?” The last of your questions spills out quick.

He chuckles at your needless worry. “Already locked the door sweetheart.”

Stretching his hand out, he checks the temperature to be sure it’s right before dragging you inside the steamy oasis. The curtain is barely pulled closed before he has you pinned at the back wall, his stocky torso rubbing against your voluptuous naked body as he steals the breath from your lungs, kissing you so thoroughly that there is no distinction between faces anymore.

The change in temperature has your nipples hardening, the blossoms spiking forward at attention, and Simon can feel them poking against his chest the longer he has your mouth locked in that dance of back and forth. The moment he is aware of their presence his mouth is salivating to get at them. 

You might think they are not perfect enough, but to him they are exactly what he wants.

Breaking the kiss abruptly, removing his mouth so quickly that a trial of spit still connects your lips a moment, he tilts his head downward. Being on the smaller side, he can fit your breast almost entirely in his mouth and he does, filling the cavity with as much of your tit as he can without choking. 

You can hardly remember anymore why the stupid comments had you so upset in the first place when you have a man like Simon who will dote on you like you are royalty. His is the only opinion you have come to care about and it is clear that there is nothing he will ever want more than you. 

He moans deep and guttural into your breast as he sucks while letting the end of his tongue flick around the nipple, circling the sensitive tissue until you are writhing against him as he holds you steady to the wall so that he can work. There is another breast after all that requires his attention and he intends to show it the same amount of affection as the other. Switching sides, he gets to work, keeping the first breast warm by cupping it in his hand.

It’s minutes of you quivering and whimpering before he emerges panting with his lips swollen and red, satisfied with his work so far. Giving his lips a break, Simon gently strokes your cheek with his fingers as he gazes into your eyes, swaying your bodies from side to side in easy movements. “Stay with me luv,” he says softly as he watches you take heavy breaths, “I ain’t done just yet.”

Those lips are on the move again to decorate your body, over your sternum and waist, until he has to kneel before you to get any further. He’s on his knees, all 6’4” of him bent to you as he places kisses across your belly while the heated water runs over his dirty blonde hair and down his back, rippling across the muscles in his shoulders as he holds your hips squeezed securely between his broad hands. 

“You’re perfect just the way ya are, baby,” he groans against your moist skin, letting his lips linger wherever he puts them. “Just like this: real, curves for fuckin’ days, so much skin I get drunk tryin’ to get at it all. And the best goddamn part is that it’s all mine.”

More kisses he places along all the areas you think unworthy of adoration, but that he finds absolutely exquisite. “Mine, all mine.”

His words devolve into incoherent babble as he nestles his face into your abdomen to leave burning trails of his desire with his lips that even the warm water cannot wash away from your skin. Your body writhes in his double-handed grasp as your head falls back to rest against the wall as every inch of tender flesh prickles with the overstimulating sensation of being doted upon. 

Lips keep trailing further downward from your stomach to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs.

“Ya think I get on my knees for any girl?” he asks from his place at the bottom of the shower as he stares up into your face with half-lidded eyes that darken the more he plays with you. “You’re the only one who can bring me to fuckin’ kneel, baby. You and your gorgeous body. I’m at it’s goddamn mercy.” 

Placing his hand on your calf, he nods and you know exactly what he wants: that juicy cunt smothering his features, your bulky thighs crush against his ears. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and he leans in, smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip. 

There is little oxygen to be had between the heat from the water and the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft, breathy gasps and moans as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up to breathe. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, if there is even a whisper of a negative thought left in your brain it is overshadowed completely now by the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured to the brink of insanity.

You buck wild and untamed, panting heavily as the warmth in your belly begins gathering quicker than you could have thought, the coil pulling tightly as minute by aching minute Simon draws your body to the edge of its release. He is relentless in his endeavor, putting your needs above anything else- even breathing. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you soon are spilling over the edge and he has to hold onto you tight so that you don’t slip and fall.

Simon stays locked to your pussy until the very last second, keeping his movements going even as you try to pry him off from the sensitivity that is almost too much to handle. It isn’t until you finally stop writhing that he emerges from between your legs with a smile that has your stomach doing somersaults as he wipes his mouth clean of your cum. 

“Second course,” he growls before you even have a chance to fully come down from your high.

Oh you have got him down bad tonight. 

He carefully flips you round to face the wall and uses his feet to make you spread your legs as wide as you can get them. A hefty hand runs itself over the curve of your ass, following the line down all the way to the underside before he grabs it in his hand and gives the meat a firm squeeze.

“Those little boys just don’t know how to handle this much woman; all these fuckin’ curves are too much pleasure for a bastard that don’t know the treasure he’s got. But I know what a fuckin’ feast ya are,” he groans as he aligns your hips and enters you from behind with a forceful grunt that reverberates off the enclosed space of the shower. 

You push palms flat against the wall to steady yourself. “They don’t know how ta treat ya right, how ta love a body that just keeps givin’ and givin’. But I don’t have that problem, sweetheart.”

Simon’s devout words are like liquid fire and as his cock stretches you wide, the euphoria of his talk runs through you to make you burn. Your body is his religion and goddamn does he always worship it right. All those cares, all that self-loathing and doubt entirely evaporate from your mind as he pushes your shoulders forward to make you arch your back so that he can pound into your pussy hard and deep from behind, making your plump ass bounce off his pelvis with a recoil that draws his gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathes, so obsessed with the way you look around him that he is trying to ingrain the image in his mind.  

His aching exclamation thrills you, making your heart skip a beat as his thrusts continue to rock through you. To be craved in such a way, to be thought of like the woman in the movie, that is what he is giving you now and it is euphoric. His intensity is orgasmic and your body responds in kind as he grabs you to move you closer.

“Don’t concern yourself with the bullshit ideas of some puny little boys when ya got a man who will always make sure you feel like a fuckin’ princess when you’re in his arms,” he says in a whisper at your ear as he pulls you back to leans against his chest. “Cause ya are, sweetheart. Your my fuckin’ goddess of a woman.”

The way he says it makes you ache all over and you can feel it twinge in your clit. “Say it again,” you beg, needing to hear him make those sweet combinations of sounds once more until your body vibrates with pleasure. 

His hand comes up to cup around your breast so that he can massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to mewl at the sensation. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful baby, so goddamn perfect just like this, and I love every last fuckin’ inch of ya. My princess.”

Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you full on all of his passion for your body. You will never be able to make everyone see you for the gorgeous being that you truly are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Simon is more than enough to keep you feeling like the most beautiful girl in the whole world; you are safe with him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his arms that are filled with your waist clamp down tighter to secure you to him so that he can shove his cock even harder into your now dripping core. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out. 

“Come for me again,” he practically demands as he watches you falling apart once more. “Come on, pretty girl, one more for me. One more together.”

Your limbs are tingling with each snap of his hips against your ass. It’s close, right there, you can almost feel it again as the coil wounds itself tight once more in the pit of your stomach. You clench down on him, making him falter before recovering and continuing on. A few more pumps of him deep in your core and it is right there at the precipice.

“Let go for me,” he whispers into your ear as you clench once more around him and something about the way he says it sets you off. You come for the second time, the orgasm rocketing through you until you can feel it like fire shooting through your veins as you shake with the intensity of it all. 

Quickly he pulls out just in time as he too pops off and comes between your thighs as you clamp them together around his cock. The ejaculate runs down your legs as he milks every last bit out of the tip until his body hangs limp and his head falls down to rest the forehead against your shoulder. Still he holds you close, murmuring soft praises against your neck about how fucking amazing that was and how there is no one else that will ever look more beautiful all flushed and exhausted.

Holding onto you, Simon takes a few steps back forcing you to come along until you are both submerged under the showerhead to let that soothing water run over your bodies until you can both come back down from your high. There are no words yet, none that need to be said out loud, all he needs to do is keep you wrapped in his arms a little longer.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water rushing filling the silent space for a while, until a noise breaks you both out of the moment. There is a banging on the door from the outside, repeated knocking loudly and clearly; you’ve been in here for too long, but Simon doesn’t seem to be bothered. There is no attempt to leave the steamy oasis yet and soon the sound subsides and you are both left in the silence once again. 

“They’ll just have to fuckin’ wait,” he says against the side of your head in a hushed whisper, lips tempting your earlobe. “They can consider it a punishment for making ya upset. Besides, I’m still busy and you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Got Jealous Of His Twin Brother”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, slight Yuuji x Reader but we all know who you’re really here for, Sukuna is down bad, narration is mostly from Sukuna’s POV

Word Count: 1.80k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna is a fucking geinus.

His plan is full proof. His brothers put him in charge of buying the tickets for some stupid ass movie Yuuji wants to go see, and you always write your work schedule down on the calendar taped to the fridge. Sure, yeah, maybe he had to call out sick for today because this was the only day that Choso had work and you didn’t, but now he knows that his plan will fall perfectly into place. Yuuji is already at the apartment, you’ll come downstairs eventually, and Yuuji will invite you to come to the movie in Choso’s place, making it look like a total coincidence and definitely not something he’s been meticulously planning all week.

Could he have just, I don’t know, asked you to go on a date with him? Of course not, that’s fucking ridiculous. This makes so much more sense.

I mean, you absolutely loved The Human Centipede, definitely weren’t covering your eyes in terror and disgust when he showed it to you, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll just adore Human Earthworm. Hah! What a fuckin’ joke, you’ll be dragging Sukuna out of the theatre within five minutes and begging him to take you out somewhere else without his annoying twin brother.

It’s perfect.

Him and Yuuji are lounging on opposite ends of the couch while Yuuji is going on and on about an Elden Ring boss he can’t beat. Sukuna has his boots propped up on the coffee table and his arms resting behind his head as he half listens to his brother, and more so keeps an ear out for your footsteps upstairs.

“I was gonna try and beat her without summons but she’s kicking my ass, how many tries did it take you?”

“One.”

“Ugh!” Yuuji flops backwards on the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and shoving it over his face, his defeated whines muffled through the plush cotton, “She’s so impossible!”

Footsteps, finally. As you walk into the living room Yuuji uncovers his face, and you stop dead in your tracks, pointing at him, and then his brother, back and forth a few times before rubbing your eyes.

“Holy shit, there’s two of you?”

Oh yeah, I never mentioned my family huh?

Sukuna just gives you a smug smirk, “Three, but the emo one couldn’t make it.��

Yuuji perks up, jolting upright on the couch and giving you a bright smile, “Hi! I’m the normal one!”

You pull a chair out from the kitchen table, plopping yourself down into the wooden seat, “I think I’m gonna faint.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sukuna is… a fucking idiot.

He knew his brother had a bubbly personality and could get along with literally anyone, but how was he supposed to know that you two would hit it off so well? Yuuji is pulling out all the stops, holding the door open for you, offering to pay for your popcorn, god it’s like he’s trying to get on Sukuna’s nerves.

Granted, it’s not like Sukuna told him that he likes you, but I mean for fucks sake that’s his twin brother! Shouldn’t he have some sort of sixth sense for this kind of thing?

That pink haired fucker has you wrapped around his little finger, you’re looking at him with googly eyes and cheesing like it’s fucking picture day. Ridiculous. Why don’t you ever smile like that for him? He’s funny!

I’m never letting him in the apartment again.

The three of you walk up to the top row of the nearly empty theater, Sukuna making sure to sit right between you and Yuuji. Previews are rolling on the screen as Sukuna is trying his damndest to hide the scowl on his face, his large arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the way the large screen reflects different colors into your eyes. He didn’t really think this far ahead, he’s got you next to him at the movies but… what now? He’s mentally kicking himself enough as it is for not considering his overly charismatic brother, and now he’s realizing that he doesn’t even know what his own intentions are.

Did he just want to take you somewhere? Is he trying to sleep with you? Does he want to be… romantic with you?

God, what has he become? He’s supposed to be the tough fucking scary guy and he’s not only getting shown up by his nerdy brother, but also getting nervous at the thought of making a move on you.

Yuuji flings popcorn in your direction, making you squeal out a giggle as it gently lands in your hair. Sukuna groans, hardly paying attention as he’s deep in thought, running his finger through your hair and flicking the popcorn away. He’s so consumed in his own head that he completely misses the blush that tints your cheeks at his tender touch.

Should I have even bothered with this? I feel like staying at the house would’ve been better at this point.

A piece of popcorn flies into his eye.

“Ugh,” This is so stupid, Sukuna rubs his eyelid with his thumb, “Watch it, brat.”

Yuuji tosses his hands up defensively and you giggle again, leaning over the armrest and placing your pointer finger on Sukuna’s cheek, tilting his face to turn towards you. Have your eyes always been that bright?

“Ooh, bullseye.” He can feel your breath fanning on his face, you’re so close, but just as abruptly as you leaned in, you lean back into your seat. God, he wants more than anything to tell you to come back, but the words wouldn’t be able to escape his lips if he tried. Unfortunately, all he manages to do is glare down at you and make you shift awkwardly under his gaze, mumbling out a quick apology.

Fuck. I think I scared them.

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From what you’ve been able to gather, this movie is weird. Is it horror or romance? You’ve been having trouble paying attention, far too distracted by Yuuji leaning over the very annoyed looking Sukuna to excitedly whisper tidbits about the movie to you. But every time you look over to Yuuji your eyes can’t help but wander to Sukuna’s profile, the flashing lights of the large screen illuminating his tattooed skin, his bottom lip tutting out to blow the loose strand of his pink hair resting on his brow out of his eyes-

Ah dammit, I’m doing it again.

You’re so confused. Sukuna has been giving you mixed signals all night, sweetly running his fingers through your hair one moment, then glowering at you like he wants you dead the next. He’s so unpredictable, and you’ve been so distracted by him all evening that you’ve hardly been able to pay any attention to poor Yuuji, giving him bright smiles and fake laughs while your mind is completely consumed with Sukuna.

He’s been so grumpy the entire evening, you’ve been feeling like he’s… disappointed? Is he mad his other brother couldn’t come? Is he mad that you took the emo one’s place? Would he rather somebody else have gone to the movie with him? It was Yuuji’s idea for you to tag along, so it’s safe to assume that if Sukuna wanted you here he would have just invited you, right?

But then every now and again his eyes flicker to you, watching. Why is he looking at you like that? With his gaze so uncharacteristically soft, scanning your face like he’s searching for something, from the corner of your eye you can catch him looking at your lips.

Is there something on my face?

You’re ripped from your thoughts as a blood curdling scream erupts from the speakers, making you jump in your seat. You catch the tiniest glimpse of a smirk creeping on the corner of Sukuna’s lips as he sits like a rock, completely unbothered as per usual. You gently kick his foot under the seat, and he presses his large boot onto the top of your sneaker, pinning your shoe under his and keeping your foot locked in place under the sole of his steel toe boot.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a frustrated huff at him that only makes his grin grow wider, his face still pointed towards the large screen as he flashes his canines at you. He props his elbow on the armrest between you, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as he peers down at you with a smug grin.

“You ready to get out of here yet?”

Cocky fucker, I swear he gets off on making me mad.

“No.” You snap back defensively.

Unbeknownst to you, his question was not rhetorical. But you’re in it now, determined to sit through this entire movie even if it kills you. You’re bothering him enough just by being here, the last thing you want to do is make him feel like he needs to leave.

His smirk shifts into a grimace as he taps his boot on top of your shoe. You slide your sneaker away but he loops his calf around yours and pulls your leg towards him, gently kicking your foot. If you didn’t know better you’d almost think he was… trying to play footsies with you? You’re not really sure what he’s trying to do, all you know is that he’s still leaning on the armrest between you and probably unintentionally pulling you closer by your leg.

Your arm brushes against his as you try to maneuver your elbow onto the armrest, quietly muttering to him “You’re hogging up all the space.”

He leans down slightly to whisper in your ear, “Tragic. Use the other one.”

You nudge his forearm with your elbow, “Just move your arm.”

He lets out a quiet “Tch” and raises his arm to rest over the back of your seat instead, “This better, brat?”

You nod your head as a blush creeps onto your cheeks, luckily hidden by the darkness in the room. When you relax back into your chair you can feel his arm pressing into the back of your neck and his fingers lightly graze against your shoulder. It feels… kinda comforting, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to lean into his touch and your heart starts to pound at the thought.

You don’t dare to look at Sukuna, deciding to quietly enjoy the moment. Which is a real shame, because if you did look at him there’s a chance you’d catch the way he’s gnawing on his bottom lip with a face that looks almost as flustered as your own.

He might be enjoying this more than you are, and he might even be thinking that having to sit through this movie might not be so bad after all.

A/N: POV you and Sukuna are two idiots who are into each other but neither of you have the balls to do something about it. Also writing Sukuna’s POV for the narration was SO FUN!!! We love our delusional king who sees you god forbid smile at another person and immediately assumes you’re in love with them Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[ssa-dado]

I could totally see Aaron being jealous. Maybe a oneshot of her meeting Sean Hotchner for the first time.

Covering Up - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff Summary: You’re late, and while Gideon’s passive-aggressive remarks are expected, it’s Hotch who really has you on edge. But it’s not just his authority; it’s the way you inadvertently caught the attention of Hotch’s brother, Sean. Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set around late 1998 or early 1999, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon was in charge instead). Word Count: 3k Dado's Corner: You didn't see this coming, did you? Something cute to celebrate the end of the year. Sorry it took so much to respond, I totally forgot about this ask... hope you like itttttt. Again, HOTCH IN LOOOOOOOVE but doesn't want to admit hahaha what a fool.

masterlist

You were late today. Remarkably late.

For the first time ever in your life.

And while the idea of Gideon giving you one of his passive-aggressive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speeches wasn’t exactly fun, there was one person who truly terrified you in this situation.

Hotch.

How ironic: it wasn’t your boss you were afraid of - it was your fussy coworker. The same coworker whose desk, unfortunately, happened to sit right in front of yours.

Perfect.

You were still trying to salvage your dignity in the elevator, jabbing at the elevator button, fumbling with your hair as the doors closed. Maybe an updo would make you look less… late. But by the time you reached your floor, the mess you’d made felt more “distressed damsel” than “competent federal agent.”

So, naturally, you made the split-second decision to undo the whole thing, pulling your hair loose halfway to your desk.

You winced.

Not because anyone was watching - everyone seemed too absorbed in their own work - but because if someone had been looking, you’d have perfectly executed that clichéd, overly dramatic hair flip straight out of a low-budget action movie.

The kind made by men, for men.

The ones where the femme fatale struts into the room, stiletto heels clicking, hair whipping in slow motion, cleavage doing all the talking, her entire existence engineered for the male gaze.

And here you were. No stilettos. No slow motion. Just… the hair flip.

Fantastic.

You shook it off, hoping to slink to your desk unnoticed, now more focused to brace yourself for the silent judgement of-

A man.

Not the man you expected - Hotch.

An actual man, a somehow handsome man.

Oh God. He’d definitely seen you do the dramatic hair flip.

His smirk confirmed it - no need for a profiler to figure that one out.

A man, sitting comfortably in Hotch’s chair. And, notably, no Hotch in sight.

“Are you here for a consultation with Agent Hotchner?” you asked, doing your best to sound at least professional as you set your bag down.

He chuckled – like you were the punchline of some inside joke you weren’t in on. “Actually, yes.”

Though you couldn’t help but study him... it was in your nature afterall.

He was about Hotch’s height, blond, blue-eyed, and generically good-looking in a way that probably gave him the nerve to sit at an agent’s desk without any kind of second thought.

But what really stood out? He looked about your age.

Very early twenties - which, mathematically speaking, made him way too young to be here asking for a consultation.

Not that you were one to talk. You were constantly reminded you were “too young” to be working for the FBI. So, at least you had that in common.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he read from your badge, dragging out the syllables for some of his twisted reasons you chose to ignore. Then he smirked. “You’re young.”

“She is.” Hotch’s voice cut through the air before you could form a response, making you startle slightly. He was suddenly there, right behind you, like he’d materialized out of thin air.

“Sean,” he said, his tone clipped in that uniquely Hotch way that made you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong, “I told you to wait for me outside.”

“And why are you so late?” Hotch added, his focus snapping to you with laser precision, his brows drawing together in that way that made your stomach twist in both irritation and… something else.

Classic Aaron Hotchner.

Two seconds on the scene, already cataloging what annoyed him. Efficiency at its finest.

“Damn, Aaron, relax. It’s barely been a minute,” Sean said, standing up finally, though not without flinching slightly under the weight of Hotch’s glare.

He stepped closer to you, extending a hand like he wasn’t about to be vaporized by the man’s disapproval. “I’m Sean, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Before you could decide whether to shake his hand or politely tell him to run for cover, Hotch’s voice sliced through the air, as sharp and unyielding as ever. “No, you haven’t. Y/N, this is Sean, my brother. Sean, this is Agent Y/L/N, my partner.”

It took approximately two seconds after those words left his mouth for Hotch to realize he’d made not one but two rookie mistakes.

The first? The fact that, for some reason, you got to be “Y/N” while Sean - his brother - was firmly stuck with Agent Y/L/N.

A seemingly innocuous choice, but an interesting one.

Almost as if Hotch didn’t want Sean to forget who you were. Or worse, as if he wanted to keep that small, intimate privilege - using your first name - exclusively for himself.

And why?

Perhaps because, whether he admitted it or not, you’d managed to take up residence in his overworked brain. You weren’t just his colleague - you were his very own walking, talking paradox.

Equal parts intellect and quick wit, you could quote anything from your beloved dead philosophers as easily as you could dismantle someone’s argument with a single sarcastic comment.

You lingered, persistently, in his thoughts - too vividly, too often - so much so that you’d even started showing up in his dreams.

That might explain why his tongue betrayed him now - a slip you would undoubtedly label as ‘textbook Freudian.’

Somehow, through the cracks in the armor of the man who prided himself on control and precision, a truth he had no business acknowledging had leaked out.

Because, inexplicably and irreversibly, he’d just let his younger brother - of all people - catch the faintest glimpse of something he refused to admit even to himself: that he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you.

Not that Sean picked up on it - yet.

No, Sean’s focus was already drifting toward his second mistake, the one Hotch really hoped would keep Sean too distracted to notice the first. And, to Hotch’s silent horror, it worked like a charm.

“Partner?” Sean repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are the two of you…?” He let the insinuation hang, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Because here’s the thing - thanks to the way Hotch had worded it, Sean wasn’t just thinking that his big brother was casually sleeping with you. Oh no, this was way bigger.

This was Sean, standing here wide-eyed and completely convinced that his older, emotionally constipated, miserably single brother - who’d spent years brooding after his breakup Haley - had somehow not only managed to get a girlfriend but had kept it a secret.

And worse? That this whole scenario meant Hotch was maybe, just maybe, a little happy these days.

That alone was enough to blow Sean’s mind.

But before his imagination could run too far, you stepped in, your voice sharp and immediate. “God, no,” you blurted, practically recoiling from the suggestion.

“No,” Hotch said at the same time, though in stark contrast to your reaction, his was flat and unbothered.

Sean chuckled at your synchronized denial, which only prompted Hotch to fix you with one of his looks - the kind that felt like it could peel layers off your soul. Judgy, silent, but impossibly loud at the same time.

The kind of look that made you curious.

“Was he like this as a kid,” you asked Sean, “or was he ever actually a normal person?”

Sean’s smirk widened. “The only difference between then and now is that now they pay him to act like this.”

You laughed, loud and genuine, and Sean joined in - a perfect snapshot of solidarity between two survivors of Hotch’s relentless Hotch-ness. “Though I have to wonder… maybe he misunderstood the government’s contributions as a green light to act this way. It’s kind of like when you teach a dog to stand on two legs for a treat, and then he just keeps doing it.” You commented.

You and Sean burst into laughter, your voices echoing through the bullpen, while Hotch just stood there.

Watching. Seething.

But not entirely for the reasons he’d expect.

Sure, he was irritated that you had the audacity to make fun of him within perfect earshot - a clear, deliberate payback for all the grief and micromanagement he’d put you through.

But there was something deeper beneath his discomfort, something far more unsettling.

It wasn’t just that you were laughing at him - it was that you were laughing with Sean.

That easy, effortless kind of laughter, the kind he so rarely managed to coax out of you. Sean, his little brother, was already pulling it out of you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he’d cracked some code Hotch didn’t even know existed.

And that stung. More than it should’ve.

Because as much as he told himself it was ridiculous - childish, even - he couldn’t shake the flicker of jealousy curling in his chest.

A low, unwelcome burn.

It wasn’t just about the laughter. It was the way you looked at Sean. The way you seemed curious, intrigued by him in a way that made Hotch feel like an outsider in his own space. Like he was standing just outside the circle, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

And he hated that.

He hated how much it bothered him.

Hated that he cared at all.

Hated the fact that, for all his discipline and carefully crafted walls, you always managed to slip through the cracks.

Unnoticed until it was too late.

Though you weren’t quite as unnoticed by everyone else.

Standing on the mezzanine, there was Gideon, watching you with that unshakeable calm of his. His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he called you over to his office.

It was probably for showing up two full hours late, but who could say?

Panic was all over you, though you were certain you kept it well-hidden - at least, you hoped so.

But before you could second-guess yourself, Hotch, who had been silently observing everything, grabbed a file from his desk and walked toward you at a precise angle that turned his back to Gideon.

Then, in a blur of words, he started speaking faster than you thought possible.

“I covered for you,” he said, voice low and hurried. “Tell him you went to see your mom yesterday. You took the 5:07 a.m. train. It broke down in Baltimore - stuck for an hour and forty-two minutes. That’s why you’re late. It’s all fact checked. If he asks - and he probably won’t - you don’t have the ticket because after a 90-minute delay, the company offers a full reimbursement if you send in the original.”

Before you could process what he was saying, he thrust the file into your hands.

“I filled out all the interrogatory statements for the Arlington case. If he asks why I had them, say I’m an idiot and that you cracked the unsub before I did, so the paperwork fell to me.” His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded almost…desperate. “Don’t panic.”

Your brain short-circuited. The only thing you managed was a breathless, “Thanks.”

He watched you go, tracking every step you took until you disappeared into Gideon’s office. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side like he was bracing himself to pull you out of trouble if it came to that.

Though Sean, ever the opportunist, broke the silence. “Since when do you cover for people?” he asked.

Hotch didn’t bother looking at him, his focus firmly fixed on the files in his hands, though his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “Since her boss called her in for something unfair. She’s the first - well, second - person to arrive every day and the last to leave. She works harder than anyone here, including me, and she never complains about it. It’s not fair to punish her for being late once when she’s the one who picks up everyone else’s slack. This is a one-time thing, and frankly, it’s probably for the best - at least she got some sleep for once.”

Was that an over-articulated answer to what was likely more of an exclamation than an actual question? Yes. But better to be thorough than shallow - or at least, that’s what Hotch told himself.

Sean, on the other hand, had no qualms about being a bit shallow.

“You’re sure that’s the reason she was late?” Sean asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Not because she, you know…” He trailed off, tilting his head, the mischievous grin practically begging Hotch to take the bait.

No. Of course not.

Not that there would’ve been anything wrong with it. Not because he wanted to come off as paternalistic or prudish about it.

Hell, if you really did, he hoped it was… fine.

Great, even.

But then, there was that annoying, traitorous part of him whispering - shouting, really - that he hoped it wasn’t too good.

Or serious.

Or anything worth bringing up more than once.

Damn it, Hotchner, could he not just be a normal, well-adjusted adult and be happy for someone else’s happiness without making it weird? Apparently not.

Still, he needed to give an actual response. Out of the 600,000 words available in the English language, what did he choose? The most original, expressive, and earth-shattering one of all: “No.”

Of course, it probably came out sounding way too sharp, betraying every tightly-coiled emotion he was trying to keep hidden.

Luckily - or unluckily - Sean was too busy zeroing in on something else to even notice.

“So,” Sean began, dragging out the word, “she’s single.”

…it wasn’t even a question.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, his patience already wearing thin. “Yes.” He admitted. “But don’t think about it.” He stopped him, already knowing where this conversation would eventually go.

“Why not?” Sean asked, his smirk practically carved into his face now. “You like her?” The teasing lilt in his voice was impossible to miss, but beneath it, there was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

Yes. Absolutely.

More than liked.

Liked in a way that he thought about you far too often, in places he shouldn’t, and at times he didn’t have the luxury of indulging.

Liked in a way that made him occasionally catch himself smiling in the middle of a meeting because some stray thought of you had slipped past his defenses.

Liked in a way that he imagined you during his early-morning runs, wondering if you’d find the sunrise as breathtaking as he did - or if you’d roll your eyes at his choice of music.

You probably would, because it was either the original cast recording of whatever Broadway musical he’d recently become obsessed with, or something from The Beatles.

Not just their classics, but the deeper cuts - the kind his mom had played on repeat during her own Beatlemania phase back in the ’60s, which was, admittedly, a phenomenon he’d inherited in his own way.

He liked you in a way that felt ridiculous, really.

Like the time he caught himself wondering if you’d like the tie he was wearing, not that he’d ever admit he chose it with you in mind.

Or when he stayed up too late re-reading one of your old case reports, pretending it was for work when it was really just to admire how sharp and thoughtful your insights were.

But admitting that? Out loud?

To Sean, of all people?

He’d rather reorganize the mountain of case files sitting on your desk alphabetically and chronologically - twice.

“No,” Hotch said instead, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “I work with her, Sean.”

Sean wasn’t one to let things go easily - especially when he sensed he was onto something. “Okay, so you work with her,” he said, dragging out the words like they were some kind of weak excuse. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t take a shot. What’s stopping me?”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he shifted his attention back to the windows of Gideon’s office. He didn’t want to say it, but he also didn’t trust his brother to let the subject drop without some kind of deflection. “You’re not her type,” he said flatly.

Sean blinked, caught off guard for a moment before recovering with an incredulous laugh. “Not her type? How do you know what her type is?”

Hotch didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

The deadpan look he shot Sean over his shoulder was enough to say ‘I know her type because I know her’.

Sean, however, wasn’t deterred. “Okay, genius, enlighten me. What exactly is her type, then? Because I’m charming, good-looking, and - let’s not forget - single.” He motioned to himself like he was presenting the world’s greatest catch.

Hotch sighed. “Her type,” he began almost whispering, now suddenly afraid that someone would hear him, “is someone more serious. Someone who knows how to respect her work ethic, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s earned her place here. Someone who doesn’t think he can waltz in and-” He cut himself off, realizing he was veering dangerously close to sounding personal.

Too personal.

Too bad he stopped talking before he could drop the one crucial piece of information Sean probably needed to know: as far as Hotch knew, you only dated older... much older.

And him being the same age as you? Yeah, that definitely didn’t work in his favor.

Sean tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… basically, someone who isn’t me. But someone who is… maybe a little more like you?” He watched the way Hotch’s shoulders stiffened at the suggestion.

Hotch turned fully to face his brother, his expression dark. “Sean,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.

But Sean wasn’t fazed. “I’m just saying, Aaron. You’re standing here, going on about how she deserves someone serious and respectful and all that, but you’re practically describing yourself. So maybe the reason you don’t want me going after her is because-”

“That’s enough,” Hotch interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut through any further teasing. “It’s not appropriate, and it’s not happening. End of discussion.”

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “Alright, alright. But for the record, you didn’t deny it.”

Hotch didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the windows of Gideon’s office, his gaze locking on your profile once more.

Sean followed his brother’s line of sight, leaning closer “She really does have you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Hotch ignored him.

But as much as he wanted to pretend Sean was wrong, the burn in his chest told him otherwise.

Because 'twisted up' was probably an understatement for what you were doing to him.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[reidrum]

the many names | s.r

a/n: i could not get the idea that spencer would have little explanations for all the names he has for you so i give you this enjoy

summary: in which the many names that spencer calls you each have a special meaning

cw: mind rotting fluff

wc: 1.1k

honey:

spencer’s childhood was anything but ordinary. graduating high school at 12, with a schizophrenic mother, and an absentee father is a combo meant to mess anyone up. the one thing he felt was constant were the sitcoms his mother would watch when she had her good days. shows like i love lucy and cheers filled his ears as he watched the picture perfect families navigate through mundane and seemingly normal scenarios. the comfort he found in these televised families, something he wasn’t afforded in his own, was a nice little bandaid on the gaping hole left by the oddities of his life.

until he met you, of course. you changed everything for him, showed him what it meant to be loved and cherished, what family really was outside of the textbook definition. as a young boy he’d always envied ricky ricardo coming home to lucy at the end of every work day, bursting through the door and saying “honey, i’m home!” the phrase itself encompassed what he so dearly longed for; a home.

so when spencer calls you honey, he means it because you’re sweet and sappy and all the things normally associated with honey. but for him, specifically, when he gets to come back from harsh cases, bursting through the door of your shared apartment yelling “honey, i’m home!”, it heals that gaping hole from his childhood little by little, replacing the wound with the home you’ve built together.

sweetheart:

for someone who absolutely loves sweet things, calling you sweetheart was an obvious title in his book. the way you cared so deeply for the people in your life, the people you didn’t know, even those involved in heinous crimes were offered some of your never ending empathy. it inspired him, to know that someone who sees the true horrors of humankind on the daily can still hold hope and love for the world’s inhabitants.

when spencer calls you sweetheart, it’s in the more domestic moments of your lives. when he asks which tea you want, when he can tell it’s been a rough day and he lets you rest in the comfort of his arms saying “it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here now.”, when he leaves you long and loving voicemails for when you’re not able to go on cases together. spencer’s sweet tooth could probably never be satiated, but if it keeps you around forever he has no problem with that.

angel:

calling you angel is still something he finds a little ironic. he’s an agnostic atheist, has no faith in the gods or whatever power that may be. he’d always say if you couldn’t find it in a textbook then it’s not a real thing. but here you were, defying literally everything he ever knew or thought he knew. spencer thinks that if angels were personified they would surely look like you.

his job has so many moments that put him in near death situations, he’s not proud of how many times he’s felt the pearly gates come for him. but every time he was close to that end, flashes of you would roll through his mind like a movie reel and it would tether him back to this realm.

add to that, you just always happened to be there when he needed you. if he was about to drop a cup of coffee you’d be there grab it, you had his back when you were on the field together, and you’d let him talk your ear off about the most obscure topic just to see him smile.

if proof existed for the theoretical, it would be you. you were his guardian angel, and he never let you forget it.

princess:

this one was rare, only invoked in the super intimate and special moments between you both. usually in the bedroom is where you hear this one used in both sides of the extreme. on one side he says it when you’re being just so needy, so pliant and willing for whatever he wants it just makes him want to give you everything in return. on the other side, when you’re being for lack of a better word, a brat, it’s used as a tease, a taunt for your slutty bad behavior. a reminder that even though you’re spoiled by him he’s still going to give you the world.

it’s also used when you both get dressed up, for an fbi event or a party at rossi’s. it always takes the wind out of him when he sees you getting ready or you come out to show your outfit to him. it makes him feel like falling in love with you again every time, like he’s been so blessed to live a fairytale where he prevails and gets the princess at the end.

baby:

calling you baby is quite literally second nature to spencer, probably the easiest thing for him to do. it slips out all the time people might think baby is your real name. he uses it when he asks what you want for dinner, when you’re upset over something he did at work that put him in danger, when he just really wants you to watch this one russian romance film he finally got his hands on and promises you’ll love it.

you also find it really funny to play songs that you know he doesn’t know that have the word baby in it, because even if he doesn’t know the words to always be my baby to mariah carey, it never stops him from giving you the biggest smile in the universe when he listens to you belt the song to him.

pretty girl:

he didn’t even come up with this one, derek did. stemming from his nickname for spencer, when derek realized that there was something between you and pretty boy, it just became so easy to get under his skin and call you pretty girl, telling him “don’t look now, your pretty girl is coming.”. before you had started dating and spencer was just pining from afar, he would get so red in the face when derek would let the name slip.

after he finally grew some balls and asked you out, spencer adopted the name for himself to use in situations he had you alone, where he could admire you in your entirety and no other prying eyes. to use when you just wake up and the sunlight hits you perfectly like a glowing halo, or when you’re both in the office and you’re explaining something relevant to the case and you just sound so smart and beautiful, and he can’t help but truly believe that the aphrodite reincarnate is his.

[keferon]

Part 3! Ratchet and Deadlock time.

The ray of sunshine has left, leaving us in the cold dark of the angst.

Ratchet works through some stuff.

———————————————————————

Ratchet hadn’t actually meant for the conversation to start with Roddy.

The medic had wanted to fully explain why he’d left the Mecha Program for awhile. His outburst earlier cementing the fact he needed to get it off his chest, or he’d start lashing out at the wrong people.

Again.

The Kid deserved to know what staying with him could drag him into. Ratchet kept his hands busy cleaning his bowl in the shop sink.

Hot Rod, Ratchet realized, was a good enough bridge into the topic. Someone Deadlock could put a face to. Not just nameless pilots upon pilots.

“There’s a condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. CIP for short. The abbreviated explanation is sometimes humans can be born without the ability to feel pain or that the sensation of pain doesn’t translate correctly to the brain. It’s a very dangerous condition to have since it means that the person doesn’t get the usual warning signs that’s something’s wrong.”

The bowl was completely clean but so long as Ratchet didn’t turn around, he could pretend he was just training a med student.

“So that question about “weird pressures”. You were checking for damage Hot Rod doesn’t know he’s sustained due this CIP condition?”

Kid was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Ratchet thought for not the first time. He almost got it right.

“Hot Rod doesn’t have CIP. Not actual CIP.”

Ratchet put the bowl down, his hand not moving from the faucet after turning it off.

“He wasn’t born with it. Because I caused it.”

—————————

“I was so damn proud.” Said Ratchet.

At the time, he was. The integration process for recruits to become pilots was horrific. Excruciatingly painful. And something out of a science fiction movie.

In order to condition the human nervous system to work with the mecha neural interface, it necessitated mapping out every nerve and neuron in the pilots body.

While conscious.

Orion came up with the best analogy for it once: You could create a perfect 3 dimensional map of an entire ant colony’s nest. Provided you poured enough molten lead down the hole.

Ratchet wasn’t one to standby watching friends or strangers suffer, so he rolled up his sleeves and set his mind to fixing the whole damn thing.

On the line between man and machine, Ratchets role in the mecha program was right on the fence.

Specifically, he’d started very close to the fence on the side of the machines, and during the course of the program, picked up enough extra PHD’s to hook a leg over said fence to reach across and start smacking the shit out of some particularly stupid doctors handling the men.

Ratchet worked for years along side Pharma and Shockwave to make the integration process less permanently damaging.

Common long term side effects were: Blurry Vision Jazz, Disassociation Swoop, Memory Loss Sludge, Paralysis Snarl, Nerve Damge Slag, Internal Hemorrhaging Grimlock, Altered Personality Shockwave, and Brain Death Orion.

There were dozens more faces Ratchet could pair with any given symptom.

Eventually, Ratchet got his lucky break. A fresh batch of recruits to try his tweaked integration process on. Hot Rod was one of them.

Ratchet had thought he’d hit a breakthrough. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t publish it yet. Not until he was sure.

Hot Rod aced the physical and mental exam. The rest of his test group did pretty well too. They weren’t cream of the crop. The higher ups didn’t want to risk loosing more valuable pilots to an experiment. When Pharma had already established an “acceptable level of care” that nicely suited them.

Ratchet personally watched the lot of them like a hawk. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t come. Hot Rod was fine. The whole group was fine.

He was so damn proud.

The pilots went straight into mecha training and then-

They dropped like flies.

It was on the bad end of the bell curve for pilot fatalities. Ratchet thought it had to be the new series of mecha that had been built at the same time. He’d switched into engineering mode to rectify that. They had glaring safety issues where the flamethrowers and thrusters intersected. Plus, it wasn’t unusual for the mecha program to just have particularly rough seasons. The tentacled fucks were out in swarms. And by god was that a bloody summer for everyone.

It happened three days after the last big fight. Pretty much everyone who came back alive came back with some sort of injury. Except for Hot Rod, who Pharma gave a clean bill of health.

Ratchet was in his corner of the medical wing, looking over his proposal for the new integration method when Jazz dragged Hot Rod into his office.

Red flag number one: Jazz was a nightmare patient who avoided the med wing like a bear trap.

He tried. Goddamn it if Jazz didn’t try, but he was physically incapable of getting through medical procedures without being heavily sedated. The last time Ratchet tried to do minor stitches with only a local anesthetic, Jazz panicked and damn near broke his arm.

Jazz and Hot Rod were both wearing shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Judging from the smell, they had just gotten here from the rec room. Probably basketball or maybe dodgeball.

Ratchet had gone through a full medical checklist before they finished coming through the door. Neither looked sick or injured. Nothing was obviously wrong beyond the clear look on Jazz’s face that said “Something is actually very wrong.”

Jazz wheeled Hot Rod in front of Ratchet.

“Show him.”

Hot Rod looked more embarrassed than in desperate need of medical attention.

“I’m fine Jazz, I probably just need to stretch.”

Jazz waved his hand cutting him off. Ratchet would usually start telling them off by now but something stopped him.

“Hot Rod raise your arms above your head. Both of them.”

The red headed pilot reluctantly obeyed. His right arm lifted straight up above his body. His left. Hot Rod made a face of concentration, as his left arm refused to go any higher than his head.

Three days.

Hot Rods shoulder had been dislocated for three days and no one fucking noticed.

Ratchet chewed out Jazz at first thinking he’d caused it. Then he chewed out Hot Rod for not coming to medical as soon as he knew about the injury.

And then, something very cold settled into his stomach the more and more Hot Rod swore he didn’t notice. That it didn’t even hurt.

“Ratchet, I’m fine!”

He should have been in pain. In agony after three days.

Later, Ratchet would go through each medical file of every pilot he had been responsible for. They had all had ailments in their files. Minor visible injuries that were all taken care of. Major ones went surprisingly smoothly. Patient notes praising the med staff for keeping them so comfortable. Praising him. Not one pilot had made a single pain med request since going through the integration process. On his files, there was one surviving active duty pilot from the same integration process.

Ratchet’s integration process.

————————

“Hot Rod said he forgave me.” Ratchet laughed. A little too wet and little too rough.

“Just like that.”

When’d he start shaking?

Ratchet still didn’t, couldn’t look the Kid in the eyes. “I left, not long after. There’s so much fucking more that was happening. That was the last straw, because when I told Shockwave and Pharma, those heartless fucks wanted to make it standard across the board. Soldiers that can’t feel pain? Of fucking course they wanted that. Didn’t matter the fatality rate was nine times as high.”

Ratchets voice was getting worse. But he couldn’t stop. “I thought I could fix it all from the inside. I thought as long as I stayed I could be some, fucking moral compass to a bunch of greedy, prideful, fucking deranged people. I was an egotistical IDIOT that thought I could somehow save every doomed kid tricked into walking into that “necessary evil.” I actually believed I could-”

Ratchet was abruptly cut off from his ranting as two massive hands grabbed him around the waist and deposited him on a ledge, at eye level.

“Kid, what-“ Deadlocks eyes looked shiny.

“I-I can’t keep looking down at you.”

The two of them sat in silence.

Neither seemed to know or want to start talking again right away. Ratchet was used to stewing in regrets on occasion. That had felt more like putting those regrets into a blender and then forgetting the lid.

Deadlocks plating was pulled tight. Ratchet had almost forgotten what he looked like when he was stressed. He wanted immediately to take it all back. Make it better. See him laugh drunk and cozy again like yesterday.

“Kid, I’m sorry. That- that was too much to put on you.” Deadlocks hands weren’t gripping him anymore but resting on either side of the ledge. Ratchet pet small circles on a thumb that twitched slightly under his hand.

Deadlock straightened and looked at him with a steely expression, mouth tense, eyes determined.

“You are one of the most intelligent, stubborn, and caring people I’ve ever met. Nope.” Deadlock corrected himself, lifting a hand. “THE most intelligent, stubborn and caring person that exists.” He dragged out the syllables of that last word.

“You!” He poked Ratchet in the chest. “Saved me. And I’m fragging terrible.”

Ratchet took offense to that, “You’re not terrible and you’re worth saving!”

Deadlock grinned, “The worst thing you can possibly say about yourself is that you care too much to put up with some kind of slagged up torture facility. Which, by the way, I am still fully offering to blown up.”

“Still full of innocent people kid.”

“Okay kidnapping then. I say we nab Hot Rod first.”

Ratchet leaned back against the wall and made one of those desperate chuckles you only hear when someone has their face buried in their hands. “Kid. The quintessons.”

That took a little wind out of his sails.

“The system is fucking broken and trust me I want to see it all burn someday. But we’re in a goddamn war. And as much as I hate the mecha program, it’s the best shot at survival we have.” Ratchet watched Deadlocks finales pin back again.

He offered a palm to Ratchet, who after a moment’s consideration, not very gracefully scooted on. Instead of lowering him to the floor, Deadlock brought him to his face. His eyes closed and he gently bumped his medic with his forehelm.

“Whatever you need. Just ask. Please.”

Ratchet sighed and rested his own forehead against the cybertronian. “I want you take care of yourself. I told you all that stuff so you understand why I’m fighting giants here and you can decide to back out. They can hurt you kid. Kill you. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if Shockwave found you instead of me.”

Deadlock snorted, “Please, do you think any of those suits could handle me?”

Ratchet tapped his hand to put him down, which Deadlock obliged. He hummed.

“Well I can think of three candidates off the top of my head, but one got lost in space and the other might technically be a zombie.”

“What’s the third?”

Ratchet started shrugging on a coat, “Hot Rod.”

He smirked a bit as Deadlocks finales snapped up in offense. “What? Absolutely not. No fragging way that little rust spot can beat me in a fight.”

Ratchet began packing a go bag of medical supplies, “Well I was going to keep it to myself, but part of the reason I brought him in was because I asked Hot Rod to look out for you where I can’t.”

He slung the heavy bag over one shoulder. “Plus, I knew Hot Rod was going to love you. He sees the best in people. And kid?” Ratchet paused at the door.

“You’re someone special.”

———————————————————————

It’s always darkest before the dawn. This…has become a four parter. Dang. Good news is the ray of sunshine will return in style next time.

Some extra tid-bits, I got a head canon that the main side effect Jazz got from the integration process (other than PTSD) is blurry vision. He can see fine while hooked into a mech but can’t get his eyes to focus properly as a human. So Ratchet whipped up a visor that tricks his eyes into thinking he’s still looking through a mecha so he can see normally.

Also, a lot of you guys guessed correctly what was going on with Roddy! Good job everyone!

Lastly I have nothing personal against the dinobots if you love them I’m very sorry.

The next (last?) part will be much brighter. Because the suns coming back.

- SSTP

Oh.....oh fuck....wait WAIT THIS HAS SO MUCH MORE LAYERS THAN I WAS EXPECTING OH MY GOD

I was like. Okay huh. So Roddy can't feel pain right? He must be having this rare condition and? I don't really see where this is going? Huh. Guess it's time to find ouUUUUUH FUCK.

Please. Oh my god. The fact that Ratchet was the one who made him to be like that??? This gives both of them and their dynamic more layers than in a freaking onion. And Roddy didn't just suffer from Ratchets actions. He forgave him. Because OF COURSE he did, he's always giving everyone a second chance I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[moonchild9350]

Always

summary: you and Hyunjin have a peculiar relationship with your roommate Felix

pairing: est. relationship Hyunjin x fab!reader x roommate Felix

genre: sprinkle of fluff, smut-18+MDNI

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cockwarming, spanking, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, partner sharing, unprotected sex (don't), multiple creampies, squirting, nipply play, dirty talk, use of term slut

notes: short, sweet, and filthy lol I just love hyunjin and felix omg

If you enjoyed, consider a reblog, comment, or like as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

It’s the end of the day, the part where you start to wind down, your mind exhausted from the day’s activities. You’re sitting on your bed holding your penguin plushie as you scroll through your phone when you notice the time.

Seeing that it is almost seven, you sit up as excitement courses through you, your core clenching in anticipation for the evening that’s in store.

Hyunjin will be home soon after a long day at work. You miss your boyfriend dearly, the hours long without him.

At the thought of seeing him soon, you get up out of bed and shimmy out of your sweatpants and panties, leaving yourself in only his oversized shirt, the hem barely grazing your thighs.

You pad to the door and open it, making your way to the living room where a certain blond is sitting, his eyes trained on the tv…that is until you walk in.

At your entrance, Felix looks up and flashes the smile you have grown to love, all teeth and dimples, as he sets his phone down. He beckons you over, his tiny finger making a come hither motion as he invites you to sit on his lap.

You stand there for a moment, gazing at the beautiful man, your hands behind your back. You take him in, how the bulge within his grey sweats is ever enlarging, his cock twitching as you take one step forward.

“That’s it, come here sweetheart,” Felix purrs as he pushes his hair out of his freckled face.

You’re wet, incredibly so, as your body is trained almost like Pavlov’s dog. At the stroke of seven, you become horny, the thought of cock filling you up making the feeling almost unbearable.

You arrive in front of Felix and giggle, as your cheeks flush at the sight of the blond.

“Ready sweetheart?” Felix asks, his hands reaching into his sweats to pull his cock out, giving it a few strokes as he spreads the precum that’s leaking from the tip around.

You nod as you take in his hard cock, perfect and chubby, all ready for you.

He holds it steady as you straddle his legs and bring your core to his length. Felix helps you line his cock with your entrance as you experimentally lower yourself, sighing at the stretch his tip provides.

You left your hips up before bringing them down once more, this time taking all of him. You let out a whimper at feeling full, your pussy keeping his member nice and snug within your wet walls.

You wrap your arms around Felix and nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck as he holds you close. You just sit there, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath, reveling in the comfort of being in Felix’s arms.

You relax further as his hands sneak beneath your shirt, his fingers gently trailing your back as he continues to watch the show on the tv screen.

And so it goes. You and your boyfriend have a particular arrangement with Felix, your roommate. He joined your little abode around a year ago, all sunshine and happiness, and thankful for you both taking him in.

As time went on and you three became closer, feelings of friendship turning into something a little more with each passing day. You were already dating Hyunjin, and Felix knew that, but he couldn’t let his feelings go to waste, confessing one day while at movie night.

You remember looking at Hyunjin, a smirk forming on your face at the confession. Little did Felix know that you both liked Felix too and were more than willing to open up your relationship to include him.

Felix was delighted, as the best case scenario played out. However, before he could get too excited, Hyunjin laid down some ground rules.

The first rule he imposed was you were his at the end of the day and only his, but Felix can enjoy the perks of having you close by, whatever those perks may be. He also demanded that Felix prep you and get you ready for him before he got home.

Felix readily agreed, as he got to be with you, feel you, and that was more than he had bargained for.

So here he was, “prepping” you by having you warm his cock. He loved how you felt around him, your pussy always warm and wet, your slick dripping down onto his pants, forming a constantly enlarging wet spot.

You both sat there for a while, waiting for the door to open and for Hyunjin to walk in. However, you were starting to feel needy, Felix’s cock feeling too good within you. You knew you were playing with fire, but decided to proceed, needing some type of relief as you waited for your love.

Smirking against Felix’s neck, you clenched down on his length while pressing wet kisses to his neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

Felix’s breath hitched for a moment before he recovered, lightly tapping your ass and gripping the flesh tight. You grinned before repeating the motion, this time feeling his cock twitch within you as he let out a low groan at the sensation. Felix gently rocked your hips over his cock, his length dragging deliciously against your walls.

You gripped his neck tighter as you breath caught, hoping he would do it again. However, Felix recovered, remembering that Hyunjin gets to have you first.

“Behave,” he said, his deep voice rumbling deep within his chest and flowing to your ears.

You let out a sigh, as you lightly nipped his skin, Felix jumping at the slight pain. You’re not sure how much longer you could wait, needing to move, to gain any type of friction to ease your aching pussy.

As you thought of moving again, the door opened and in walked Hyunjin. You watched as he dropped his bags and kicked off his shoes before walking over to the living area. He smiled at seeing the two of you, wrapped in an intimate embrace, as you warmed Felix’s cock.

“You two are adorable,” Hyunjin cooed, taking out his phone to snap a picture, wanting to add it to his ever growing collection of his two favorite people.

Hyunjin continued to gaze at you two, the blood flowing to his cock as he took in your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair as you continued to nuzzle your head in the crook of Felix’s neck. He took in Felix, his eyes dilated and veins prominent on his hands as he gripped your ass tighter. He knew how Felix felt, your pussy too warm, wet, and just perfect.

“Ready love?” Hyunjin asked, walking closer to you.

You nodded your head, keeping your face tucked into Felix’s neck as Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist. You let out a moan as Hyunjin lifted you off of Felix’s cock, the sudden emptiness making your walls contract as he carried you bridle style to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the soft sheets and began stripping his clothes off, his eyes on you the whole time. You watched as his cock sprang free, as he dragged his sweats down his thick thighs, licking your lips at the sight.

“Take your shirt off love, you know the drill,” Hyunjin commanded as he stood before you in all his glory.

You shuffled to take the garment off, your tits now on display for your lover. You leaned back and fondled the flesh, watching as Hyunjin stroked his length.

“Mm spread your legs love, show me your pussy,” Hyunjin said, as he bit his plush lips.

He let out a moan as you spread your legs, your folds parting and displaying your wet entrance and puffy clit. You whimpered as you swiveled your hips, wanting to touch yourself to ease the ache. However, you didn’t dare touch what was his, wanting him to have his fill first.

“That’s it love, such a pretty pussy just for me.”

Hyunjin approached you, as he slotted himself between your legs. He leaned over you, his body hovering over yours as caged you in, his lips finding purchase against yours. He kissed you passionately as he brought his cock to your entrance, pushing the tip in with a swift motion.

You moaned loudly against his mouth as his cock speared you open, your pussy welcoming him in with no hesitation. Hyunjin smirked at your reaction as he snapped his hips into yours once, twice, as he pushed your body up against the bed with the force each thrust. He set a fast pace, as he pounded into you, his hips withdrawing until his cock was almost out of your pussy before slamming back in.

Loud moans rang through the room, as Hyunjin fucked you, so loud you’re sure Felix could hear you from the living room. However, that was part of the thrill, the thought of Felix with his cock out, his hands stroking his length, the thought of fucking you at the forefront of his mind.

You squealed as Hyunjin adjusted his hips, the new angle causing his cock to brush against your sweet spot with each thrust, the drag sending little shockwaves through your core.

You tried to say his name, but nothing came out, your mouth left wide open as Hyunjin brought you closer to your orgasm.

Hyunjin could tell you were close, as your walls clenched around him, attempting to keep him deep inside you. He listened intently as you mumbled words, the syllables barely audible as you became cock drunk, chanting that you need his cock and don’t stop.

He could never get used to your pussy, how wet you get as he fucks you, as Felix teases you as you cockwarm him every night. Your pussy was made for him, stretching perfectly to accommodate him.

“Cum in me,” you whimpered, hoping he would not pull out like he usually does.

You wanted to be filled, to have his cum stuffed within you, so much so that it leaks out and doesn’t stop.

Hyunjin was shocked at first, but quickly recovered, grinning at your words, more than happy to oblige.

“My love wants me to fill her up, breed her good hmm?” Hyunjin asked as he swiveled his hips against yours.

“Yes, baby please, breed me,” you whined as you locked your legs around his ass pulling him as close as you could.

Hyunjin sought out your lips, pressing sloppy kisses to them as he continued to grind into you, the neatly trimmed hairs rubbing against your clit with each thrust. He felt like he would go insane as your walls clamped around him, urging him to cum, your tits rubbing against his chest perfectly, adding extra stimulation to his sensitive nipples. He placed his lips right at your ear as he continued to whisper dirty words to you.

“Fuck this pussy, love. Gonna cum, breed this pussy so good that it’ll stick and make you a mommy.”

At that you let out a loud cry, the thought of carrying Hyunjin’s child causing you let go, your orgasm wrecking through your body. You clutched onto him as he continued to fuck you through your high, his pace never faltering.

You whispered in his ear, your litany of his name causing him to moan as he came, spurt after spurt of his cum painting your walls white.

You rocked your hips against his thrusts, holding him close as he finished emptying himself within you. With a shaky breath he stilled, collapsing gently on top of you.

You laid there for a while, your breathing slowly going back to normal as Hyunjin pressed lazy kisses to your neck.

“We’re not done yet love,” Hyunjin finally whispered in a sultry voice.

He got up, withdrawing his now softened cock from your core. You could feel his cum slowly seep out, the trickle forming a sticky path down your ass. Hyunjin tutted at the sight, his finger gathering his cum before stuffing it back inside of you.

“Need that to stick don’t we? Keep it in love.” Hyunjin warned as he gave you a stern look.

You nodded in agreement, as he maneuvered behind you. He brought you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you snuggly. He pressed a kiss to your hair whispering sweet nothings as you both rested in the moment as two.

“Felix,” Hyunjin called shortly after, his arms still wrapped around you as he cradled your body.

The blond opened the door and walked in, a smile plastered on his freckled face.

“Sounds like Hyunjin took good care of you sweetheart,” Felix cooed as he got undressed. “Think you can take me too?”

You knew it was a rhetorical question as you would take his cock regardless but you answered nonetheless, wanting to please Felix.

“Give me your cock Lix,” you said, spreading your legs wide for him. Hyunjin gripped your thighs, bringing them to your chest to keep you open for him. Felix wasted no time slotting himself between your legs, his eyes trained on your swollen pussy.

“Would you look at that, you’re dripping in cum,” he teased. “Let’s just push that back in,” Felix grunted as he slid his cock into your pussy, a loud squelch echoing throughout the room as his cock pushed Hyunjin’s cum further inside you.

“You’re so wet sweetheart, take it all yeah?” Felix grunted as he slid his cock in and out in and out, your pussy letting both men know how wet you were with each thrust.

You whimpered as Felix began to pound into you, your eyes on his beautiful face. Your walls clenched at the sight of him falling apart above you, his hair falling in his face with the exertion.

You were about to reach up and grasp his face when Hyunjin let go of your legs and pinched your nipples, the jolt of pain sending waves of pleasure straight to you core.

“Ahh!” You moaned as Hyunjin toyed with your nipples, his fingers alternating between brushing against them and pinching them.

“Is Felix fucking you good love? Keep those legs open,” Hyunjin said, his voice right at your ear.

“Mm yes!” You said as you took a shaky breath.

“Love this pussy, just taking me. Look at that, sucking me right in,” Felix groaned his eyes trained on your walls stretching over his cock.

“Not gonna last long sweetheart, gonna cum, gonna give you my cum yeah?”

Hyunjin chuckled, his breath tickling your ear. “Hear that love? Gonna let Felix breed you full too?”

You were floating at his words, wanting nothing more than Felix’s cum within you.

“Lix give me your cum,” you begged as you spread your legs even wider, keeping them open just like Hyunjin instructed.

“Damn sweetheart, Hyunjin’s cum not enough for you that you need mine too? Are you our little cum dump?” Felix teased as he smirked.

You nodded quickly, little “mmms” leaving your lips.

As Hyunjin continue to play with your tits, he said in a low voice, “my little slut, gonna let Felix breed you too. Fill you up, give you his baby hmm?”

At the thought of carrying their babies, not knowing who the father was, you let out a loud whine, as you squirted, your walls contracting rhythmically around Felix’s cock.

The feel of you clamping down on him, holding him in tipped him over the edge, his cum filling your pussy, the fluid mixing with Hyunjin’s.

You whimpered as he pulled out, a gush of fluid leaking out down your ass and onto the sheets. You preened as Hyunjin whispered praises in your ear, his hands softly stroking your sides.

You watched as Felix left to go find a towel, returning shortly after leaving. He helped clean you off, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Good night sweetheart,” Felix said as he gave you a smile. He then got up and snatched his clothes, leaving to go back to his room.

“Let’s get you ready for bed. Get under the blankets love,” Hyunjin said as he helped you maneuver under the warm fabric.

He got in next to you and pulled you close. You were on the verge of sleep when Hyunjin broke the silence.

“I hope it really did stick and you’re carrying one of our babies.”

You didn’t say anything but laid there thinking about what he said. You wouldn’t be mad but actually happy at the thought as you loved both of the boys.

And that was a thought that you knew would always remain.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

[reignpage]

Light Show

Summary: in which alien!reader and Gojo are getting to know each other Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: talks of nudity, fluff, a little sexual tension, not proofread

Day 3

“No.” Satoru tuts. “That’s not for eating.”

Hands on his hips, he sighs. 

You’re currently gnawing on a wooden spoon you found in his kitchen drawer, fully clothed in a baggy shirt and sweatpants (his, of course). Before, you were gnawing on one of his shoes, then it was the tv remote, and then it was his phone. Apparently, your kind explores with their mouth. He’s just glad you don’t have more than one of those; he’ll have teeth marks on everything at this rate. 

Tilting your head, you drop the spoon, and it falls on the counter with a clank. You mull your thoughts a little longer before you ask, “No?”

“That’s right,” he confirms with a nod.

“No eating?”

Your Japanese is coming along great, within three days you two have learnt how to communicate, albeit not by much. You’re not going to be discussing current events or the secrets of the universe any time soon, but at least you can understand him when he says ‘no biting’ when you come across something new.

For the most part though, you’re pretty normal. Satoru was surprised you can eat human food like bread and eggs, but pleasantly so — the alternative could have very well been human flesh. You seem to have a circadian rhythm (and yes, he did have to google what that is) because you sleep and wake up the same time he does. 

Over breakfast, he teaches you new words like ‘hungry’ and ‘sleepy’ so you can communicate your needs, and at night he explains movie plots to you. In your first night, he made sure you knew how to dress yourself, though you do still go to him to tie up his way too large sweats on your hips – he needs to buy you your own clothes but oddly enough, he feels no rush. It was kind of funny how you hissed at all sorts of things like the toaster, the kettle, his phone and the sound of footsteps outside his door. But he knew that to reduce the risk of you smashing his beloved coffeemaker on is shiny floor he'd have to teach you what was safe and what it isn’t. 

And it wasn’t easy. 

At times, it felt like teaching his students to keep their lives was so much easier. But you’re so earnest and eager to learn, he couldn’t even get frustrated when you took apart his speaker and tried to swallow a spring. 

The thing he’d been putting off teaching you, however, was how to shower. At first, he debated whether to even broach the topic; it’s inappropriate for him to be the one to teach you. But he also doesn’t have many girl friends who’d entertain the idea of harbouring a literal alien.

He was also aware of the possibility that aliens don’t bathe the way humans do. Maybe you simply need to, perhaps, press a hidden button on your body and BAM! Brand, spanking new.

Testing that theory out, you followed him into the bathroom and watched as he turned the shower on, fully intending to lecture you on the history of bathing. But, pleasantly and shockingly, you’re already stripped and stepping in, water beading down your supple body, dipping between the valleys of your breast and flowing down where he really shouldn’t be looking. 

Satoru cleared his throat and left you to do what you needed to do. He totally did not have to adjust as he stood outside, worried you might slip or turn the wrong knob and burn your perfect skin.

Much to his chagrin however, since then, he’s been struggling with teaching you not to drop your clothes at the sight of running water. When he turns the tap on to wash the dishes, he doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re already untying the knot of his sweatpants. He can’t even close his eyes and avoid the sight of your body. 

Curse his Six Eyes!

He’s working on teaching you a sense of decency and shame when it comes to nudity, but it feels wrong to do so when there’s not really anything wrong with being naked in front of him, right?

Your new friend would never take advantage of you, and he’d certainly never let anyone else in here before you’ve learnt enough things to stay safe and become independent, and that’ll be far, far in the future. So, for now, he’ll just settle for shaking his head and giving you a disappointed look and hope that’s get the message across eventually.

Apart from that, you guys have been getting along very well. You watch movies together and point and laugh at the things you like and then tuck your face in his chest at the things you don’t. When he orders food in, you follow behind, brows furrowed as you eye the delivery man like he’s a threat. 

Satoru knows he should tell you off for being aggressive with strangers, but with the policemen and hazmat suit guys still surveying the area, he’s just happy you have any survival instincts at all. Especially because you haven’t manifested any superpowers like in the movies. 

It would have been so cool if you could, like, move things with your mind or had super strength. So far, however, you’ve just been a normal, slightly disoriented, possibly amnesiac woman. 

A beautiful, amnesiac woman but that’s neither here nor there. 

Peeking through the curtains, he eyes all the people crowding in the parking lot where the crater you created is taped off. They’ve got vans full of doohickeys and weird gadgets, testing this and that, and though he was able to take you from there to his place too fast for the CCTV to pick up, he knows it’s not going to take long before they link it back to him. 

So, reluctantly, he calls Ijichi and informs him that he needs to pull his strings and get all the government interference waved away. Thankfully, experienced and efficient as he is, he asks minimal questions and Satoru’s able to get away with simply humming what sounds like an agreement when he asks if it was a curse. 

“Toru?” You pull at his sleeve, confusion marring your face. “Leaving again?”

That’s the thing about being Gojo Satoru: he’s always needed. Once or twice a day, he’s called away on a mission and expected to work his magic with a cursed technique here and a cursed technique there, blah blah blah. The last two days however, he’s taken a faster approach to those tedious things — with a simple wave of his fingers, the curses are evaporating, and the world is safe once more. No more of his silly joshing around, not when he has someone waiting for him at home. 

Regardless of how fast he’s able to exorcise the curses though, he still has to leave you. And the sad look on your face makes him wish he didn’t have to. Every time, he only ever has one thought in his head: is twenty-eight too young an age to retire?

“Yeah, sorry, E.”

“Stay?”

Satoru shakes his head and sighs out, “Can’t. But I’ll be back in an hour, okay? Then we can watch a movie.”

You smile at that. Nodding your head, you let go of his sleeve and jump onto the sofa with a bounce. In your tight grip is the remote, you’re cradling it like it’s the most precious thing in the world, head tilting and eyes blinking at your new friend. 

“Cute,” he mutters under his breath. Patting your head, he shakes up the hair there and reminds you, “Don’t open the door for anyone.”

Satisfied with your blink, he teleports away, leaving your smile dropping and legs folding, tucked to your chest whilst you hug them. Rhythmic vibrations thrum in your chest, whirring as you wait. 

He always comes back.

————

It’s nightfall when he returns, manifesting in the living room, in the exact same spot he disappeared from. The apartment is flooded in darkness, light dust settling in the air, but he finds your sleeping form with ease. 

You’re all curled up, the remote squeezed in your death grip, and your head lolled between your knees. His shirt is slipping down a shoulder, and his hand is reaching to fix it before he could realise the silliness of his actions — the last thing any lost, sleeping woman needs is a man touching them in the blanket of the night. 

He may be an idiot, but he’s not stupid. 

Satoru’s been sleeping on the couch whilst you’ve taken shelter in his bed, which is not ideal since his ridiculously long body far exceeds the length of his own furniture, and he makes a mental note to buy a longer one. That being said, he doesn’t grumble when he grabs a blanket and fluffs up a pillow, bidding you a goodnight. 

This is the first time, therefore, he’s ever seen you sleep, and it is the most curious thing. He has discovered one other thing that sets you apart from his human peers, even amidst the smooth skin, the eyes, nose, lips, mouth etc etc: your skin lights up when you’re sleeping. 

There are waves of blue light pulsing beneath the surface, flowing up your arms and disappearing under his shirt. And he’s so painfully curious to know if the rest of your body glows like that, if he’ll see that insanely fascinating blue light rising up your legs, if he can trace their paths and find their origin. It’s not the brightest light, in fact it’s barely perceptible, but Gojo Satoru has impeccable eyesight and it’s as clear as day. 

“I’ve found myself my very own night light,” he muses, thoroughly entertained. 

Taking slow and careful steps, he stands before you. He’s debating whether he should just leave you there, all comfortable and emitting light, or if he should wake you up. Maybe you’ll get a crick in your neck from the way your head is bent down. Maybe that’s not even possible for you. 

Maybe the right thing to do would be to carry you to bed, but it’s still early in the evening and you were both looking forward to watching a movie together. He didn’t work hard for hours dealing with ugly little things to not be rewarded. With an impatient huff, Satoru pats your head, gently jostling you awake.

“Hey, E,” he whispers. “Wakey wakey.”

You’re groggy and all confused when you lift your head up. Satoru’s lip twitches in amusement at the faint hum of light on your face, fading as you step back into consciousness. 

Despite the heaviness of lethargy weighing you down, you still manage to smile and gaze up at him in the dark. Huskily, you ask, “Toru back?”

“Toru home, E. Can you say that for me? Home? Home.”

Tasting the sound in your mouth, you mimic the opening and closing of his. “Huh um.”

He shakes his head, fingers pinching your chin with a thumb pulling at your bottom lip. Guiding your movements, he sounds it out with you. “No. Try again. Home. Hohmuh.”

You clutch his wrist with both hands, pinkie slipping under the sleeve, and he has to fight to keep his focus on your lips, soft and plump. He hadn’t even realised that he had bent down or that his face is far closer to you than it should be, but he doesn’t move. 

“Toru. Home,” you parrot back to him. 

Satoru grins. “Well done, E! Yes, Toru home! I’m home.”

“Toru home!” You grin back. And with agile strength, you’re wrestling him onto the couch with you, his gangly limbs flailing in the air as he falls with a laugh, harmonising with your excited giggles.

His head lands on your lap and his legs dangle over the armrest. Within seconds, you’re expertly switching the TV on and picking a movie that must have caught your eye before. It’s one he’s watched already, and he can’t decide if he likes it enough to rewatch it, but he knows better than to argue with you about movie choices since, on the first night he showed you E.T and likened you to the wrinkly creature, you tried to bite his arm off. 

Thank goodness, once more, for his infinity. 

“Alright, alright. No need to be all violent,” he playfully complains, “it hurts my ego when you easily throw me around like a rag doll.”

As the movie drones on, Satoru remains lying there, eyes spending more time scanning your face than the screen. In these three days, he’s developed a routine that feels so imbedded in his bones he can’t remember how he spent his days before.

His once quiet house has turned into a messy, chaotic home where most of his belongings have teeth marks, and his clothes are scattered all over the floor. It used to feel so big, so empty no matter how many fancy, shiny things he’s filled it up with but now he thinks, maybe his place is too small for the both of you, maybe it’s time he considered a proper house. 

One with a garden so you can run around, and you can have fresh air instead of being all cooped up here, hidden away. 

He wonders where you used to live before, whether it’s very similar to his humble Earthly abode or if it’s completely different and magnificent and captivating the way he imagines your world must be to produce you. 

He wishes he could ask and receive an answer. By all that is heavenly, he wishes he could see into that head and know all your thoughts, to be inside and feel you, unrestricted by a language barrier, undivided by what feels like a whole galaxy between you. In the depths of the night, he stares up at the ceiling, overwhelmed with a sense of injustice at the realisation that he’ll never know all of you, not your past, your current thoughts, or your future. 

“Toru okay?”

Satoru snaps back to reality. “Hmm?”

It’s only when you clutch his wrist again, he realises he’s brushing his knuckles against your jaw, skimming and tracing absentmindedly. You don’t stop him, you just hold him there like you’re also seeking his touch, adorable fingers tapping. 

How much of this is real?

How much of this dynamic, this relationship, is based on concrete things like trust and understanding and friendship, rather than mere reliance?

“Toru hurt?”

Sighing, he shakes his head and drags your hand down onto his chest, keeping it there whilst he turns to watch the movie. None of it matters. Because regardless of anything and everything that kept you apart to begin with, you’re here now, and he’s holding you and you can talk and laugh, and he’s happy. 

What else is there?

[no-144444]

winners and losers- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As you stepped out of the car, you were Champion of the World. The first woman to do so. The only woman to do so. You were a legend. You were going to be remembered, whether people liked it or not. 

You ran straight over to Oscar, knowing he was the only one you’d ever want to celebrate with. He caught you as you ran over and practically jumped on him. He caught you, holding you against him as he beamed with pride. 

He rested his hands on either side of your face, the both of you being covered in champagne by the rest of the team. “You did it,” he cheered. 

“We did it,” you reminded him, then pulled him into a tight hug. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You weren’t a party animal, so you’d decided you wanted to go to a movie, and as you stood outside Oscar’s room, you really wondered what the fuck you were doing. You wanted to ask him to come with you, but as your hand finally met the wood, your heart dropped. You realised how a movie sounded, and well, you already felt conflicted enough from rejecting him. 

He opened the door immediately, a comfy hoodie and sweats on, his hair a bit messy, and his eyes half closed. You felt a little overdressed in your jeans. 

“Y/n?” he smiled when he registered that it was in fact, you. 

“Hi,” you smiled. 

“Hi,” he smiled back, leaning against the doorway. “W-What are you doing here?” 

“I was going to go see a movie, if you wanted to come with me. There’s a cinema down the street,” you explained. “Obviously, if you’re exhausted or just not into movies, that’s fine. I was just wondering.”

Was Oscar Piastri into movies? No, not really. He probably couldn’t even name 3 Christmas movies, and everyone knows Christmas movies. Was Oscar Piastri exhausted after a tense weekend? Absolutely. But was Oscar Piastri going to give up the chance to sit right beside you for 2 (perhaps 3) interrupted hours and enjoy the silent pleasure of your company?

Fuck no. 

So you were both at the cinema in under 5 minutes. You’d insisted on paying for the food, which he insisted on paying for the tickets (ever the gentleman), and you both quickly got to your seats. Neither of you really knew what the film was about, you’d just wanted to turn your brain off for a few hours, and he planned on staring at you the whole time. But not in a creepy way. 

Quickly, the film started, and you were hooked, your eyes darting all around the screen, following the characters. Oscar’s eyes stayed on you. More specifically, the way your hand was holding his. He froze when it happened, unsure what to do, but after a few minutes his body un-tensed and his brain started working again, and he started gently smoothing his thumb over your skin. You were soft, as soft as he remembered you to be when you two had danced together. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You hadn’t planned on crying when the mother in the film died, but it hit you like a bag of bricks and you genuinely left the theatre crying. Oscar, ever the gentleman, noticed immediately and pulled you into one of his perfect, Oscar hugs. The ones that make everything feel like it’s ok. You quickly started rushing out apology after apology, but he was quicker to shut you down, citing random studies saying people who cry at movies are more emotionally intelligent and strong. You didn’t feel very strong holding onto him so hard you thought you might break one of his ribs, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

The walk back to the hotel room was once again, filled with the silence you both loved dearly, but holding his hand. When he walked you up to your hotel room, he stood at the door, watching you open it with your key card. 

“Night,” he smiled, ready to collapse into his bed. 

You stared at him for a moment, clearly in quiet contemplation. He just looked right back at you, enjoying the view. Your teary eyes and irritated nose were pretty adorable in his opinion, and even in the low light of the hotel corridor, your eyes still sparkled just like usual. 

You took a step closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, making him almost gasp out loud. 

“Night,” you smiled and rushed inside, jumping into bed and overthinking the tiny cheek kiss you’d given him. 

Sleep also evaded him that night, too wired to think about anything other than your lips on his skin and how he could make it happen again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Halfway through the second triple header, in Qatar, you found yourself… regretful of that night in Baku, and feeling increasingly good about that night in Vegas. Oscar was no different than before, still the constant pillar of strength keeping you afloat in your mad world. You found yourself wondering about his feelings, wondering if you had them too and just didn’t realise. You liked his unruly hair. You liked his stupid jokes. You liked how much he went on about cricket. You liked his family. You liked his dorky knowledge on things. You liked the way he didn’t realise how beautiful he really was. You liked him. A lot more than you’d ever liked anyone else before. You hadn’t realised when it happened, but Osccar was one of the reasons you woke up. Oscar was who you got in the car for. Oscar was your person.

Fuck. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar jumped out of the car, rushing to get to the paddock in time. He had woken up late (again), and he just had to get your morning coffee, so he was already running a little bit late. As much as he tried to hide it, it did kind of hurt to be rejected by you. I mean, what was he thinking? An F1 driver being into him? It was a silly pipe dream he wished Lando never exposed. 

He quickly rounded a corner, and finally, you were in his sights. You sat at a table, wearing a white dress and white shoes, talking with someone on the phone. He thought you looked beautiful. That white dress. Was it silly that he was thinking about weddings? 

“Morning,” you called out, a soft smile on your face. The shadows cast from the sunlight made your eyes shine even more, if that were possible. 

“Morning,” he breathed out, sitting across from you and pushing the cup over. You took it with a grateful nod and continued listening to the person on the other side. He took a sip of his own drink and just let himself stare. He saw the way a strand of hair fell over your forehead, he saw the freckles on your face, the way you scrunch your nose up, the way you… the way you were you. And he loved it all. All the sarcastic jokes, all the batshit screaming on the radio, all of the insane and deeply romantic things you’d done together. 

You put your phone down. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Hi.”

“How are you?” you asked, gently messing with the lid of your cup. 

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?” he asked, feeling as though you were hiding something. 

“I’m good,” you nodded. “I got you a gift,” you blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You did? What for?”

“Christmas,” you said like it was obvious.

“It’s November-”

“We’ll have no time in Abu Dhabi,” you explained. “And I really wanted to give this to you myself.”

“Ok,” he shrugged, his heart swelling as those words. You wanted to give it to him yourself. 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” you instructed and he did so without hesitation. Something was placed in his hand. A small, rectangular box, he assumed. “Open them.”

He opened his eyes and was met with a gold bracelet with a tiny walkie-talkie charm on it. It was beautiful and heartfelt, and somewhat of an inside joke between the two of you. He let himself giggle slightly, looking back up at your mischievous smile. “I love it,” he answered truthfully. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “You’ve really been my rock this year, and I really appreciate it. Thank you Osc. No one asked you to step up and be my friend, but you did, and I really appreciate all of the support.”

He smiled, taking your hand. “I’d do it again anytime. You’re incredible, and you deserve to know that.”

You smiled bashfully. “So are you.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. And he couldn’t help but hope it meant more.  

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Up to fifth gear, down to third. 

It was methodical. You were world champion, you’d won it back in Las Vegas, but you still had to fight for the Constructors, and Ferrari were not going down without a fight. You finished Qatar with a podium, but not enough to secure the championship, so onward to Abu Dhabi it went. 

“That was a good race today. Y/n up in P3, just behind the Ferrari’s and Lando in P5. We picked up some good points, but we’ll really need to push in Abu Dhabi, alright guys?” Zak smiled, and everyone groaned in agreement. 2 triple headers after one-another was truly torture, but whatever, you’d be at home in Monaco in 2 weeks time. No racing, no people, just you and your evergrowing reading list. 

Oscar nudged you. “What’s your plans for Christmas?” he asked. 

“Nothing, really,” you shrugged, trying to keep your voice down as Zak continued his pep talk. 

Oscar frowned. “Alone?”

You nodded, completely happy with your answer. His frown deepened. “Come to Australia,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “I will not impose on your family Christmas-”

“My entire family loves you Y/n, please. It’d be as much for them as it is for me.”

You smiled. “You really want me there?” 

He nodded, a bright smile on his face. “I do. I really do-”

“Those your wedding vows?” Lando spoke up. 

You just rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Ask your parents if it’s alright first, yeah?”

He beamed. “Will do.”

Australia for Christmas, that would be new. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

To say that Oscar didn't have his own agenda when asking you to come to Australia would definitely be a fat lie. After the night in Baku and the night in Vegas, he was becoming increasingly sure that you did like him back, and he thought that getting you to relax in Australia would let you feel comfortable enough to confess to him. Sounds slightly sinister, he knew, but he also knew his mother would murder him the second his feet touched Australian ground if she found out he was leaving you alone at Christmas. 

He had time now. He just needed you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[elliezlils11utt]

fluffy domestic farm life with farmer!abby <33

‧₊˚ ☆

a/n: coming from a texan this is genuinely my dream life. also this is like semi headcannons? the format is a tad funny bc i didnt have enough plot for a full fic but its mot just headcannons either?? idk man😪

summary; abbys grown up on a farm, its all shes ever known. and she CANNOT see her life not in the fields. and you, while still being from the south wanted nothing more than to escape it all. so when you told her you wanted to move to the city with her, she made it her mission to prove to you farm life could be happy. <3

‧₊˚ ☆ when you first moved into the farm house with abby, it was perfect. (you only thought this because there was no work to be done yet) but soon planting season started, then the animals started to accumulate, and all the sudden your back on a farm. exactly where you wanted to escape from. but this time its different. your with you’re person. you’re abby. and as much as you wanted to hate it, you couldn’t. not to admit abby was right but, she was right.. every morning you wake up, braid Abby’s hair, eat breakfast with her, and you go separate ways for chores. you tend to the animals as abby works on the farm in the fields. its peaceful.

‧₊˚ ☆“can you put one of y’r pretty bows in my hair t’day baby?” abby whispers to you in the early morning light as you lay cuddled in her arms. you hum in agreement, a smile laid on your face. Abby’s long golden locks have been one of your favorite things for the longest. and ever since the first day you french braided it down the back, shes had you do it everyday since. its become morning routine for her to sit between your legs on a pillow, with her cup of black coffee in hand, watching the morning news as you plait up her hair. now one of the ribbons that holds your hair up everyday, ties at the end of abby’s. a dainty blue bow holding her braid together.

“watcha think?”

“s’ pretty babe, thank ya s’much.” her tall frame scoops you up from in front of the hallway mirror and plops you back on the coach, tickling the crap outa you.

“abigail!!” you squeal

‧₊˚ ☆ oh and you definitely screamed when a farm cat showed up & abby had to scold you for trying to take it into the house.

“but abby! look at him.” you force a pout, pointing at the orange feline who genuinely had a dead mouse in its mouth. abby looks at you, then back at the cat, then back to you.

“baby. look, i love you. but no way in hell is that coming in the house.”

she then proceeded to drive out 40 minutes to the nearest pets smart & bought the little guy food to set out weekly ‘just incase’.

‧₊˚ ☆ i also like to think she brought one of jerry’s old projectors from her childhood home & sets it up on the side of the barn every once and a while. like when theres a new movie you wont stop nagging her about, at the end if the day as you go to get her for supper you see the bed of the work truck all set up with cozy bedding. abby appears from behind the truck. “Abigail Anderson. what is all’ this?” you cheese.

“oh nothinggg, i js’ rented that movie you wanted t’ watch” she says jokingly. she pulls you in by the waist and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“did you get anyy of your chores done today?” you say, pretending to be mad she hasn’t been tending to the farm.

“uh, thats a problem for tomorrow me.” she giggles.

‧₊˚ ☆ and you best bet that if you both finish your chores early there will be nap time. sometimes intentional, sometimes not. but either way its one of your favorite moments with her. one day you had fallen asleep on the porch swing after brushing the horses. abby had came to the house for a glass of water to find you softly snoring in the summer breeze. a smile tugs at her lips watching your stomach rise and fall with your breath. she lightly picks you up and carries u inside the house, abandons whatever chore she was doing before and lays with you. now its your turn to wake up to her baby snores (loud ass snores) & blond hair tickling your nose. your cutie baby.