#two cup method

[a-concert-just-for-me]

If I had (safe + mutually benefiting) people to body double with I swear I would be on my way to my 30th PhD right now

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[cherrysinner]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ examination table

pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader synopsis: you go to get artificial insemination. your gyno has a different method. warnings/tags: smut, artificial insemination, unprotected piv, breeding kink, public sex, small surprise at the end, MDNI! wc: 1.2k a/n; aside from having to do a strange amount of research about ovulation, iui and me overall being against male gynos; this was fun.

rafe masterlist ♡

you couldn't resist the urge to tap the heel of your boot against the linoleum floor - rolling your golden wedding band so you wouldn't bite your freshly manicured nails. it felt like your heart was going to thump thump thump out of your chest and land on the floor in front of you.

there were only three other people in the waiting room, a few posters related to women's health decorating the otherwise plain, dull, light green walls of the office, the tick-tock of the clock and the hushed whispers of the two nurses behind the front desk being the only thing you could focus on, along with the overpowering stench of chanel no 5 that was wafting from the other customer waiting for her appointment browsing through an age-old copy of cosmopolitan.

you nearly hopped to your feet when the door to one of the offices opened, clutching your purse like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. "come in." doctor cameron said with a small smile on his lips, gesturing towards his office.

you followed the tall man into the sterile, white office, holding your arms tightly against your chest, your shoulders hunched. when doctor cameron noticed how skittish you were being, he offered a small smile, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before using it to cup your cheek and lifting it up so you were forced to look at his freckled face, "there's no need to be nervous. this is a pretty regular procedure. you can change into the gown and lay down on the examination table."

when you let out a reluctant nod, the doctor walked further into his office, giving you some privacy. while you listened to him rifle through papers, slowly, you tugged your sweater off along with your jeans, leaving your underwear to cover your skin that was now in goosebumps while you covered yourself with the blue rustling hospital gown, until it came time to slip them off.

you took a few tentative steps towards the examination table, walking on your heels as your gynecologist turned to face you, your chart in his hands, his blue eyes skimming over the details as you sat down onto the examination table, the paper sheet rustling against the paper gown in a way that made you cringe.

"so, how many days ago did you take your last dose of clomid?"

"eight days ago." you said with a tight smile, fiddling with the hem of your gown, "and i did an ovulation test before i left home, and it said my ovulation should be at its highest."

"you've really done your homework." he chuckled, placing down the clipboard, placing his warm hand on your bare knee in a comforting gesture. "are you ready to get started? i've got your husband's specimen prepared. don't worry, the catheter won't hurt, you might just feel a bit uncomfortable for a moment."

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and laying back as you steadied your breathing, trying your best to get comfortable. "ready." you whispered softly, opening your eyes to look up at the slightly yellow-tinted fluorescent light above you.

"it helps the sperm to travel if you've got your pelvis propped up." doctor cameron said in a slightly hushed tone, lifting your hips up and placing a pillow underneath your hips, his hands pressing your hips down to meet it, keeping them there as he looked down at you with a small smile. "there you go. are you comfortable?"

"it does." you swallow dryly, fiddling with the paper sheet underneath you, sighing. "i hope it works out. we've been trying to get pregnant for a year now."

"yeah?" he looked down at you, his eyes crinkling slightly, the feel of the pads of his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he drew small patterns to the hem of your hospital gown. "you know what people say helps with getting pregnant?"

"what?" you almost whispered, your thighs starting to form goosebumps under doctor cameron's fingers as they slowly slid under the crinkly god-ugly gown.

"orgasms." his hand continued to slide up your inner thigh, the metal of your doctor's wedding ring a pleasing contrast against your warm skin, "it's never been proven to be accurate, of course." his hand was just under your crotch, drawing infinity-symbols on your skin, a pondering look on his face as he cocked his head to the side, a small smirk appearing on his face, "but it never hurts to be thorough, right?"

doctor cameron had you folded over on the examination table, holding your legs at your sides, his warm lips placing sloppy, hot kisses on your neck as his cock slid out of you before slamming against your cervix, the man letting out a soft breathy laugh at every little gasp or moan that managed to escape your lips.

"how many times do i have to tell you, sweetie?" he mumbled against your skin, rafe's words intensified by the pace of his hips snapping against yours increasing, a loud yelp leaving you, "you don't need to try and keep quiet. no one's gonna hear us." he breathed out.

the pad of his thumb found your your clit, starting to draw small circles on it as the room was filled with your unsteady breathing combined with the lewd squelch of your pussy every time his hips met yours, "come on, let me hear all those pretty little noises... it's not like this is the first time we've fooled around here."

rafe tried pulling away from your neck, but you tugged him closer by his hair, holding him there as tightly as possible "god, rafe..." you moaned out, the doctor letting out a pleased hum against your skin.

"come on, sweetie... tell me how much you want me to put a baby in you, yeah?"

"so badly..." your back arched off the examination table while rafe's long fingers slid up to your breast, teasing it with small kneads and pinches before his left hand found your hand, your fingers intertwining with his, your matching wedding bands meeting.

"i love you so much... i can't wait for you to be all pretty and pregnant." he smiled against your skin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

MEANWHILE….

"i wonder what's taking dr. cameron so long..." the receptionist wondered aloud with a frown on her pouty lips, turning to look at the clock on the wall as she tapped her pink fingernails against the desk, "i mean, it's almost lunchtime."

the other receptionist let out a snort, interrupting the movement of the file against her long nail, turning to look at the other girl with raised brows, chewing gum. "what, you don't know?"

"know what?"

"oh, this is good." the receptionist laughed, throwing her head back with laughter in her office chair. "you don't know who she is."

"what?" the other girl asked, huffing in annoyance as she grabbed a cheeto out of the bag sitting in front of them.

"that client is mrs. cameron."

"as in-"

"yup, that was doctor cameron's wife." she let out a loud snort of a laugh as she shook her head, grabbing a cheeto before going back to filing her nails. "guess she gets special treatment."

[bitchy-craft]

masterlist: manifestation methods☆*:

Robotic Affirming

The Easiest manifestation Method

The Manifestation Box Method

The Two Cup Method

The Pillow Method

The Shower Method

The Water Method

The Whisper Method

What I've manifested so far

masterlist: affirmation posts☆*:

abundance

beauty

clear skin

confidence

courage

glow-up

good grades I

good grades II

good luck

manifestation

millionaire

money

motivation I

motivation II

self love

self worth

success

wealth and riches

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink, somno.

You’re slow to wake up. 

Mouth half open on the pillow, bead of saliva pooling at the curve of your pout with a hand tucked under you chin like an angel, you’re still drifting somewhere in dreamland, your body far more aware than your mind. It’s late, and lazy, and he’s already handled all of the puppy’s morning duties and showered. He decided to go back to bed afterwards, sliding behind you under the covers and locking you back against him, leaving you no room to move, or pull away as he slid two fingers down your belly to your clit. You’re a heavy sleeper, making soft little sounds and whimpers plenty, but still no signs of waking up, even as you shifted, unconsciously giving him better access, allowing him to slip two fingers inside you and slowly stretch. 

You’re ready. He’s taken a slow, methodical approach, carefully stretching  tissue and muscle to be more accommodating, though he knows no amount of prep will soften the initial pain. 

“Mmm,” your head turns, lashes fluttering, and he closes his mouth over yours, slipping his tongue behind your teeth and bringing you into consciousness as gently as he can while his arm wraps like steel around your hip, fingers firmly buried inside you, palm grinding against your clit. 

You come to all at once. Every sense igniting, a ripple of awareness bringing your legs closed tight at his wrist. 

“Shh, you’re okay.” He murmurs against your ear, pinning you to the mattress with his weight. Your instinct is to push away, evade the overflow of thought and feeling, but he’s too heavy. You’re trapped. Overflowing with sensation, clit pulsing under his touch. 

“Wh-what-” 

“Sleepy girl, slept right through daddy putting his fingers inside you, didn’t you?” Everything about you is dazed and open, wanting, trusting, and you nod hurriedly. 

“Daddy,” you moan, pushing your hips back towards his, “d-daddy, I’m-” He slows, and you whine in protest.

“You’ve been so good, taking daddy’s fingers, letting him stretch you out. I think you’re ready.” 

“Ready?” The last syllable rings with confusion. 

“Ready for your daddy to fuck your sweet little pussy.” You shiver, a ripple cascading from head to toe, unbidden moan slipping from your lips. “Do you want that? Want daddy’s cock inside you?” 

“Y-yes,” he flicks your clit and returns to his previous rhythm. “Yes, please, oh- please.” You’re lost to the impending orgasm, already there with a flick of his wrist, quickly rocketing up and over, riding his hand, twitching and crying. 

Daddy, daddy, daddy. 

“I’m sorry I’m so tired.” You’re still nestled into him in bed, cheek to chest, slipping in and out of snoring as he turns the pages of a paperback. 

“It’s okay baby. You work hard, you need rest.” It’s a slow Sunday, and you need it. Eight to ten hours a day on your feet, constantly moving, kneading, lifting, rolling… it all takes a toll, one he wishes he could alleviate, though he’d never take your passion from you. He’s grateful it’s there, fulfills you, brought you to him. 

Right now, there’s nothing to do but take care of you, and Duchess, who’s snuffling at the foot of the bed, little puppy belly turned up towards the ceiling, paws in the air. You yawn. 

“I need a vacation.” 

“Mmm,” he strokes a line down your back, chasing the goosebumps. It’s not a terrible idea, take you away for a bit, get you out of town and into the sun. Maybe… “Where would you go?” Your brow crinkles. 

“I don’t know… I’ve always wanted to go to Lisbon. For the bakeries. And the beach…” You trail off and avert your eyes. “I’ve always been… it’s too much to go alone and I don’t really have anyone…” your pulse flickers under your jaw as he cups it. 

“I’ll take you, sweetheart, if that’s what you want. I’ll take you anywhere.” Lisbon is more than doable, it’s safe, and easy for him to navigate. It won’t be an issue. 

“Really?” You brighten, lip tucked beneath teeth, corners lifting into a smile. 

“Of course.” He’d give you anything, everything. Take you anywhere. A yawn drags your mouth into a circle. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit longer.” 

“‘m not tired anymore.” Brat. He raises an eyebrow, and you look away sheepishly. “Okay well… maybe for a little.” Good girl. “Can we take Duchess to the park? Later?” It’s your new favorite thing. A long loop down the street to the green space and back, a solid rhythm he’s working to settle you in so you can continue the habit when he’s away. 

“Sure baby. Now close your eyes.” 

“Open.” He forks another bite of pancake into your mouth. “Good girl.” Pancakes. He’s gotten pretty good at it, using your moods, emotions, as a barometer for what will make you happiest food wise. 

When you’re tired and a little bit cranky, it’s breakfast for dinner. 

He managed to get you outside for a bit, walking beside you and Duchess at a leisurely pace, soaking in the small bits he’s never truly enjoyed. The sapphire blue shade of the sky, the chirp of the bugs and birds, quiet lap of the pond. He’s always walked with purpose, never for love, for the act of it, but now, taking his time with you, living with you, he gets it all, experiences the world as you do, eats up every single second. Just being able to take a leisurely stroll with you and the dog is more than he’s ever expected for his life. 

It was a nice little outing, followed by a shower before he put you right back in bed, settling you in the nest of pillows and blankets. Even after a day of slipping in and out of a nap, you’re still exhausted. 

“Daddy.” You’re waiting for the next bite, mouth open, Duchess at your side watching intently like she’s going to get some pancakes too. 

“Sorry sweet girl,” he scrapes another piece free across the plate for you, pleased that you’ve eaten three fourths of your dinner. You reach for a piece of bacon, chewing thoughtfully, untangling a snare that's caught some of your words, and he waits. Always. 

“I was thinking…” when you don’t continue right away, he places a hand on your thigh, the skin to skin soothing the turbulent chaos in your mind, the things trying to sort themselves out. “I um, I saw the motorcycle in the garage the other day…” pleasantly surprised, he nods encouragingly, and you swallow. “I was wondering if maybe, you- we- you could take me on it?” He hasn’t been on the bike in about a year now, content to let it sit in its spot until he had the time, the energy to take it out. The joy of riding has never faded, but it’s different now. He used to ride because a part of him hoped the road might take him, might end him, though it’s been a long time since then, a long time since the darkness controlled him. Now, the bike waits for him, waits for when he has a moment to himself, a moment he can relax and enjoy it. 

This will be the perfect one. 

“You want to go on a bike ride baby?” You look up at him through your lashes. 

“I always thought it might be cool to know what it’s like.” Brave girl. You’re still a bit unsure, and he casts the plate aside to hold your hands in his. 

“I’ll take you, but following your rules will be very important. You’ll need to listen to me at all times, and tell me if you’re scared. Do you understand?” It will be a lot. Loud. Intimidating. An overall new experience he’ll have to coach you through, but he knows you can do it. You nod excitedly. 

“Yes daddy I do, I will. I promise.” The fork and plate rattle, and you squeal. “Duchess!” She's licking a string of syrup off her nose, clearly pleased with herself. The rest of your dinner is gone, and you’re trying hard not to laugh as he barely suppresses his own. It’s easy for him to get distracted around you, easy to forget the rest of the world when he’s got you here where it’s safe, in his home, where he doesn’t need to think about anything else, threats, fears, chaos. It doesn’t surprise him he forgot about the plate and put it down in reach of the dog.

You sigh, mischievous spark in your irises like a bad little girl who knew all along. “Oh well. Guess she was hungry.” 

[iamasaddie]

a.m.

Joel Miller x reader warnings: MDNI, dirty talk, fingering, loving degradation, unedited w/c: 840

When you began sharing his bed on a regular basis, you started having a problem. You wanted him all the time, your pussy spilling arousal in your panties just from his proximity. Joel never denied any of your needs, more than that, he reciprocated them and made you feel on top of the world even when you were under him. But Joel was also a man closer to his 60s than 50s, and Joel needed more sleep than your needy pussy cared to give him.

Once again, you woke up in the middle of the night, the birds not yet chirping but the sky already went from pitch black to early navy blue. Your body pleasantly ached from an orgasm Joel fucked out of you just a few hours ago, yet your pussy had already started leaking with need.

Slowly, you shifted in your place. Joel's back was to you, his even breathing a peaceful melody in a ruined world you lived in. You knew you could wake him up, kiss his neck and bite his earlobe. Even half asleep he'd be able to give you what you were so desperate for. But he was supposed to have an early morning that day, and before him—gosh, how long was it? you could barely remember life without him—before him, you knew how to take care of yourself.

Your fingers slipped under Joel's boxers that you stole and claimed as your sleeping shorts. Almost methodically, your fingers dipped into your wet heat, gathering your sleek and bringing it to your clit. You bit into your lower lip, sharp teeth dragging soft skin as you attempted to silence your moan of relief. With slow, deliberate movements your teased your clit, speeding up as heat coursed towards your pussy. You felt sweat dampening the creases of your thighs, and you pushed two of your fingers inside, trying to reach the spot Joel showed you, the one that brought stars to your eyes. 

You desperately pushed your digits further and further, still failing to hit it just right, to get that syrupy sweet release your body craved.

“Need help?” You almost yelped, jerking your hand from your pussy but Joel put his palm over yours, lacing his thick fingers through your slippery wet ones.

“I…I just,” you stammered, too aroused to feel anything but need for the man that was trying to find your eyes in the darkness of the room.

“You’re just a needy girl who can’t wait until I wake up,” he finished for you. His voice was raspy with sleep and it made you gush even more. “A little whore with a hungry pussy that always wants more no matter what I give her.”

His hand let go of yours and he slid it to cup your drooling pussy, teasing your pulsating hole with his fingers but not pushing them inside. 

“P-please,” you breathed out, your back arching and you tried to push your pussy harder into his palm. 

“Ruined her so bad your own fingers don’t make it anymore. Poor thing,” without a warning, he pushed two of his fat digits inside immediately curling them, giving you what you needed. “Yeah, that little pussy is still stretched after I fucked her, no wonder you tiny little fingers were useless. Need to stuff her nicely to make her purr.”

His lips were pressed into your ear as his fingers pushed in and out of you, scratching that magic spot every time he curled his digits. Your pussy was pulsing, warning you both about the upcoming orgasm, so you just whined, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt as you scratched his chest through the thin material. 

“Come on, baby, give it to me, show me this pretty cunt was worth waking up for.” The heel of his palm pressed into your clit, rubbing it harshly as his fingers continued fucked your pussy. 

It’s like your body waited for him to say it, your pussy immediately clenching on him as a wail of orgasmic bliss left your mouth. You threw your head back, almost bumping it on the headboard. Joel whispered praise in your ears that you could barely hear because of the blood pumping and deafening the world to you.

As you returned from the cloud nine, Joel gave your slit a final stroke, making your full body jerk as his fingertip brushed over your clit. He licked his wet fingers, wiping the rest over the duvet. You stared at the black ceiling and tried to calm your breath.

“You should find someone to cover your shift on Saturday.” Joel said, returning to his side of the bed, but dragging you with him.

“Why?”

“We’re spending it in bed, and I’m making you cum until you beg me to stop and then a few,” his voice sounded so matter-of-factly while you choked on your saliva. “Maybe then we’ll both have a proper night of sleep.” He chuckled, pressing you into his chest and leaving a kiss on the crown of your head. 

[rosemaryhoney27]

"Diplomacy for the Feral and the Damned"

Bruce had just sat down in the Batcave with his second cup of post-patrol coffee—black as his mood, strong enough to keep a Kryptonian awake—when his private line buzzed. Not the Batline. Not the board line. The one buried so deep in encryption and passive-aggressive threats that even Oracle called it “Extra-Paranoid Mode.”

He stared. [Incoming Call: Vladimir Masters]

Bruce blinked. “…Oh, this is going to be a day.”

He answered with the flat monotone that had driven Gotham’s underworld into therapy. “Vlad.”

The holographic screen flickered to life—and there he was. Vladimir Masters, looking every inch the eccentric billionaire and possibly more ghost than man now. Silver-haired, in a robe that screamed “I paid three million for this and regret nothing,” surrounded by classical art, levitating books, and the faint crackle of ectoplasmic interference. The whole aesthetic screamed “If Lex Luthor was haunted by a Victorian novelist.”

Vlad beamed. “Brucie!”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s lovely to hear your voice, dear cousin. It’s been too long.”

Jason, eavesdropping from the shadows with popcorn, whispered, “Wait. Cousin? Since when do we have that brand of family drama?”

“Shh,” Tim muttered, scribbling something labeled Possible Interdimensional Ghost Cousins Conspiracy.

“I need your advice,” Vlad continued. “Something very personal. Deeply serious.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now, Vlad?”

Vlad leaned forward, the screen staticking briefly. “How do you get your children to be civil with you?”

There was silence. Real, echoing, existential silence.

“…I wasn’t aware you had adopted children, Vlad,” Bruce said slowly, like trying not to scare off a rabid raccoon.

“I haven’t. Not technically,” Vlad said breezily. “But my godson is staying with me. Lovely boy. Has the appetite of a black hole and the sense of self-preservation of a rabid badger.”

“...Oh god,” whispered Dick, “he sounds like all of us.”

“Cute that Masters thinks we’re civil,” Damian sniffed. “How charmingly misinformed.”

“Wait. He said godson?” Tim asked, eyes lighting up. “Do you think—could it be—Phantom?”

Vlad didn’t notice the peanut gallery commentary. “The boy has caused four minor diplomatic incidents, bitten a baron, vanished into the ceiling during a formal gala, and accused a senator of being a reptilian. Which turned out to be accurate, but the delivery was unkind.”

Bruce squinted. “That sounds like… Dick, Damian, and Tim at the Wayne Foundation Spring Gala ‘19.”

“I know!” Vlad pointed at him like a man discovering fire. “That’s exactly what I said! He’s like your sons! In one small, glowing, vaguely feral body!”

“Glowing?” Steph mouthed. “Definitely Phantom.”

“So, cousin dearest,” Vlad purred. “How do you get them to listen? How do you parent the chaos incarnate?”

Bruce took a long, tired sip of his coffee and simply said, “I don’t.”

“…You don’t?”

“I survive it.”

“Bold of him to call this survival,” muttered Cass as Jason started texting Alfred for cookies and emotional support.

“Each one is an unpredictable event wrapped in trauma and tactical gear,” Bruce continued flatly. “They will not listen. They may occasionally pretend to. But only after chaos. Much, much chaos.”

Vlad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So there’s no secret Wayne method? No clever strategy?”

“...Cookies?” Bruce offered.

From beneath the desk, something gnawed at Vlad’s ankle.

He glanced down and hissed, “Danny, stop that, I told you we don’t bite family!”

“He said that senator looked like a snake,” came the muffled voice. “And I was right.”

Vlad groaned. “Why couldn’t he just be one kind of disaster? Why all of them?”

Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”

“New cousin,” Steph agreed. “Absolutely chaotic. Ten outta ten.”

Vlad looked back up at Bruce. “So. No help?”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Keep fire extinguishers on hand. Avoid hosting events near chandeliers. Always assume they have at least two hidden weapons. And get used to being called ‘Dad’ at the most inconvenient political moments.”

A pause.

“Also,” he added, “tell him you’re proud. Even when he’s a disaster. Especially then.”

Vlad blinked. “...That worked for you?”

Bruce glanced around the cave. Steph had stolen Tim’s notes and was writing “FERAL COUSIN CLUB” across the top. Jason was already planning a trip to Amity Park. Damian was silently judging the snack selection of this new relative. And Dick was on his phone already texting Danny memes.

“…Eventually,” Bruce muttered.

“Charming,” Vlad sighed.

From under the desk: crunch.

“Danny! Stop chewing my furniture!”

Danny peeked out, sharp-toothed grin gleaming, eyes flickering green. “Tell B-man I wanna go to one of those galas next time. I wanna meet chandelier boy.”

Jason fist-pumped. “YES.”

Bruce just sighed. “...I’ll warn the staff.”

[spookybun]

thinking of my owner taking me to the vet. the doctor comments on how cute i am and when i blush my owner laughs, rubbing my ears. they let me stay in my owner's lap at first, i'm too shy to get on the table. i can't help squirming when the vet's gloved hands cup my jaw and throat while chatting idly with my owner. i'm so jumpy the vet offers to give me some medicine to relax, my owner tells me to be a good bunny and take the treat, rubbing my nose after successfully swallowing it down. as the appointment goes on i do get more relaxed, my head is a little fuzzy and my breasts ache.

"think you can hop up on the table for me, little bunny?" it doesn't look so scary anymore. they get me on the table where the vet has me lie down first. the feeling of their hands on my skin makes my pulse race, my head swimming from the medicine. each pass over my breasts makes my clit throb, when they spread my legs, they're covered in my arousal. my owner mentions about additional pet services, but i can't follow the conversation as i watch the vet examine my bunny cunt, ignoring my needy clit.

they keep talking, moving me to present on my knees, arms tucked beneath me so my tail is high in the air and my weeping bunny cunt is on full display. when the first finger sinks in, i moan and whine, grinding back only for a firm grip to hold me still. a second finger, a third. i'm panting, wetness running down my thighs as they still ignore my clit, it's not enough. i'm stretched and inspected, my holes worked at a slow methodical pace until i'm a drooling fuzzy mess.

my owner comes around to rub my nose, telling me how good i'm being. "you're almost ready for breeding, bunny. i'll seen you after you're done with the program, okay?" i can only whine, the medicine getting stronger. they never mentioned breeding, this was supposed to just be a checkup. i watch my owner wave as they leave, the vet gives me another two doses of medicine before wheeling me back to the pens.

"here we go, little one." the vet brings me to a room full of hungry eyes, all of them pacing around in cells. the other pets here look even more worked up than i feel, the smell of their collective need making me whine and rub my clit needily. they put me down on a soft pillow in the middle of the room, giving me another nose rub before stepping out. i hear the click of the door locking before a buzz and all the cages open.

maybe now i'll find someone to give my clit that attention it needs...

[kthologue]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. two weeks have slipped by since you disappeared from the emperor’s life. the palace whispers of his unraveling, but no one dares to name the madness consuming him.

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. not proofread once again, but at least all 8k words are finally done. until the epilogue!

series masterlist | chapter 2/2

It has been two weeks since your disappearance. 

Nobody knows where you’ve gone to. Or why. 

Synchronously, the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind that stretched beyond walls and courtyards, embedding itself in the bones of the imperial court. Servants whispered behind their sleeves. Nobles watched the throne with cautious eyes. The emperor, Japan’s strongest man, was unraveling. And nobody knew why.

The stench of alcohol clung to Gojo Satoru. Expensive sake pooled in ceramic cups, the scent sharp and sickly, mixing with the musk of sweat and silk. The chamber was a mess, toppled dishes, shattered glass, the remnants of a feast he hadn’t touched. A single candle flickered on the lacquered table, its wax melting into a slow, steady pool. The shadows cast by the flame twisted along the walls, stretching long and jagged, like ghosts reaching for him.

Gojo slumped against his seat, his white hair, usually snowy white, now fell in wild, overgrown tufts, obscuring his vision in uneven strands. His ceremonial robes, woven in silk and embroidered with the insignia of the Gojo Clan, hung loose around his frame. His fingers twitched over the rim of an empty goblet, a silent tremor betraying the rage simmering beneath his skin.

His breath was slow, methodical. 

Himiko entered without announcement, the sound of her embroidered slippers tapping against the floor. Her robes shimmered under the candlelight, crimson and gold, a deliberate echo of the imperial crest. She was the picture of regality: poised, calculating, her scent perfumed with jasmine.

“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed, her voice smooth yet edged with unspoken frustration.

Gojo didn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth. He tipped his goblet back, only to find it empty. A scowl twisted his lips as he tossed it aside. The metal clattered against the floor, rolling to a stop against shattered glass.

“Would you like a prize for your deduction?” His voice was hoarse, his throat burned raw from drink.

She ignored his bitterness and stepped closer, fingers trailing along the lacquered table, grazing over his discarded robes. The action was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, Satoru…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, as sharp as a blade. “Why do you waste yourself like this?”

His fingers curled into a fist.

Himiko’s eyes flickered, catching the movement. She stepped closer, her presence heavy in the candlelit chamber. “You were born to rule,” she continued, her words laced with honey and venom alike. “And yet, you let yourself fall into ruin over a woman who no longer wants you. A personal servant, much less.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“She has severed all ties with you,” Himiko pressed, her tone almost pitying. “After your stunt in the ceremonial hall she will never bat an eyelash at you again. And now, her clan whispers of rebellion in the capital. The elders demand retribution.”

Gojo’s breath was slow, methodical.

“The Gojo and Zenin clans must unite,” Himiko continued, watching him carefully. “For the first time in history, we will restore order. We will fulfill your destiny.”

She leaned in, her touch featherlight as her fingers trailed down his chest, the brush of her nails just barely felt through his robes.

“And,” she whispered, voice dipping lower, “you will have me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The candle’s flame flickered, the shadows shifting along the walls.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted back against the chair, his gaze hooded, unreadable. The weight of something unseen pressed against him, pushing him deeper into his own destruction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Fine.”

A victorious smile curled on Himiko’s lips.

But then, the doors burst open.

The impact sent a gust of air through the chamber, causing the candle to flicker wildly.

A new presence entered, stepping through the threshold like ink spilling across the pristine floors. Dark robes trailed behind him, blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes gleamed with something knowing.

“Your Majesty,” Geto drawled, his voice smooth, stepping forward. “You called.”

Gojo frowned, his gaze shifting. “Suguru.”

Geto gave a short, practiced bow, the movement fluid. 

The Emperor stares at him, “You are my most trusted ally.”

“A honor that I hold dear, yes.” Suguru’s head is still ducked, waiting for permission to be lifted.

A strange tension filled the air. The kind that was razor-thin, ready to snap.

Gojo’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound slow, calculated. Then, his foot lifted, pressing beneath Suguru’s chin, forcing his head up until their gazes met.

A pair of icy cerulean orbs bore into plum ones.

“You would never do anything to betray my trust, no?”

The room turned frigid.

Suguru’s entire body tensed, though his face remained still. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The deadly tone, Gojo’s battle tone, was one Suguru had only ever heard on the battlefield, when his friend was overtaken with bloodlust.

He felt his blood go cold.

“No, of course not.” His head remained low, eyes staring at the spilled wine pooling along the floor, the blood-red liquid almost taunting him. A warning.

“Then tell me that the rumors are false, dear friend.”

Suguru’s eyes flickered.

Gojo pressed harder with his foot. “Tell me that you did not let my [Name] leave.” His voice trembled, cold and sharp. “Tell me that you did not send her a carriage.”

Silence.

“Tell me that you did not leave her in the hands of another man after I had worked so hard to bring her back.”

Suguru said nothing.

And that was the confirmation Gojo needed.

His hands clenched. His chest heaved.

And then,

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

The chamber shook as Gojo kicked Suguru back, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Artifacts shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor.

Himiko shrieked at the violent display.

Suguru groaned, coughing as the pain tore through his ribs. He barely flinched at the glass buried in his side. Instead, he tilted his head, wiping the blood from his lip.

“She made her choice.” His voice was eerily calm.

Gojo froze.

His breath hitched, stomach twisting

“You don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, cracking beneath the weight of his own grief. The emperor grabbed a dagger, well hidden in his garments and held it in Suguru’s direction.

Himiko scoffed.

“Why does it matter?” she demanded, stepping between them, fury flashing in her gaze. “She is nothing now! She abandoned you. She left you for another man–”

“Shut your mouth,” Gojo snapped.

Himiko stiffened, stunned by the venom in his voice.

“You chose me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You made your decision.”

“Because I had no choice!” His roar was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the palace. His breath was ragged, vision tunneled. “But if I did,” He swallowed hard, the taste of regret thick in his throat.

His voice wavered, quieter now.

“If I did… it would have never been you.”

Silence.

Suguru exhaled, tilting his head. “I told you,” he murmured, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. “You should have let her go when she asked.”

But Gojo Satoru, Emperor of Japan, the strongest man alive, had never known how to let go.

“If you want to live, you will follow my next command carefully.”

The village was quiet in the way only forgotten places could be, tucked away between rolling green fields and a quiet forest.

Unlike the grand palaces and bustling cities, this place moved at its own pace, undisturbed by the heavy weight of politics and war. Here, the air smelled of damn earth and fresh rice paddies, of firewood burning in stone hearths, of crisp morning dew that clung to thatched roofs, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from children playing. The dirt paths were lined with modest homes, their roofs sagging under years of wear. 

It had been two weeks since your disappearance. Two weeks of living as someone else.

Gone were the weight of expectations heavy upon your shoulders. Your hands, once unblemished and soft, now bored faint callouses from work you were never meant to do. And you didn’t mind.

“[Name].”

A familiar voice, steady and unmistakable cut through the quiet morning. You turned, catching sight of Nanami standing near the well, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A basket of vegetables hung from his grasp, the crisp greens contrasting against his neutral-toned kimono. His expression, as always, was measured.

A quiet sigh left your lips, “You’re back early.”

Nanami stepped forward, his glaze flickering down to your hands, observing the red marks on your palms from the rough mortar and pestle. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But instead of arguing, Nanami placed the basket down and gestured for you to follow him back towards the small house you shared. The villagers were already accustomed to seeing the two of you together, and while they didn’t openly question your presence, there was an unspoken distance between you and them.

As you walked beside him, you caught glimpses of their gazes, wary, guarded.

You  adjusted the strap of your bag, “They won’t even look at me in the eye,” you muttered as the other villagers brushed past you without a second thought. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t look at you immediately, instead adjusting his grip on the basket. “They don’t know who you are.”

“That’s exactly why they don’t trust me.” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t blame them.”

A pause.

Then, Nanami glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not just that.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His steps slowed as the two of you reached the wooden house, a modest structure, small but well-kept. He set the basket down on the porch, and after a beat of silence, he gestured to you.

“Look at yourself.”

You frowned but obeyed, glancing down at your clothes. “And what of it?” You eyes trail down to the garments. The robes you worn, though simple, were still of a higher quality than the villagers. The stitching, the cut, the deep indigo dye that refused to fade even after days of wear. The silk made you stick out like a sore thumb, but surely it was not envy that caused the entire village avoid you like the plague. These fabrics were a gift from your former mentor Yaga, after all. You couldn’t simply dispose of them.

“The embroidery on your robes, the color… no one other than those of the Imperial Royal Family may be adorned in it.” He exhaled, voice lowering. “It all says one thing: you belong to the emperor.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed.

Nanami studied your reaction before exhaling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It was always him,” he murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“He never let you out of his grasp.” His voice was quiet but weighted. “Even now, when you’re here… Gojo still lingers.”

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your robes, suddenly feeling suffocated by it. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, from the golden cage he had kept you in. And yet, here you were.

Still marked by him.

“Well then I need to get myself new clothes,” your hands fidgeting with the rich fibers of your clothing.

“No need,” Nanami pauses his ministrations to look at you. “I’ve already talked to the local seamstress and requested a much more appropriate wardrobe for you.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel a smile form on your face, “Just what would I do without you, Nanami?”

“I wonder the same thing,” he mutters, but you can hear the jest in his voice. He turns away to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you!” You point straight at the curve of his lips, disregarding the dirt on your hands. He tries to wave them away. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you are an eunuch you would make a damn good husband.”

“That’s… highly inappropriate for you to say,” a flush of pink makes its way to his face.

“Loosen up,” you shrug. “We’re not in the palace anymore.”

“There could be listening ears.”

“Here?” You scoff. “No way. They’ll never find us.”

A gust of wind passed through, rustling the trees. The scent of rain hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You followed him onto the porch, sinking down onto the wooden steps. A comfortable silence stretched between you both.

Nanami turned his head slightly. “Did you ever love him?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. But the answer…

Your hands tightened in your lap. Your chest ached.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I did.”

Nanami hummed, as if he already knew.

You bit your lip, gaze distant. “And that’s what makes it so hard.”

Nanami nodded, his usual sharp demeanor softening. “Love is never simple.”

You turned your head, looking at him with something close to curiosity. “Have you ever been in love, Nanami?”

For the first time that morning, you saw the corner of his lips twitch upward in something resembling amusement.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raised a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

Nanami exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees. “An unfortunate attachment.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. The sound was warm, familiar, a reminder of a life before everything unraveled.

The tension in your chest eased, just slightly.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant laughter of children, the sound of a woman calling her husband home, the rustling of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this could last.

That this small, quiet life could be yours.

The village was peaceful that evening.

The last remnants of sunlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet. The rice paddies stretched far into the distance, their golden stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Smoke curled from the thatched roofs of houses, the scent of simmering miso and fresh grain filling the air. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, their innocence untouched by the quiet storm that lurked on the horizon.

You stood at the entrance of your small home, eyes trained on the fading sun. A cool wind brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. Something about the stillness of the evening set you on edge, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Behind you, Nanami finished setting the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Come inside,” he called, his voice steady as ever. “It’s getting cold.”

You hesitated, something in your gut twisting.

You had felt this before. A warning. A shift.

Slowly, you stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind you. The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows against the walls. Nanami had prepared a modest meal, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, miso soup with tofu. You sat across from him, but the unease in your chest remained.

Nanami noticed. He always did.

His gaze flickered up, studying your expression. “You’re unsettled.”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the warm ceramic of your bowl, seeking comfort in its heat. “It’s… too quiet.”

“The village is always quiet at this hour,” he pointed out.

You shook your head. “Not like this.”

A pause. Then, Nanami set down his chopsticks. “You sense something.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“There have been whispers.”

Your breath hitched. “What kind of whispers?”

He looked at you then, and something in his gaze was heavier than before.

“The kind that don’t reach villages like this unless they are meant to be heard.”

The food in your mouth suddenly tasted like dust.

Nanami continued, voice even but firm. “Travelers passing through have spoken of movement in the capital. The Zenin and Gojo clans are consolidating their forces after rumors of resistance in this region.”

Your stomach twisted.

The Gojo and Zenin clans consolidating must only mean one thing. 

Your fists clenched beneath the table. “It’s him, isn’t it? He married Himiko—and now they’re coming for us, calling it treason.” No matter how powerful Suguru was, you knew his silver tongue and lofty rank could only shield you for so long.

Nanami studied you for a moment. “There’s no confirmation.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “It doesn’t need confirmation.”

Because of course it would be him.

Who else could unite the two most powerful clans in Japan? Who else had the power to move an entire army without resistance? Who else had enough obsession to still chase you after all this time?

Nanami sighed, his expression unreadable. “If it is him… then this village may not be safe much longer.”

The air around you grew suffocating.

He was coming.

The weight of that realization settled deep into your bones, into the very marrow of your being. The small, fleeting life you had begun to carve out here, the quiet mornings, the warmth of the village, the laughter of children, the routine of simple tasks. It was all temporary.

Because Gojo Satoru was coming.

And he would burn the world to the ground to take you back. Out of cruelty. 

You pushed your bowl aside, suddenly losing your appetite. “We should leave.”

Nanami’s gaze darkened. “Not yet.”

Your brows furrowed. “Nanami–”

“If we leave now, we confirm the suspicions of anyone watching,” he said, voice low, calculated. “We need to be smart. We need time.”

You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you both, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Nanami did something unexpected.

He reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

The touch was brief, steady, grounding. “We will figure this out.”

You stared at him, at the sharp angles of his face, at the unwavering certainty in his gaze. And for the first time since the unease settled into your chest, you believed him.

But still, deep in the back of your mind, you knew this was only the calm before the storm.

The night, you dreamt of him. 

Not the kind of fleeting, disjointed dream that dissolves like mist upon waking, but the kind that wraps around your very soul, warm and golden, refusing to let go. It was the kind of dream that felt real, so heartbreakingly vivid that, for a moment, you were no longer lying in a modest village home with the scent of burning wood creeping in from the outside world, no longer burdened by the weight of the choices you had made. You were home.

Not the home you had made for yourself in exile, but the home of your past, a home gilded with silken screens and quiet whispers, with polished floors that gleamed beneath lantern light, and with delicate tapestries woven with the history of an empire you had once believed could be yours. The place where you had once walked with the quiet assurance of someone who belonged, where your voice had been heard, where your name had been spoken with reverence rather than secrecy.

It was spring. The season of renewal, of beginnings, of hope.

You found yourself beneath the vast expanse of the sky, the air thick with the heady perfume of blooming wisteria and the faint, refreshing scent of the nearby stream that wound through the imperial gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered promises, catching in your hair and dusting the ground in a carpet of soft pink. The wind carried the sound of distant laughter, the gentle rustling of leaves.

And above you–

Satoru.

His silhouette was bathed in the afternoon light, the golden hues catching in his white hair, making him look almost otherworldly. He leaned over you, one arm braced against the soft grass, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, the other resting lightly beside your shoulder. His robes, though still of the finest silk, were simple today, stripped of the heavy embroidery and rigid embellishments that marked him as the heir to the most powerful clan in the land. The imperial crest was absent from his attire, and for once, he was just Satoru.

And his eyes.

Brilliant, piercing cerulean, sharp and knowing yet warm in a way that only he could be. You had spent so much of your life searching for the ocean’s reflection in them, for the endless sky in the depths of that unrelenting blue, and now, after all this time, they looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“You’re staring,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, his amusement evident in the lazy drawl of his words.

You huffed softly, turning onto your side, the grass cool beneath your palms. “I’m admiring,” you corrected, your tone just as light.

Satoru chuckled, his laughter as rich and effortless as it had always been, a sound that made the world feel lighter, that made you feel lighter. “Is there a difference?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “One makes you sound less arrogant.”

He grinned at that, finally shifting to lie beside you, stretching out as if the entire world belonged to him. And in a way, it did.

But in this moment, he belonged to you.

“Pft,” he blows a raspberry into the air. “Let me bask in it, will you? You never give me this kind of attention.”

The wind stirred the branches above, sending another cascade of petals drifting down around you, a few landing in the silver strands of his hair. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing them away, your fingertips barely skimming the silk of his robes as you did. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that same unwavering gaze, as if he were committing you to memory, as if he were terrified you might disappear before his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he, too, did not want to shatter the fragile peace between you, “I wish we could stay like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because so did you.

More than anything, you wished for a world in which this moment, this feeling, this love could exist without consequence.

But you were not foolish. You had always known the truth.

This was never a love that could be without suffering. You were only a concubine, after all. A spoil of war. Not fit to be made an empress. 

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “We can’t,” you said, though you hated the way the words tasted on your tongue.

Satoru turned his head to face you more fully, his expression unreadable at first, before something flickered across his features, something softer, something pleading.

“Who says?” he asked, and his tone was so quiet, so unlike the brash, overconfident man you had known, that it made your heart ache. “Tell me who says we can’t, and I’ll destroy them.”

You laughed then, a small, sad sound, because you knew he meant it.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand coming to rest just beside your wrist, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that he wasn’t touching you. “What’s stopping us? The court? The elders? The weight of the empire? Let them have it all. I don’t need any of it.”

You turned to look at him fully now, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in his face, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world.

And maybe, once upon a time, you had been.

But the world did not belong to you and Satoru alone.

You reached out, letting your fingers trail lightly over his knuckles before pulling away. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, though a part of you desperately wanted to believe that he did.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your hand and never let go. “I do.”

And maybe, for that moment, he truly believed it.

But deep down, you both knew better.

The empire would never let him go.

Just as it would never let you be his.

The breeze picked up again, scattering more petals through the air, the scent of cherry blossoms thick and sweet, overwhelming. You wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. You wanted to pretend that this could last, that you could stay in his arms and never worry about what came next.

But the moment began to waver, the edges of the dream blurring, the sunlight dimming.

And then, suddenly, the gardens were gone.

The warmth, the laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms… all of it melted away into smoke.

Your dream had shifted to another scene.

It was of the familiar scene of the bustling city just outside of the Outer Palace. The capital city had always been lively, but today it seemed to hum with an extra spark. The streets bustled with merchants peddling fragrant spices and embroidered silks, laughter echoed from the open-air teahouses, and the golden rooftops of the imperial palace gleamed under the afternoon sun like something out of a story.

You had just returned from your weekly errand, fetching a fresh batch of pastries from the emperor’s favorite bakery. The baker’s son had been in high spirits as usual, teasing you for being the only person in the city who could make the imperial kitchens jealous with how often you snuck in outside food.

But it wasn’t just the pastries you carried today.

A tiny, delicate flower rested in the palm of your hand, given to you by a child, a sweet little girl who had tugged on your sleeve just as you were leaving the marketplace.

"For you, miss!" she had chirped, eyes bright with admiration.

You had accepted it with a beaming smile, ruffling her hair before she scurried back to her group of friends, giggling and chattering about how pretty the imperial concubine was.

The city loved you.

Perhaps it was because you were one of them, despite the palace silks and the golden embroidery of the Gojo clan stitched into your robes, you had never let your status turn you into something untouchable.

So there you were, practically glowing, a flower twirling between your fingers as you strolled through the palace gardens, utterly unaware that your mere existence was about to ruin the emperor’s evening.

Because at that very moment, Satoru Gojo was staring at you with the expression of a man moments away from declaring war. He had been waiting at the gates of his own palace unceremoniously, counting down the seconds until you made it back, only for his bright spirits to be crushed.

By a flower.

A single, wretched flower.

In your hand.

And you were smiling.

Satoru didn’t even realize he had stopped in his tracks. His mind, sharp and dangerously quick, was already cycling through the list of punishments he could bestow upon the unfortunate soul who had given it to you.

Banishment? Too lenient. Public humiliation? Getting warmer. Immediate execution? …No, too messy. Forced labor in the outer provinces? Perfect.

His hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. His vision tunneled.

He was going to make an example out of whoever had dared…

And then, you turned, your eyes meeting his.

And you smiled even brighter.

"Your Majesty!" you called, voice light with amusement, as if he weren’t currently five seconds away from storming the dungeons and demanding names.

You all but skipped toward him, the flower still twirling between your fingers, completely unaware of the absolute existential crisis you had just caused.

Gojo’s icy blue gaze flickered between your face and the flower, as if trying to determine which offended him more.

"What," he began, his tone deceptively casual, "is that?"

You blinked. "A flower?"

His eye twitched.

"I can see that," he muttered, before stepping closer—close enough that the sheer heat of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. "I meant, who gave it to you?"

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Why do you assume someone gave it to me? Maybe I plucked it from the fields myself."

Satoru let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Try again, sweetheart."

Your lips twitched, but before you could answer, a voice piped up–

"It was me!"

Both of you turned to find a child, the same little girl from earlier, standing at the edge of the gates of the Outer Palace, her face alight with pride.

"I gave her the flower!" she repeated, puffing out her chest. "Because she’s the prettiest lady in the whole city!"

Silence. A long, long silence.

Gojo stared. You suppressed laughter.

His entire body visibly relaxed.

The tension in his jaw disappeared, the storm in his eyes cleared, and for a single, fleeting moment, the Emperor of Japan looked genuinely speechless.

And then, he scoffed.

"Well, I suppose I can’t punish a child," he muttered, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "What a shame."

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you knelt beside the girl. "Thank you, little one," you whispered, tucking the flower into your sleeve.

The girl giggled before scurrying away, leaving just the two of you standing in the palace once more.

Satoru watched you carefully, his arms still crossed, his signature smirk just barely returning to his lips.

"You looked like you were five seconds away from passing a death sentence," you teased, eyeing him with amusement.

His expression didn’t waver.

"Oh, I was."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you have done if it wasn’t a child?"

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "Well…" His smirk sharpened. "Let’s just say the baker’s son would have found himself mysteriously exiled to the coldest province in the empire."

You froze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because oh– oh no.

He knew.

Satoru watched, relishing in the way your posture stiffened, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, as if calculating whether it was worth denying it.

"Your Majesty, I–"

"You what?" He raised a brow, leaning in once more, his voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

"You think I wouldn’t hear about the little romance rumors floating around the palace?" He chuckled, voice laced with something possessive, something undeniably jealous. "You think I wouldn’t know about the way the baker’s son looks at you?"

You swallowed. "It’s just gossip."

"Is it?"

Gojo’s voice was far too amused, far too smug, because he already knew the answer.

And then, just because he could, he lowered his voice even further, leaning in until his lips were barely a breath away from your ear.

"Promise me you won’t leave me."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, but the moment you did, he pulled back, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

"Don’t look so surprised," he mused, turning on his heel and walking away, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Then, over his shoulder.

"After all, I won’t let anyone take you away."

And then you’re awaken.

Your chest heaved, your skin damp with sweat, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

The room was dark. Cold.

How cruel your mind was to remind you of such warm times.

The early morning light filtered through the wooden shutters, casting long golden streaks across the small room. Outside, the village was already stirring with women gathering water from the well, the rhythmic pounding of rice in wooden mortars, the occasional laugh of a child running past. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

Inside, you sat on the floor, weaving together dried reeds into a basket, fingers moving deftly despite the lingering morning chill. Across from you, Nanami was sharpening a knife, the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone filling the quiet space between you.

It was a comfortable silence, one that had settled between you both over the past two weeks, a rhythm that neither of you spoke of, yet understood nonetheless.

“You’re getting better at that,” Nanami remarked, not looking up from his work.

You snorted softly, twisting another reed into place. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You tossed a loose strand of reed at him. He caught it midair without even glancing, setting it aside with a faint huff of amusement.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, observing you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring. “Nothing.”

His brow arched slightly, but he let it go, returning to his blade. The light glinted off the edge, sharp and lethal. You watched the way his hands moved steady.

Something in your chest tightened.

“You don’t think this is going to last, do you?” you asked suddenly.

Nanami paused.

The scrape of the whetstone against steel stopped, leaving only the distant sounds of the village outside. Slowly, he set the blade down, his gaze meeting yours, level and unreadable.

“…No.”

A lump formed in your throat. You nodded, looking away. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, a sound.

Distant, almost imperceptible. A strange sort of rumbling.

Your fingers stopped weaving.

Nanami was already rising to his feet, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to the knife on the table. His sharp gaze flickered toward the window, toward the thin slit between the shutters. His breath was slow, measured, but you could feel the shift in his presence, the quiet kind of alertness that came before a storm.

And then a scream erupted.

Distant. But close enough.

Your blood ran cold.

Nanami moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, yanking the shutters open. And what you saw fire.

Distant but spreading.

Smoke rising in thick columns from the edge of the village, black against the early morning sky. The distinct sound of hooves against dirt, of metal clashing, of doors being kicked in. Then, through the haze of rising flames, you saw banners. Not just any banners.

Gojo’s crest.

Your breath hitched.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the back entrance. “We need to move.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, feet stumbling as you let him drag you forward. This was happening.

He had found you.

Gojo had found you.

Days before the raid, the palace pulsed with restless energy. Servants flitted through the corridors, their hurried steps echoing against the lacquered floors as they fastened armor, sharpened blades, and prepared provisions. The campaign was supposed to be routine, a small raid to quell rumors of insurrection in a remote village. Yet, the Emperor himself was leading the charge.

No one questioned it aloud. But the whispers wove through the palace like smoke.

In his private chambers, Gojo stood at the window, watching the courtyard below as soldiers mounted their horses, their banners snapping in the cold wind. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His grip tightened behind his back.

"You’re awfully tense for such a minor skirmish," Himiko mused, lounging on the divan behind him. The golden silk of her robes pooled around her like a shimmering snare. She lifted a cup to her lips, watching him over the rim, her gaze sharp. "One might think there’s more at stake here than a simple village purge."

Gojo didn’t turn.

"One might."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Himiko hummed, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "You’ve always been so stubborn. So unwilling to accept the order of things." She rose, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been content. You could’ve let go."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. A touch meant to soothe. To remind.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist before she could go any further.

Himiko stilled, lips parting in the slightest gasp. Not from pain, he wasn’t squeezing hard enough for that. But his grip was firm, unyielding. The weight of it said more than any words could.

A muscle flickered in Gojo’s jaw. "Do you think this is forever?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the candlelight tremble.

Himiko’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her gaze shifted. "I think," she murmured, tilting her head, "that you’re still bound by the same chains as always. No matter how strong you are, some things can’t be undone."

Gojo released her. The moment stretched, brittle as ice. Then he turned, striding toward the door, his long robes whispering against the floor.

Outside, his men were waiting. His horse was waiting.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, the one thing he had ever truly wanted was waiting.

He had wasted enough time.

The streets were already chaos. Villagers running, shrieking, clutching their children as armed soldiers stormed through the narrow paths. Houses were being torn apart, doors broken down. Soldiers clad in imperial armor barked orders, swords flashing as they cut down those who resisted.

Your breath came short, panic clawing at your throat.

Nanami’s grip on your wrist was firm. “Stay close.”

You barely nodded, your body moving on instinct as he guided you through the chaos. You ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing yourself against the wood as two soldiers passed by. Nanami’s body shielded yours, his presence grounding you even as your hands trembled.

A sharp whistle.

Nanami cursed, shoving you aside just as an arrow embedded itself into the wood where your head had been a moment ago.

You gasped.

Another whistle.

Nanami moved. He spun, his knife flashing, a throw, a sickening thud, a body crumpling.

Blood.

It hit the dirt in a slow, steady stream.

You stared.

Nanami grabbed your face, forcing your gaze back to him. “Focus.”

Your lips parted, breath shuddering. But you nodded.

He pulled you forward, weaving through the panicked masses. The exit. You needed to get to the forest to escape before it was too late.

A tall figure clad in white and blue, standing at the center of the destruction, untouched by the chaos.

Gojo Satoru.

Your feet froze.

His eyes locked onto yours instantly. Even from across the village square, even through the haze of smoke and bodies, you could feel the weight of his gaze. The way his body shifted the moment he saw you.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Nanami saw him at the same time. His entire body went rigid.

Gojo took a slow step forward. His imperial robes billowed slightly with the movement, the embroidery glinting under the firelight, his armor forged from precious metals glistened in the sunlight. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, as if he hadn’t even needed to lift it.

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened.

Gojo’s expression darkened. His gaze flickered between the two of you visibly irked by the domestic dynamic that had recently developed.

His lips parted, his voice cutting through the carnage like a blade. “Found you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Nanami moved.

But Gojo was faster.

Before either of you could react, a blur of motion, a gust of force, unstoppable. Nanami was on the ground. The blond man coughed out blood.

Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before Gojo was in front of you, too close, too fast. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. Unyielding.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant wails of the ravaged village melding into the wind. Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, willing yourself to remain still. The weight of the past, of every wound he had inflicted upon you, settled deep in your bones.

“Running from me again?” His voice was a whisper of thunder, low and dangerous. “I thought we were past that.”

You had been running for so long, but had you ever truly escaped him? Every step you took away from him, every sleepless night, every whispered prayer for his absence, and yet here he was, a specter that refused to fade.

Your heart leapt to your throat as his fingers clamped around your wrist, tightening as you attempted to yank yourself free. His other hand rose, tracing the curve of your cheek with deceptive gentleness, the callouses rough against your skin.

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Gojo–”

His fingers curled against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his unrelenting grip told a different story. He had always been relentless, hadn’t he? No matter how much you tried to pull away, he found his way back, like a tide that refused to recede.

“Nanami,” he said coldly. “Do your job. Lead the men back.”

A moment of hesitation, a flicker of something like pity in Nanami’s eyes before he turned away. You were glad he did. Gojo had spared him enough not to strike him down on the spot. 

Soon, only the two of you remained, locked in a battle more ferocious than the ones fought with swords.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. Your attempts to struggle were fruitless; his body caged you, muscles honed by years of war making it impossible to flee. The warmth of him, the sheer familiarity of his presence, made something inside you ache against your will.

“Why do you run?” His voice was softer now, coaxing.

Your lips curled in a bitter smile. “Are you nothing more than a brute?”

His grip faltered, a shadow of hurt flashing in his eyes. But you didn’t care. His pain was nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted upon you.

“You claim to care for me,” you spat, voice shaking with fury, “yet you cast me aside like a discarded pawn. You chose another, again and again, and then have the audacity to crawl back to me.”

Your voice cracked, but your anger did not waver.

“You humiliated me. You shattered my world and toyed with my heart like it was nothing more than a trinket. I hate you, Gojo Satoru. I hate you so much it consumes me.”

The tears spilled unchecked, your body trembling as the dam within you finally broke. You were certain you looked wretched, but dignity was a luxury you had long since abandoned.

His silence was unbearable. The weight of his guilt pressed between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it soften you.

“You have hurt me beyond repair,” you whispered. “I always knew our love would bring pain, but I never thought it would be at your hands.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his large hands wiping away each tear as they fell.

“You lied to me,” you murmured, fists weakly beating against his chest. He lets you.

“I did.”

“You banished me.”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me.”

His grip tightened. “I do.”

Your breath hitched. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, though the conviction was waning. Did you? Did you truly?

His lips brushed against your temple, his hands cradling your face with unbearable tenderness, “Don’t you know that you’re killing me? That your words pierce me like no other blade?”

You exhaled shakily. “Then why aren’t you dead yet?”

A broken sound left his throat as he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were melded together, until his warmth became a prison of its own.

“Take it back,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But you said nothing, staring past him to the charred ruins beyond. Nanami had rallied the men, but the damage had already been done. And so had the damage to your heart. 

“Your army is leaving,” you said numbly. “Why don’t you go join them, General?”

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. And yet, as much as you wanted it to, the sight did not disgust you. Instead, a sick sense of satisfaction curled within you at his suffering.

“Not until you come back,” he declared. "Until you let me explain myself."

You laughed, sharp and humorless. It did not deter him.

He continues his plea, “You can humiliate me in the palace. You can strip me of every last shred of dignity. Do whatever you wish."

He pauses.

"Just come back.”

You tried to put distance between you, but his hold remained firm.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Your voice wavered. “I am not yours anymore. I haven’t been yours since you chose her. Since you cast me aside for the sake of your kingdom.”

By now, Satoru’s trembling lips had given way to the relentless shaking of his entire body, “I never touched her. My hand was forced. Nothing happened.” Somewhere amid your onslaught, Satoru had forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of words he couldn’t take back. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled, knuckles drained of color. He was unraveling right in front of you.

“Everyone around me speaks of my destiny, as if it were carved into the heavens themselves. They whisper that I was born to rule Japan, to claim a throne, to take a noble wife like Himiko and secure a legacy of power.” Satoru’s voice trembles, raw and desperate, as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His hands clutch you tighter, as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

“But none of that means a damn thing to me. My destiny isn’t a kingdom—it’s you. It always has been. My place is by your side, not on a throne. I would spend a thousand lifetimes serving you, worshiping you, loving you. We were made for each other, meant to grow old together, to laugh and fight and dream until the very end. To pass down our love, our story—not to this damn empire, but to our grandchildren.”

His breath is shaky against your skin, his grip unrelenting. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, “don’t take that from me.”

You wanted to. Wanted to reach for him, to piece him back together, but the raw ache in your chest held you still.

How many times have you stood here, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make the hurt go away? How many times have you let yourself believe that his silence wasn’t a choice?

You swallowed hard, throat burning. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, pleading.

“You don’t get to shake and break down and expect me to forget everything,” you continued, voice cracking. “You left me. You let me believe I didn’t matter.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck him. “I never–”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, stepping back when he tried to move closer. “Just don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Satoru’s breaths came fast and shallow, his entire body vibrating with something between anguish and regret.

Still, you held on to the hurt. Let it press against your ribs, let it remind you that you weren’t just here to be broken all over again. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But damn it, you wanted to.

“If it will ease your doubts, I’ll have her head in glass by morning.”

You shuddered. “I don’t want her dead.”

“Then she lives to see another day.”

“And the Zenins?” Your teeth clenched, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I tried to warn you about them, tried to protect you, but you chose to humiliate me instead.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, deliberate and lingering, as if etching you into his memory. “I am truly sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “It was a foolish attempt to keep you safe from those damn elders. I may be the ceremonial head of this country, but their power is undeniable. Your banishment was my own foolish doing to protect you after my mistress was forced upon me. I knew I was lost when I couldn’t breathe without your presence in the palace. The days blurred together, and my duties felt like nothing but a slow death. So, I tried to bring you back as my servant. It was safer that way. You were close, within reach, but still out of grasp. At least you were there. But then... I ruined it all. ”

You hadn’t tried to bite his finger off yet. He took it as an unspoken truce, leaning in, his presence overwhelming, his warmth sinking into your skin. “Not that it matters though. I'm going to kill those geezers and have their heads strung in front of the palace.” A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but his eyes held something far more dangerous.

“I may be a fool,” he admitted, his breath brushing against you, “but I am not weak. So don’t waste a single thought on them.” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “No one, not them, not fate itself, will take you from me.”

A cruel part of you savored the power you held over him. But you wanted him to suffer longer before you gave the satisfaction of knowing that your heart had softened. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

His hands trembled. “We have a lifetime for that.”

"How arrogant of you to assume I’d ever choose to spend a lifetime with you." Your voice was quiet, but the weight of your words struck like a blade.

You shouldn't feel as satisfied as you did when you watched Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive crumpled. His breath hitched, his knees buckling beneath him as if the sheer force of your rejection had stolen the ground from under him.

Still, he reached for you. Desperation bled into his touch, fingers digging into your sleeves as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped raw.

“Then I don’t see a point in living.”

The weight of his confession clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and yet he only looked at you, as if the universe itself had been reduced to the space between his hands and your skin.

“And what of your crown?” you finally whispered.

His laugh was hollow, almost broken. “I’d throw it away if it meant keeping you. If it meant you will let me be yours.”

Then, as if surrendering himself entirely, both knees met the dirt. His hands, once accustomed to wielding absolute power, clung to your waist, not as an emperor, not as the strongest, but as a man begging to be allowed to stay.

His eyes burned into yours, pleading, unraveling.

And for the first time, you let him hold you. This time, you didn’t pull away.

A shuddering breath left his lips against your skin, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he feared you might slip away the moment he let go. His grip tightened, not in possession, but in reverence.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of something on the verge of breaking.

"I expect you to kneel at my feet and beg for years to come." You murmured, fingers brushing against the strands of his silver hair. A handful of hair is gripped tightly, fingers digging in with purpose. "Perhaps then, I might even consider you once more."

His throat bobbed. "If that is what it takes."

This was not just an apology, nor was it a confession. It was surrender in the purest sense. The weight of his kingdom, his sins, his power. All of it, cast aside for you. It was the justice you deserved after all the pain you endured.

reblogs and comments are appreciated mwah!

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[hoshigray]

Hellooo, I have a requesttt. Bully!Geto & bully!gojo x reader please!!

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: didn't know how to tackle this, but I think I got it >:3

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting; satosugu + you are juniors - sex in shared space; college dorm - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play - oral (m! receiving) - facials - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - Eiffel Tower/spit-roasting position - slight degradation - pet names (baby, crybaby, cutie, good girl, plaything, pretty girl, sweetheart) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside, tho) - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

“—Gaaahh!! N-Noo, shtop! No more, no mo—Oooh!”

“Aww, don’t go cryin’ on us yet; let’s see how much this pussy can cum!”

“Satoru, keep playing with their nipples; they keep gripping my fingers like crazy…”

Being bullied seems to be an everyday thing for a wimp like you—especially in the hands of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.

What kind of person lets two of the hottest guys in the school bully them? You’re practically nearly a full-ass grown adult; you shouldn’t be letting people push you around like it’s middle school! And yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to stand for yourself, too meek and reserved to step up the ladder of confrontation, even if it’s from people who’ve tormented you most of your life.

Gojo and Geto have been your bullies for nearly your entire academic life, starting from first grade. To say that your life was hell on Earth was just the surface, coming home in tears and wishing to disappear every single day. The emotional toil was too much to bear, so much so that you did everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up in the same high school as the two, a task that you’re proud to act on as making friends and getting through the final four years of your primary education became easier to accomplish. 

However, this fulfillment was thrown out the window when you walked on campus grounds and discovered that after two years, your bullies had transferred to the same college as you! Not only in the same place but in the same dorm section and sharing the same class—had the world gone mad?! Just when you have accepted this new chapter in your life to start anew and fresh, these two spin back and the pool of anxiety swallows you back up and pulverizes your heart. There was no way for this situation to be envisaged.

“Ohaaa!! Shtooop, t’ooo fasst!!”  

And now, they have new methods to diminish your dignity.

Against your comfort, you and the two were assigned a spreadsheet to work on and have it done by Thursday, so you three were supposed to be working in the living room of their dorm apartment. Nevertheless, you don’t think lying on the couch with your back to Gojo and Geto between your legs has anything to do with the assignment…

You were squirming, Gojo’s slender hands cupping and fondling your chest, tips of his fingers tweaking your nipples roughly so that you whine helplessly. Legs spread open for your panties and bare cunt to be exposed when you were stripped from your leggings, and Geto toys your private part with his fingers. The sensation of his middle digit inside you was hard to believe, like the howl from curling onto the upper wall of your vagina.

“Uuuwww, ohmyGoooood…!” You throw your head back to the shoulder of the white-haired one whose forefingers circle the buds of your mounds. “W-We can’t be—hic—doing this…”

“Ehhh, c’mon, baby,” hearing Gojo talk to your ear so close has to be something out of a dream or nightmare. “Who says we can’t play with our favorite person, huh?”

You gulp at the lick of your earlobe. “Because…we have work to d—Aaahh!”

“Don’t think about that assignment when I’m busy shoving my fingers in you,” Geto reminds you, the pace of his digit increasing and the scrape of his fingertip having your toes curl. “Doesn’t the pretty girl wanna play us like old times?”

A hand grabs his wrist, yet that does little to hinder the raven-haired one’s diligence within your leaking chasm. “B-But…We can’t!” Jesus, it’s tough to think adequately the more Geto pushes and pulls his finger, brushing it up against your texture. Tears welled up in your eyes, your body sore from their constant touches.

“God, still cryin’ from being teased, huh, crybaby?” Gojo chuckles while cupping your cheeks. “Still a cutie, though…”

No way, there’s absolutely no way! You had to be dreaming because there is no way you’re awake to see the day Gojo is kissing you! Biting your bottom lip and shoving his tongue inside, your brain practically explodes as you moan in his mouth, and your slit contracts the rub of Geto’s finger. Did you just cum from a kiss?!

“Oh wow, they’re spasming like crazy,” Geto chortles at the sight of your legs trembling and your genitalia fluttering around the digit. “Cumming from a kiss, huh? Heh, so easy to mess with.”

Your response was deterred to that of imperceptible wails, crying into Gojo’s pillowy lips as he sucked on your tongues to hear you sob more. This was so unfair; this situation was not in your favor once you were dragged into their apartment.

Not even in the next phase of this meet-up.

Your clothes are discarded from your body to the living room floor, mounting on the couch on all fours, Geto to your front and Gojo to your back. The three of you are too far gone to think about the damn assignment—your frame too occupied by their cocks to evade them so.

Soapy lips suck on the dick of the dark-haired other, puffy cheeks making room for the limb burrowing inside your mouth. He fucks you orally with vigor, snapping his hips to your lips as your head pounds with every jab to the back of your throat. You’re not left with a second to breathe calmly, his girth overwhelming.

“Fuuuhhck, Jesus Christ,” he curses, grinding his pelvis and moaning at the feel of your tight throat. “Such a good girl, sucking me so well; got the mouth of a great cumslut.”

“Has the pussy of one, too!”

The words burn your ears, coming from behind as the guy with snowy hair plunges his length into your vagina. His hands are situated on your waist to keep you on him, the curve of his cock scratching your sweet spots too accurately that you’re forced to scream on the other’s shaft.

Gojo throws his head back with a sigh, “Fuckin’ shiiiit, this pussy…clamping on me so hard, you wanna milk me dry?” He bends down to your ear, “Want my load so bad like a little whore?” Squeezing on him was inevitable, making him hiss. “Fuck! Don’t do that…”

“Damn this throat, man,” you peer up to Geto. Your eyes have already released the tears stricken down your face, the lower part of your face all hot from the frequent hits. He chortles, “You look so good all messy like that, sweetheart…Holy shit, you looked so fucked out.” 

Of course you were; they’ve been toying with your body for ten minutes with no rest! Your frame was aching so bad, sobbing because of the cock busying your throat and the dick grazing your G-spot. It was too much to catch up with, especially when Gojo sneaks a hand to your clit to rub and swipe. Your eyes roll to the ceiling, and a scream is muffled, your figure submitting to the pinches on your sensitive pearl.

“Wanna cum?” Silver brows trench together at the clamp of your walls. “Do it, cum on my dick, you nasty crybaby.” 

More tweaks to your clitoris coincide with the erratic pistons of Gojo’s thighs, and you have no choice but to climax once more. Your cunt tightens around his cock with every hit of your orgasm, and he makes sure to get his raw cock out of you to ejaculate his milky fluid onto your back, painting your skin with his load.

The same goes for Geto as well, who grabs your head and roughly pulls himself off to paint your face with his essence. You whimper with every quiver and addition of his sperm, spurting to your forehead and decorating your cheeks to slide down your chin. You never felt so dirty in your life, your tongue accidentally tasting it from licking your lips. “Good girl,” he compliments with a teasing pinch to your cheek.

Gojo rubs his length on the cusp of your butt. “Man, cutie, you keep driving me crazy.” His fingers aimlessly play with your clit. “Now I really can’t leave you alone…”

Dread weighs your bones at his words, and you can only question how you can survive these upcoming semesters with these harassers. And now that they’re hooked on you, this fresh new start has become much more suffocating…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[stargirlygirl]

your first time with caleb (he's a sex worker)

sex worker/of model!caleb x (not so)virgin!fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part two ⟶ part one

summary: the morning after your night together and until the end of his stay in your hometown

contains: nsfw, smut, angst, hurt comfort, unprotected sex (he's had a vasectomy, but it's not 100% as a contraceptive method fyi), m!masturbation (live streamed), caleb begs at your feet, implied size difference, 6.7k words

heavily inspired by @heartyluv's camboy!caleb series + inspiration also taken from @madamechrissy's baby, you're a star series

Sunlight streams into your bedroom, illuminating the sleeping figures curled up on your bed. Your face is smushed into your pillow; you can feel it as your eyes scrunch before fluttering open. You swear there’s a heater strapped to your back.

But wait!

Turning your head, memories of last night come rushing forward. They flood your mind and threaten to drown you as you take a shaky breath in.

Caleb Xia. OF model and sex worker. The man you’ve had a parasocial crush on for years. Y’all did the dirty n squirty… Y’all did the dirty n squirty! Somebody get you a cake because it’s time to celebrate!

You could scream with how ecstatic you are right now. But you opt to remain quiet and pretend that you’re sleeping, anything to make this moment last a while longer. However, it’s like Caleb’s sleep routine is tied to yours, because as soon as you shift in his firm hold, he’s groaning and nuzzling his fuckable nose into your shoulder. Either that, or he’s a light sleeper. Likely the latter, you suppose.

You don’t mean to wriggle, but he’s grasping you so damn tight. In doing so, you press your ass back into his hips—unintentionally, of course—and feel his… morning wood.

“Keep doing that, pipsqueak. I dare you.” Pipsqueak, what a fitting pet name, because you quite literally squeak at hearing his husky voice utter such words into your skin. He chuckles warmly, the sound deep in his belly as he tightens his hold on you.

“Caleeeeeb,” you whine, rocking and bumping into his erection again.

His sigh gets caught in his throat, somewhere between a huff and a moan as he says, “You’re just tryin’ to rile me up, aren’t you?” You shake your head slightly, denying his claim, but in reality, you have no idea what you’re doing. What does one do with another after sharing such a passionate night? You grow quiet as you think it over.

Like Caleb can sense your overthinking, he mumbles, “All quiet now, hmm? Wanna share?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, considering his offer. Heat rises to your cheeks as you entertain your next course of action. Maybe it’s embarrassing asking your… partner? Paid lover? Provider of the best sex you’ve only ever had? What to do in this situation, but he must have done this dozens of times before.

You convince yourself to remember that as you ask nervously, “What happens now? Like, is there a certain routine or?” Caleb’s large hand presses against your side, pushing your back flat against the mattress so he can get a glimpse of his precious girl client. Those violets are soft as they gaze at you, roaming over the dark love bites trailing up your neck before settling on your eyes. Your chest rises steadily, but your heart thumps quickly.

He slowly grins, “We can do whatever you like, honey. Usually, we’ll have breakfast and chat about last night before splitting up. How does that sound?” You nod while reaching up and cupping his freckled cheeks. He sighs into your touch and places his hand next to your head.

Leaning down, Caleb captures your lips in a sweet kiss. It’s leisurely and almost loving, both of you orienting yourselves in this new space. You can taste his morning breath, and you’re positive he can taste yours. But neither of you cares as he hovers over you. Your hands thread in his hair, silky locks between your fingers as his tongue slips against yours.

Now you care.

Pulling back, you cringe, “Caleb, ew! Go brush your teeth or something!”

“Puh-lease, your breath is waaaaaayyy worse than mine,” he teases while rolling his eyes playfully.

“Ugh! Just don’t kiss me until you’ve brushed, okay?” You grumble.

Caleb smirks, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, pips.” Closing the gap between you again, he kisses your forehead tenderly. You hum softly as he maneuvers you back onto your side with his arms slung around your waist.

“So, are we gonna get up now?” You ask curiously. He laughs all breathily in your ear while those meaty arms squeeze you firmly.

Kissing your earlobe, you can hear his smile as he says, “Don’t you wanna stay in bed for a little longer?” Those plump lips leave searing kisses across your jaw and on the side of your neck.

He murmurs into your purple flesh, “We could even fool around if you want. Do you want to, pretty girl?” Your breath hitches momentarily. An encore?! How can you refuse?

“Just for a bit,” you answer, shuffling your hips back until they’re flush against Caleb’s. Sleep lingers in your limbs, making you sigh as he paws at your tummy before sliding his hands up. His palms cover your nipples, and he squishes your breasts. Yanking at the lacy bralette you’ve got on, your tits spill out (a miracle given they didn’t do so in the middle of the night), and his fingers latch onto your sensitive nipples.

He rolls them between his fingertips, sending jolts of pleasure down to your panty-clad cunt. Moaning quietly, you nudge your hips into Caleb’s hard length. It twitches in his boxers, pre-cum leaking out and creating a wet patch on the fabric. His mouth traces your upper arms and bites at the fat gently. Meanwhile, you’ve got one hand beneath your pillow and the other is clutching his forearm as he plays with your breasts.

“Do you wanna keep it here, honey? Or go further?” He moans in your ear as his hips buck against your ass.

“Further,” you breathe out. Your thighs clench, slick pooling in your lace panties and making a mess of them.

He instructs, “Can you pass me an extra pillow, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hum while leaning over and grabbing another pillow. Handing it to Caleb, he props your top knee on it. With that added accessibility, his hand slips down to your soaking panties. He palms you through them, groaning at how wet you’ve gotten (like he’s any better).

“F-fuck,” you moan, your head tipping back as his fingertips dance over your clit. Caleb smooches your forehead while dragging his fingers up your clothed slit. It’s cruel how he permits this barrier to stay between you. Almost like he’s trying to make you beg for it. Shame has left your conscience since you two met, and you’re not going to let it return and ruin this moment.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please touch me, Caleb.”

He chuckles, but it’s strained, “I am touching you, pips—”

“Please! You know what I mean, babe,” you whine.

“Alright, alright, honey,” he grins cockily. Caleb’s finger hooks around your panties, right where you’re drooling for him. He groans upon feeling your slick. Keeping you stable with his other arm, he pulls your underwear down just enough. His fingertips flit up to your drenched pussy, and dip between your folds. You both moan as your wetness fully soaks his fingers like torrential rain.

He rasps in your ear, “Eager, huh?”

“Mhmm—Shut up, Caleb,” you moan. He kisses the tip of your shoulder as his fingers swipe through your slit and start circling your clit. Pleasure sparks in your body, and your toes curl as he rubs your bud faster. Unable to bear the lack of friction for any longer, Caleb pushes his clothed, stiff cock into your behind and ruts his hips into you rhythmically.

Your combined moans fill the sunlit bedroom, your neighbours likely groaning as they hear you two at it again. Birds chirping from outside fall on deaf ears, and the lewd squelching of your cunt pours forth.

He whimpers, “Can I finger you?”

“Hah—Yes!” You respond breathily while squeezing your eyes shut. The ecstasy wracks through your body, scorching hot as a long finger slowly sinks into your pussy.

“Oh, fuck! Yeah, baby,” you moan as the pad of his finger presses into your gummy walls. He slides it down and repeats the motion as his other hand shifts up to your mouth.

He exhales, “Open up f’me, honey.” Parting your lips, his other fingers slip in.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos. Your tongue circles them readily, your moans muffled around his digits before he takes them out. Then, Caleb starts rubbing your clit with his newly soaked fingers. He’s still pumping in and out of your cunt, intensifying the pleasure shooting throughout your body.

Your moans sound like they came straight out of one of his collabs. They’re unrestrained and loud; pornographic.

Pressure builds in your tummy, far too fast, in your opinion. Caleb can feel it in how your thighs threaten to clamp around his hands.

“You gonna cum, pips?” He moans in your ear while his hips buck into you.

A guttural moan tears through you, lost in the haze as you mewl, “Please, Caleb! I—Ah!—want you to fuck me—Mhmm!” He slows his ministrations to a stop and pulls his drenched finger out of your cunt. His boxers make that familiar sound as they’re pulled down his toned thighs. Your back arches as the head of his fat cock pushes through your folds, moans tumbling from your mouth. But then he stops.

“Fuck, pips!—”

“Caleb!” You whine.

“I know, I know, ‘m sorry, baby. Fuck, do we have any condoms left?” He asks frantically. His tip falls from your drooling cunt as he scours the bed and side table for the box of condoms you two were using last night.

You mumble, “’Course we don’t. What loser only brings a 20-pack to a pre-planned fuckfest?” The rustling stops.

Caleb groans, “Fuuuuuck.” He’s almost tearing up as his eyes rove over you, your ass all plush and pushed up, and your pussy glistening in the morning light. You’re getting bolder, too. It makes his throat tighten at the harsh reality that he won’t be able to bury himself in your snug walls one last time.

“Can’t you just fuck me anyway?” You ask with your cheek squashed into your pillow, condensing the suggestion. But Caleb heard you clear as day. He hisses as more pre seeps out of his tip, images running through his mind of sliding inside and fucking you till you’re breathless and begging for more.

But he needs to be responsible. Caleb mustn’t take advantage of you in your lustful daze.

“Please. It’s not like I’ll get pregnant. Please, Caleb?” You whine, wiggling your hips as your arousal drips down your inner thighs. His resolve? Shattered as he comes scampering back to you. Enveloping you in his warmth, he returns to rubbing your wet folds with his hard cock.

Caleb reassures himself you, “I’ll just pull out, okay?”

You murmur, “Why bother? Not like it’s an effective method of contraception. Thought you’d know that.” The head of his cock pushes inside, ripping another sensual moan from you.

“You always this sassy in the morning?” He groans against your ear.

“Always,” you breathe out. You shift your hips back, sucking in his fat cock with a broken whimper.

“Fuck, Caleb. S’big,” you whine while rocking forward so he’s not so far in. Regardless, you swear you can feel him in your throat with how he fills you up.

Grabbing your hips, Caleb slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, promising, “I’ll go slow, ‘kay, baby? We’ll go nice n slow, n when you’re ready, we can speed things up, okay? Is that okay?”

“Mhmm!” You moan, nodding lightly before your head falls back as his hips brush your ass. True to his word, Caleb ruts into you lazily, both of your bodies still harbouring that morning stiffness.

For him, it’s never been so difficult not to cum before. He hasn’t raw-dogged it in ages, and the last time he did, it was before he got the snip. Your pussy feels so fucking snug and warm around him.

Behind his eyelids, Caleb swears he’s standing outside of those pearly gates, steps away from entering an everlasting paradise. And when he opens his eyes, he reasons that perhaps he’s already ascended. An angel is moaning beneath him and clenching around his cock so good.

He runs his fingers through your hair and pushes it back before shifting closer and chastely kissing your sweaty temple.

Against it, he moans, “Feel perfect, honey.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, but midway, it transforms into a whimper.

Kissing your cheekbone, he confirms, “Yeah.” Subconsciously, he starts thrusting into you faster and harder, his movements spurred on by his desperation. You cry out as his tip hits that pleasurable spot nestled deep inside of you.

Caleb’s hips stutter as he readjusts, his body now pressing down on yours, one arm by your head while the other is folded so he’s propped up on his elbow. His knee now rests on the pillow just below yours, his cock plunging deeper into your cunt now.

“Caleb!” You call out. Your hands clutch the not-so-fresh bedsheets anymore as he pounds into you sloppily.

The model asks panically, “You okay? You alright, pips? D’you want me to slow down?”

“No! Fuck! Just—Ah!—keep it there.” One of your hands snakes behind your back and latches onto his hips, angling him just right as he ruts into you.

“Yeah, right there, baby! Please—Fuck!” You moan. Your mind turns to mush, all coherent thoughts dissolving as your bodies mould to one another. Caleb carves out his cock in your cunt, and you etch your fingernails into his hip bone. Turning your head to the side, Caleb swallows you up in a heady kiss. Morning breath and all, you two taste one another as his pre-cum (feeling less like pre and more like cum by the minute) spills into your pussy.

This moment feels too tender to just be fucking, but too new to be making love. How would one even go about ‘making love’ with someone they just met? Someone who solely fucks for a living?

Such questions go unanswered as Caleb rasps against your spit-soaked lips, “God, pips. I—Hah—’m not gonna last much longer. Can feel how close you are. Please give it to me, pretty.”

Your back arches, the knot in your tummy tightening as you moan, “Caleb! Fuck, Caleb!” The sound of skin slapping reverberates while your combined whimpers echo off the bedroom walls. The head of his cock slams into your g-spot, making you tighten up around him as both of your highs draw nearer.

“Please! Please cum in me,” you cry out, and Caleb has no choice but to obey. His cum spews into you, foreign and scolding hot—crikey. But it’s enough to send you over the edge. You spasm around him, unable to control it like you’re unable to stuff the high-pitched moans that fall from your lips back down your throat.

Not that it matters. Caleb’s even louder than you are, his pathetic whimpers sending your thighs seizing up around the poor pillow you were using for support. His thrusts become sloppier until his hips push against the fat of your ass and stay there.

The model doesn’t know why, but it just feels natural. To push in as deeply as he can and leak every last drop of his cum into your pussy—that is. He collapses on top of you, heaving in your ear with little regard for how hot his breath is.

“Caleb,” you whine while trying to push yourself up. But you’re stopped in your tracks by the sensitivity between your thighs.

After a minute or so, Caleb sits back and pulls his cock out of you. Sticky white rushes out and trickles down your thighs. Something primal comes over him, long fingers already burying themselves back into your dripping hole and pushing his cum back in. Then he stops himself and draws his fingers out. His rosy cheeks deepen a shade. What the fuck was he just doing?!

“I’ll get you a towel. Hold on, baby,” he pants. You can only hum in acknowledgement, already grabbing another strewn-about pillow and bringing it to your chest.

It doesn’t take long for the bed to dip again with Caleb’s added weight. He gazes over you fondly, noting how snugly you’re cuddling that pillow and your soft whimpers as he swipes the damp towel over your thighs and fluttering cunt.

After wiping himself up, Caleb gently turns you over and replaces the pillow. He cradles you in his chest, murmuring soft ‘thank you’s while scratching at your scalp affectionately. You’re unsure of how long you two stay like that, a lethargy settling over your bodies as you bask in each other.

Eventually, Caleb suggests you both get up and have something to eat. He chuckles warmly as you groan, and he kisses your cheek tenderly before prying off your clinging hands and cleaning himself up (he used your toothbrush).

You keep your eyes closed, sighing once you hear pots and pans crashing in the kitchen. Getting up, you saunter to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Once you’ve rinsed your mouth and applied your skincare, you gaze at yourself in the mirror.

You bite your lip as your eyes trail over all the little bluish-red marks Caleb left on your skin, like he’s staked a claim to your body. Your cunt involuntarily throbs, whatever is left of his cum oozing out as you focus on the hickeys lining your hips. A smile spreads across your lips, and you tilt your head to the side, surprise and scandal turning into admiration.

After changing into a fresh pair of panties and tugging on some shorts and a tank top, you head to the kitchen. Stepping out of the hallway, you see Caleb’s bare back turned to you. He’s frying what smells like eggs.

Walking up behind him, you notice the toast lying on two plates. You place a hesitant hand on his waist, unsure if it’s okay to touch him. You might have had the most mind-blowing sex, but he’s not your boyfriend, and you’d be a fool to think you can do whatever you want to him.

And you are a fool, because Caleb peers down at you with his usual grin and pulls you into his side while chirping, “What’re you lingering over there for, pips?”

You chortle as you collide with his solid frame, a lightness to your chest.

You tease, “Just enjoying the view, duh? I didn’t know our night together would come with a Caleb-cooked breakfast.” His arms flex around you, maneuvering the pan to make the yummiest scrambled eggs you’ll ever taste (he’s sure of it).

“Anything for my special girl,” he says far too casually. Your heart misses a beat, and that familiar flush rises to your cheeks. His special girl. Dear Lord, how you hope that isn’t the cash-filled envelope in his blazer talking.

Leaning down, he kisses your hairline before telling you to go sit down. Disobedient as ever, you snake your arms around his torso and squeeze him tight, dragged along by him around the kitchen as he finishes your breakfast.

When you two finally do sit down, it's the nicest meal any partner has cooked for you. He’s not your partner! Oh, shut up! You scream at yourself internally, willing those thoughts to just fuck off so you can remain present in the dwindling moments you two have left together.

Caleb nudges your plate toward you as he says, concerned, “Everything okay? You haven’t touched your plate.” Your eyes widen, and your head snaps towards him.

You reassure him, “Yeah, everything’s all good, I swear! I was just thinking about how good this looks. I’m gonna try some now.” Grabbing your fork, you cut yourself a bite of the French toast Caleb made. Popping it into your mouth, you sigh in pleasure. It’s deliciously sweet but savoury at the same time.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you pay your compliments to the chef, “This is so yummy!” He laughs sweetly and gazes at you with those gentle eyes before stuffing his mouth full of scrambled eggs. You two eat in comfortable silence. Once you’re finished, Caleb grabs your empty plate and insists on washing all of the dishes. While he does so, you prepare some tea and carry the two mugs over to the living room.

Plopping down on the couch, you hold your mug and blow the steam away as you wait for Caleb. Your eyes stray to the digital alarm clock by the TV. 10:47 stares back at you. His footsteps draw you out of reverie. The model sits next to you and thanks you as you pass him his mug.

You smile, “Thanks for doing the dishes. I really appreciate it.” He slurps on his tea, eyes still on you.

Gulping it down, he assures you, “It’s nothing, pips.” Setting his mug down on the coffee table, he places his hand on your knee and gives it an affectionate squeeze.

“So,” he starts. “How did you find last night? Was it too fast, too slow?” You shake your head.

“Mhmm, no, it was perfect. You were perfect.”

Caleb chuckles, “Was I? Come on, honey. You must have some feedback for me besides bringing more condoms next time.” Next time. Next. Time.

You laugh awkwardly, “Uh yeah, that was, um… That was really dumb of you. Should I keep some on hand if we… keep doing this?” He rests his elbow on the sofa’s edge and leans his head against his palm.

“Weeeeelllll, that depends on you, pipsqueak. It’s up to you if you want to keep seeing each other while I’m here for the next few months.” Oh, right. Your shoulders slump reflexively, and you hope Caleb doesn’t see how pouty your lips have become. But as per usual, he’s perceptive. With the hand that was on your knee, he cups your cheek. Your half-full mug wobbles.

“Sorry,” you mumble while shaking your head and looking down.

“Mhmm,” he hums low and tips your head back so your eyes meet again. How cruel, you think. That 1) you can only see him until he returns to his freshly renovated apartment, and 2) you’re going to have to pay for each sexual encounter you two have.

Averting your eyes momentarily, you explain, “I’ve just had such a good time, I don’t wanna think about you going home.” Caleb takes your mug from your slightly trembling hands and leaves it on the table. Then, he intertwines your fingers, palms pressed together like they were last night when you two were—

“I… want to keep seeing you, Caleb. But…” You trail off.

“But?” He prompts you.

You sigh, “Do you think, since I’m your special girl, I could have a discount? Like a membership?”

“A membership?!” He bursts out laughing, earning him a scowl from you.

“What?! What’s so funny?!” You exclaim. In his joy, he leans in close to you. Intentional or not, the model wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

“Caleb!” You squeak, your cheek squished against his pecs.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he grins widely, “I’ve never had someone ask me for a membership before.”

“Oh, shut up!” You grumble while hitting his firm chest with your fist.

He’s not even phased as he continues, “I’m sure we can work something out. We can do fortnightly, how does that sound? And of course, I’ll give you a discount, honey.”

“M’kay,” you murmur. You squeeze him back just as tight as he squeezes you. On his skin, you can smell his sweat and a hint of your body wash. Something territorial sparks within, but you suppress it almost instantly.

As much as you’d love to spend the entire day curled up on the couch in Caleb’s arms, your session is up. You see him off with a tender kiss and a promise to do this again soon.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Staring at his phone, Caleb groans. Fuck. This is the third collab he’s cancelled in the past week. Why? Because of a certain pipsqueak.

He’s been pushing solo content like he was a year ago, not a single pussy or pair of tits visible in any of his recent uploads. Visiting your hometown had several advantages, one of which was that he had a free place to live while his apartment was renovated, and another was that there were some incredible models around these parts. He has been discussing these collabs for months, but as the day approaches, he finds some excuse about why he can’t make content together.

Never before has Caleb struggled to get hard. But you’ve just done something to him. In his latest videos, he’s been stroking it to a few pictures you two took together. Nothing explicit, not that the curve of your collarbone could count as explicit anyway. Is that the man Caleb has become? A desperate, whining mess for a woman’s collarbone? Not just any woman, but has he really been reduced to this?

It appears so as the model begins a livestream and angles his phone toward the growing bulge in his pants. He hasn’t seen you all week as you’ve been busy with work, and he’s been busy trying to be busy. The thought of that sweet violet dress you were wearing for him last time. The one you said reminded you of his eyes. He tugs his grey sweats down, no boxers on like he was prepared for this, and grips his veiny length.

Increasingly, these past few weeks, you two have been doing what couples do. He’s taken you out to nice restaurants, and you’ve shown him your favourite places in town. He’s crashed at your place after having one too many beers, and you’ve tucked his drunk ass into bed while equally as giddy. Caleb has come over after you’ve had a bad day at work and given you a massage, and you’ve made him dinner to show your appreciation.

Pre-cum leaks from his tip, the comment section going wild as it drips down his shaft. He’s sure that you’re on. You are a good girl after all, always on his live streams within a few minutes. Perhaps you should consider it a preview for tonight. Because tonight, Caleb was dead set on fucking you. He can’t take these cute little dates anymore. He needs to fuck you. He needs to prove to himself that he’s not feeling what he thinks he is, and that he’s just being a good escort and providing his client with what she wants.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum. His thick spend covers his fingers, and he shakes it off with a laugh before bringing his phone up high. He smiles lazily at the camera, his cock twitching against his abdomen. And then he sees your handle come up with a “🙈” as your comment.

He murmurs, “S’all for you, pretty girl.” More comments fill the chat, pushing yours up until it disappears. Caleb chuckles, knowing you must be blushing. With a quick goodbye, he ends the stream and books it to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for tonight.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Caleb can’t. He just can’t fuck you like this. All curled up on his side as you two watch a rom-com. It was going so well, he was flirting, and you were blushing. But then, out of nowhere, you suggested putting on a film, and now, you’re cuddling.

The worst part? Caleb’s enjoying this. In fact, he wouldn’t trade this for the world. And that’s when he accepts that he’s whipped. You’ve got him bound tight around your finger, and you don’t even know it.

As the actors on-screen are fighting, Caleb murmurs, “Hey, pipsqueak.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, tipping your head back (formerly lying on his chest) to gaze up at him. The model’s fingertips brush your hairline as he clears a few strands from your face.

He asks, “You comfy?”

“Mhmm,” you nod and rest your cheek over his heart.

It’s quiet for a minute or so between you two, and Caleb thinks you’ve returned to watching the movie when you pipe up, “D’you want me to transfer you like last time?” His hand on your head stills, and you hear his heartbeat accelerate momentarily.

As it slows back down, he murmurs, “Don’t worry about it.”

Glancing up at him again, you clarify, “You sure?” He shifts a little from how hot it’s suddenly getting in here.

Caleb reassures you, “Yeah, yeah, it’s aaaaalllllll good, pipsqueak. We’re pretty casual now anyway. You don’t need to keep paying me.”

“What?” You mumble while sitting up. You stare at Caleb, waiting for him to confirm that he’s saying what you think he’s saying.

Clearing his throat, your worst nightmare comes true with the words he utters, “I mean, we see each other pretty often. I’d say we’re friends now, rather than strictly model-client, yeah?”

“Friends?” You almost choke on the word. In the three months you’ve been seeing each other, you never would have thought that you and Caleb Xia would become friends. The you three months ago would have been over the moon, but the current you instead feels a pit in your stomach. Somewhere along the way, perhaps you became too selfish because you started thinking that Caleb Xia might like you. As in like like you.

“Well, yeah… Pips, you okay?” He reaches out to cup your cheek, but you grab his wrist before he can touch you.

Nodding, you say quietly, “Yeah. All good. Glad, um, that we’re friends.” Hear that? It’s the sound of your heart breaking and crashing against your ribcage.

For the rest of the movie, you sit next to Caleb, rather than go back to lying on top of him. He asks if you’re alright a few times, but instead of telling him how goddamn much he’s hurt you by categorising you as his friend, you simply nod and smile and murmur reassurances that you are 110% fine.

The cherry on top? He knows. Caleb knows how much pain he’s just caused you and inevitably himself. However, he reminds himself that this is how it has to be. Because there can’t be anything more between you. There just can’t be. He can’t ask for your love when his body is his business.

But his body is business. It’s how he got to where he is. To abandon all of his fans would be wrong, despite how eager he is to chase after a sliver of your affection. Perhaps even more if you would give it to him.

The night ends with Caleb giving you a cold hug and a quick goodbye.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

This is bad. Not only has Caleb lost his most loyal fan, but he’s lost his sweet girl.

Since that night, you haven’t texted him or answered any of his texts, nor have you joined any of his live streams or purchased his latest content. Caleb hasn’t jerked it since his last upload a few days ago, and any erection he’s had has fizzled out in minutes.

He misses you like crazy. Misses your laugh and jokes, and little rambles. He misses smushing your cheeks together and making you breakfast and kneading your back muscles to clear up any residual tension. Caleb misses how perfectly you two fit together, the weight of you against his body, and the feel of your arms holding him tight.

Renos are done, and his apartment is supposedly sparkling and awaiting his arrival. But there’s somewhere he’s gotta go first. So much time that could have been spent with you has vanished; he can’t allow any more to slip by without a fight.

Caleb’s got a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand as he futzes with his jeans outside your apartment. Deeming his appearance decent, he raps on your front door a few times. From within, he hears shuffling. When the door opens, and you stand there, all sweet and surprised, draped in one of his shirts he must have left at yours, Caleb’s knees go weak.

“Caleb. What’re you doing here?” You ask, eyeing the gorgeous flowers he’s gripping with white knuckles. He notices how your gaze lingers, and mentally yells at himself to say something.

“These are for you, pipsqueak. Had to see my favourite girl before I go,” he says, falsely cheery while handing you the bouquet. Taking it from him, you get a whiff of the flower’s scent.

You murmur, “Mhmm. They’re beautiful. Thanks.” His heart thumps in his chest as you glance back up at him. You two stare at one another for a minute; he ponders if you’ll invite him inside, and you beg yourself not to.

Finally, you nod toward the living room and offer, “You wanna come in?” He nods enthusiastically and slips past you.

“I’ll just go put these in a vase,” you mumble.

“Yeah, take your time, honey.” Caleb wanders around your living room and notices your phone lying on the coffee table. He wonders if you were just on it, what you were doing, and if you were thinking about him.

With a porcelain thud, you set the flower-filled vase on the island bench in the kitchen. Then, you flit over to where Caleb stands. He gazes at you as you draw closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow his nerves.

When he doesn’t say anything, you ask, “So, you excited to go home?” He scratches the back of his neck, blood rushing up to his cheeks and tinting them pink. There are a million ways Caleb wants to broach the subject. But he’s running out of time. So he throws caution to the wind and goes all in.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m sorry that I said we were friends. God, I feel so fucking stupid. You’re so much more than a friend to me, pipsqueak.” He grabs your hands and tugs you closer, your bodies ghosting each other.

“Caleb—” He cuts you off by doing the only thing reasonable in this situation. Which is to get down on his knees.

“Caleb, get up!” You squeal as he sits on his haunches like a sad puppy.

He shakes his head and squeezes your hands firmly, apologising, “I know I fucked up. But I need you, baby. I need you. I can’t do this anymore without you.” Caleb stares up at you, a glassiness to your eyes. You must resist, you chant to yourself. You know just how darn good he is at convincing the emotionally vulnerable to forgive him. And boy, are you emotionally vulnerable right now.

“Caleb—”

“You stopped joining my streams and watching my videos. I miss you, pips. I miss your attention. I miss—” he gazes off to the side, his chest rising heavily. “I miss taking care of you. I miss our dates. I miss you telling me whatever is on your mind. I want us back.”

“Caleb—”

“Please, pipsqueak. Please give me another chance. I’ll be good, I swear! I’ll do whatever it takes to make this up to you, so please!” He begs. You gnaw on your lip as Caleb looks at you like he’s about to burst out into tears if you don’t answer him within the next few seconds. But you can’t because he can’t shut up for that long.

“I promise, there’s been no one else but you, pips! I swear. You’re the only one I’ve been seeing since I got here. I think about you every day, multiple times a day. I can’t even get hard without you, honey. I need you,” he babbles.

You sigh, “Caleb, baby, just be quiet for a minute, okay?” He nods. In his eyes, you are the redeeming light. His saviour. The only one who can take away this heartache (and chronically soft cock). What he wouldn’t give to feel you again. To pull you into his chest. Maybe give you a sweet kiss. That’s all he needs, the model tells himself. All he needs is a moment of your embrace if you would permit it.

“Caleb,” you start. Your thumbs swipe over the backs of his hands, reminiscent of his quiet care these past few months.

“I’ve missed you, too. But…” You place extra emphasis on the ‘t’.

“But what, honey? Just tell me. I’ll do anything to make it better, I promise—”

“Caleb,” you interrupt him, an annoyed edge to your tone. He sniffles and waits for you to go on.

You murmur, “If we start seeing each other again, I don’t want to just be… an easy fuck to you.”

“An—Is that what you think you are to me, pipsqueak? Do you seriously think that I just wanna fuck around with you?” He asks in disbelief. You nod tentatively. Caleb huffs and shakes his head. Looking down, he takes note of the mismatched socks you’re wearing. His precious girl.

Caleb’s head falls back as he gazes up at you and shifts closer. His knees are starting to hurt, but he doesn’t mind. He knows he deserves it.

“Trust me when I tell you, pips, you are not and have never been an easy fuck to me. I can’t even—That doesn’t even make sense. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry that I’ve made you feel like that. Please tell me, baby, what I need to do to make this right.” You shake your head and avoid his eyes.

He suggests frantically, “I haven’t done a single collab since we first went out, pips, you know that. And-and I won’t do any for as long as you’re in my life.” Tears glint in the noon light, shimmering on your cheeks. Caleb feels helpless right now. He wants to bundle you up in his strong arms and soothe your pain, but he’s not getting up from his place on the floor until you allow him to.

Letting go of your hands, he shuffles closer and slithers his arms around your thighs. His face rests against your lower tummy, and he squeezes you reassuringly as your cries become louder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for making you cry. I’m sorry, honey. Never wanted things to end up like this,” he mumbles into his your shirt.

You sob his name, and he wills himself to be patient as you gather up your strength to choke out, “I did-didn’t m-mean to cry, just… Wan-want you all t-to myself.” Caleb sighs, relief washing over him.

“I’m all yours, pips,” he breathes out into your soft body. Leaning back, he releases your thighs and slides his hands up to your waist.

Gazing at you, he says factually—like his words are not merely an interpretation or an opinion, but have been sanctioned by the cosmos, “You own every part of me. And you can do whatever you want with me.” You laugh at that.

“Whenever I-I want?”

“Mm-hmm, whenever, wherever, whatever. I belong to you,” he coos. You grab his forearms and pull him off you so you can kneel with him. Caleb automatically protests, but you collapse in his arms, crying all ugly.

On the floor of your apartment, you pour your heart and soul out to him. Moved by your tears, Caleb cries with you. Maybe it’s the honeymoon phase, but the feeling of his arms around you, his musk curling up your nostrils, is euphoric.

Until the fading sunlight, you two whisper scared promises and sweet nothings to one another. Such is sealed with tender, light kisses and back rubs.

In your wildest dreams, you had hoped Caleb Xia would consider you as a dating option. But you never imagined that you’d be so much more to him, or that he’d be so much more to you. The eternity of such becomes a silent prayer, toppling from the tip of your tongue every night you spend together henceforth. Little do you know how non-silent a prayer your relationship is to Caleb.

masterlist

star's final words: sorry if it's lowk shit. i've been cooking on this idea for weeks and was starting to get bored so i wanted to pump it out. hope y'all still liked it.

thanks jay for listening to all of my rants about this fic! i really appreciate all of your help and loved your insights along the way<3

taglist - @calebs-apple, @mcdepressed290, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @ssushi, @asiatic-apple, @gunningformeow, @calebsbabyapple, @hilliserose, @whaleshadlegs, @cichoricum, @grlyeetswrld, @animezer0-blog, @thdcre, @sudenuryg, @radiance-astaria, @noxus123, @candied-baby-apple, @alhaithamlover, @alj6574, @dailydoseofinsomniac, @batatahahaha, @partycityyyyyyy, @mocha-the-muse, @seueuq, @horanghaeegr

[illou-sainte]

Dr. Zayne's treatment

pairings: husband!zayne x wife!reader

cw: lactation kink, based on this ask

Aren't you lucky to have a doctor as a husband? You get free 'special treatment' anytime.

As a first-time family, you're bound to face struggles. Adjusting to this new lifestyle together, now that you have a baby, hasn't been easy. One of the challenges you're currently facing is difficulty producing milk for your baby, despite trying various methods with Zayne's help.

Even using a pumping machine didn't work, which worries you and stresses you out even more since your newborn cries a lot when not fed with milk. Although you've tried baby milk formulas, there are still times when she refuses to drink them, always wanting it straight from her mommy.

Zayne is determined to find a solution for this problem.

Soft whimpers and moans could be heard coming from the shared bedroom. You hadn't expected that the "solution" Zayne was talking about would be like this. The strap of your nightgown slipped from your shoulders, revealing your plump tits.

You couldn't recall how long your husband had been latched onto your tits---his hot tongue swirling around your perked nipple as his hand massaged your other tit.

"H-honey- ngh-...I think..." You muttered, your face flushed as you tried to push him away from latching onto your breast too much, but he wouldn't budge.

"I'm...leaking- ah-!" His thumb pinched your perked nipple, then rubbed it as he felt a watery substance coming out. Milk. You were a squirming mess, even with much freedom to move around to stop him---you can't help but let him be.

Your plushed thighs were placed on the side of his waist as you sat on his lap, hands holding his shoulders for balance. You pursed your lips, trying to muffle your soft moans while he continued sucking your leaking tits like a hungry man.

Your hand ran through the back of his hair while he buried his face against your plump tits. You were finally leaking milk, but it seemed like he was enjoying the savor of the sweetness hitting his hot tongue. "T-too much--.." You could tell that Zayne was holding nothing back---he wasn't even denying it, the way you could literally feel him getting hard under you.

His bulge formed against his pajamas, hitting your clothed pussy---making you whimper and tried to move away from his budge but his strong arm was quick to wrap around your waist as he pushed you back tightly. You gulped as you noticed the lenses of his glasses got foggy and tilted down his nose as he remained eye contact with you while sucking your tits shamelessly.

You couldn't help but groan in response at the sight of your husband. The heat rose between the two of you, making you both getting sweaty.

Your body twitched---you were helpless, feeling aroused as your poor pussy started getting wet from just having your tits sucked on. You cupped his cheeks and pushed him away---he finally stopped and pulled away, a sound of 'pop' coming out as he latched off your poor tit. Saliva connected his lips to your perked nipple, which leaked milk.

You grunted as you saw his saliva mixing with your leaked milk over your plump breasts. Zayne formed a small pout as he furrowed his brows---he didn't like being interrupted. Not when he's sucking your tit like a starfish attached.

"Leave some for the baby, honey..." You scolded him, wiping the excess milk dripping from the side of his lips with your thumb. His arms wrapped around your waist as he continued to look at you with his face when he's not satisfied enough.

Strands of your hair fell down gracefully to your forehead as you prepared to scold him further but got backfired. "H-honey- ah-!" He pushed you down onto the bed, your back laid against it as your eyes widened in surprise. Zayne was quick to pin both your wrists above your head with his hand.

His head was positioned at your milk-leaking tits, you could feel his hot breath hitting your skin, making your breathing hitch. He let out a soft pant while his foggy glasses fell onto your tits, making your body twitch as it fell to the side.

His hand reached out to pull the chain of the lamp, the only source of light in your dark shared room.

"Zayne-"

"I'm not done yet, mommy."

Click.

Mommy treatment is yummy.

masterlist

[bunny-jpeg]

raw

lando norris

tags: smut/pwp, unprotected/unsafe sex, half-assed pull out method, doggy style, back shots, friends-to-lovers, best friend!lando

lando had to be dreaming. the type of dream he didn't want to wake-up from. he would much rather be here than anywhere else right now. especially as you crossed your arms, letting the mclaren logo stretch across your pretty tits.

the tits that lando had been eyeing for years now. you were his best friend since childhood and now you were in your hotel room for the evening after silverstone with a single request for the grand prix's winner.

fuck me. and fuck me raw. lando had to be dreaming.

you uncrossed your arms and leaned back on the bed with your arms stretched behind you. you gazed up at him. the face of your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone else. and after years of skirting around the issue, you finally found your words and asked him. and he looked you dumbfounded.

"you? me?" he said as he tried to process your words. you felt a tightness in your chest at the anxiety that was eating you up inside. you didn't know what to say or do.

"am i speaking french, lando? i want to have sex with you, it's about time we resolve this tension. it's been going on for over ten years." you said as you maintained eye contact with him. you felt a little bad for not being the most romantic.

it was hard for you to admit. your entire life you stood firm on the fact that men and women could be friends without any complications! and while you still felt that, you also found yourself with complicated feelings for lando. so, with all the bravery you could muster, you asked for sex.

he shifted from one foot to another, "i don't know how to respond... i mean i do. i just don't wanna sound like a pervert." he chuckled nervously and you only grew warmer in your face.

"do you want me, norris?"

he took his hands out of the pockets of his joggers and cupped his barely hidden erection. he gave you a gentle smile as he said, "i do. i do want you, you've been the subject of my fantasies for a long, long time." and started to take his shirt off.

you did the same, slowly revealing more skin to one another. you felt excitement race up you and you couldn't help yourself. you rubbed your thighs together and felt your pulse pick up.

"lando."

"i know, babe. i know." he chuckled as he got into bed with you. he got his boxers off before he was completely nude, his hands trailed across your body in a manner that left you excited all over.

if your friends knew what you two were doing tonight, hell even your own families, you knew that there would be exchanging high-fives and possibly money over bets made ages ago.

"may i?" he asked as he leaned in closer.

you leaned in to meet the distance and kissed him on the lips. soft as you imagined and his hands only held onto you in a way that made you shudder under him. you moaned into the kiss as he rubbed up against you.

"you tell me if anything goes wrong, okay? don't hide from me." he said, "one thing i hate when it comes to sex, no communication. i want to make my best friend feel good."

you looped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest against his, "i have a feel after tonight we're not going to be best friends."

lando replied, "well, you'll always be my best friend. you'll just also be my girlfriend." then winked before he went in for another kiss. it grew heated and his touches grew more bold.

you looked at him and he smiled down at you. he cupped your cheek while you held him close. it felt right to be this way, to be so close. you kissed him once more and he exhaled deeply against your lips. you two fit perfectly together, just as you always did.

"you want it raw?"

"yes."

"i'll pull out, alright? gotta play it a little safe." he kissed the apple of your cheek before you ended up on your stomach. he hiked you hips up letting your back curve as he pressed himself against you. now on his knees and his cock at full attention.

you looked amazing, beyond amazing. a certain type of beautiful that when lando sank into you wet cunt, he felt the race of excitement through his body. he held onto your hips and carefully inched himself into you. he moaned a little louder, the feeling was intense, there was nothing else he could compare it to you. you were unlike anyone else he had ever slept with. it was different because you two were so close, you shared everything. now you were sharing a night of heated passion.

he admired your backside as he rocked against you. his hand trailed down your back and he loomed over you. you felt amazing, you left a certain want in the back of his throat as he moved against you. lifelong friends, partners through and through. now lovers in bed together, moving together in a heated ecstasy. you both wanted each other, it was painfully obvious.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "really amazing."

"glad i have a glowing review from lando norris." you chuckled lightly as you held onto the covers under you, your back arched a little more as he hit all the right spots, "can i put that on my tinder profile?"

he pushed you further down onto the bed by the shoulders and moved against you faster, "no way. because you're not going on tinder." he kissed the center of your back as he held you, "because you're my girl now. how does that sound? no more lackluster tinder dates and finally being with the guy you had a crush on for years." then laid another sweet kiss on your heated skin.

you felt the stimulation, your brain felt a little hazy. you moaned a little bit and tensed up for a moment. you panted, "fucking hell, lando. always a way with words." you looked over your shoulder at him as he thrusted against you, "got us into trouble and out of trouble over the words."

he gave you a wicked grin and replied, "oh yeah, and you love it," then pressed into you further. hands on your hips once more as he worked himself against you. the pleasure was zaps in his blood and the feeling was immense.

this was his best friend, and maybe years of pining left him feeling desperate for you. he spent years trying to find you in other people. turned out the whole time he just could have had you. and that made him feel a flutter of love in his chest.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "better than i could ever imagine. you spoil me, honey." he chuckled lowly as he kissed the shell of your ear as he continued to move against you a little faster.

"fuck, lando." you exhaled deeply, paired with a soft whine as his cock hit against all the right areas. it felt good, better than you could imagine yourself. you knew a younger you would be blushing at the idea that you finally got with lando. having sex in a spacious hotel room and letting him just have his way with you. you fit together quite well, it didn't hurt that you were soaked in the process.

achy for sex. achy for him. you were needy for the sexual pleasure between the two of you. like two magnets drawn together no matter the distance. you were his best friend, and now his lover. his girl.

you moaned a little louder as the pleasure started to reach its peak inside of you. you held onto the covers under you and arched your back a little further. you cursed into the covers and the sight of you was beautiful. to come completely apart under his touch.

"beautiful." he said softly.

"fuck, lando." you shuddered and was met with a hard pat on your behind. the feeling of his hands on you, "you better fucking pull out or i'm gonna kill you."

"of course, of course.' he cooed, "save the kids for after marriage." his tone was cheeky and your pussy clenched around him. he chuckled and leaned up against your ear, "cute." and you whined.

his quickened his pace and he felt the hunger for you in his core. he couldn't believe it. part of him believed that he got hit in the head on the track and this was a fantasy of his. but, hey, if he was currently in the hospital with a goose egg on his head from being hit and this was what his rattled brain could come up with. then who was he to deny it. especially when you felt so good under him.

you tensed up around him once more and gasped against the covers. your eyes squeezed shut as you let out such a sweet moan. you shuddered as you felt yourself reach your orgasm, "fuck." even swears sounded heavenly on your lips.

he remembered trading pokemon cards with you, the time you watched him kart and cheered the loudest out of everyone. the times together, the totally platonic sleepovers. everything, fuck. to have you now, not as a friend but as a lover. that was everything to him.

you climaxed and it only pushed lando further. he pushed right up into you and made you near scream from the sensation. you two moved against each other roughly. but lando had to keep a sense of control or else he was going to finish inside of you.

"that's it. baby, that's it. fucking perfect for me.' his voice heavy with lust and it made your head throb. your cursed into the covers and lando fucked you harder, "next time i'm gonna make you finish twice. burn out your brain." he kissed your cheek, "perfect girl deserves all the orgasms she wants."

"flirt." you whined, face shoved into the covers, which only made lando laugh.

"glad you finally picked up on it, after fifteen years as friends." he thrusted into you a few more times before he pulled himself out and rapidly jerked off his cock against your back. it wasn't the same as the what of your cunt, but it would have to do. his pants were heavy as he said, "that's it, baby. fuck, look at you. you have driven me crazy my entire life. no one else can compare to you."

you laid there panting, your core swamped with wetness and your back curved to let him paint your back with his cum. you whined when you felt the splash of his cum against your backside.

"fuck." his voice was guttural, his breathing heavy and his eyes near rolled back into his head as he came across your hot skin. he felt sparks in his brain and could barely form a coherent thought as he came.

when it was all said and done, he rested fully on his heels, his cock limp between his legs. he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and exhaled deeply.

you laid there, not wanting to get cum all over the sheets. as the temperature in the room cooled, you lifted your head a little and said, "lando... can you help me clean up?"

and your best friend turned lover woke back up from his sexual trance and said, "oh, of course! yeah!" then quickly went to find a towel in the bathroom.

you knew you'd had to have a conversation about what you were now. but with butterflies in your stomach you knew you wouldn't be walking out of your hotel room without a lando as your boyfriend <3

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake, Sleep-Deprived Overlord Extraordinaire (and the Boy Who Grounds Him)

The thing about Tim Drake is that he’s brilliant. The thing about Tim Drake without sleep is that he’s unhinged.

It always starts subtly. A missed night of sleep here, a triple shift there. His words get sharper, his focus becomes razor-edged, and the bats can practically see the neurons in his brain firing like a thousand fireworks.

Then, somewhere around hour 56 of no sleep, Tim crosses the threshold into full-blown megalomania.

He doesn’t just think he’s smart—he knows it. He’ll drop gems like, “Honestly, Gotham’s infrastructure is appalling. If I really wanted to, I could take over the city in 72 hours, tops,” or “Do you think I could reprogram every Bat-computer in the Cave before Bruce notices? Because I can.”

Which—yeah, okay, the family knows he’s capable of it, but it’s terrifying.

When he’s in this state, Tim walks around with the energy of someone who’s cracked the secrets of the universe and is two steps away from becoming a benevolent dictator. His confidence is unsettling. His hyper-awareness is borderline supernatural.

The bats try. Oh, do they try.

“Tim,” Dick says gently, holding out a cup of chamomile tea and a soft blanket. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit.”

Tim doesn’t even glance at him. “Lying down is for the weak, Dick. Also, you left your phone on the counter. Might wanna grab it before someone texts Kori again.”

Dick freezes. He did leave his phone on the counter, and he can only hope Tim didn't do anything with it (Though his comment definitely says otherwise).

“Tim,” Bruce says, the Big Bat Voice in full swing. “You need to rest.”

Tim smirks, flipping through his tablet. “Rest is for the dead, and I’m not in the mood for ghosts tonight. Also, you forgot to update the encryption on your personal server. Again.”

Even Damian tries, but he gets as far as hurling a batarang at Tim’s leg before Tim dodges it without looking. “Tsk tsk, Damian. You’re getting predictable.”

It’s chaos. It’s exhausting.

Enter Danny Fenton.

Danny’s used to Tim’s shenanigans by now. He’s been around for enough of Tim’s sleep-deprivation arcs to know the signs. The sharp eyes, the slightly-too-bright smile, the way he starts muttering plans for world domination like he’s drafting a grocery list.

Danny lets it slide for a while—Tim in hyper-mode is kind of cute, in a “my boyfriend might accidentally take over the world” way. But then he sees the bags under Tim’s eyes, the way his hands tremble just slightly from over-caffeination, and he knows it’s time to intervene.

Danny doesn’t use tea. He doesn’t try reason. He doesn’t even bother with the blanket method.

Instead, Danny steps into the Cave, tilts his head at Tim, and says, “Honey, can we cuddle?”

Tim freezes.

The bats, who have been subjected to hours of Tim’s unrelenting, untouchable brilliance, watch in shock as their insurmountable sibling folds like a deck of cards.

“I—uh—cuddle?” Tim stammers, blinking like a deer in headlights.

Danny smiles, soft and sweet and just shy of smug. “Yeah, I miss you. Come to bed with me?”

Tim’s resolve crumbles. He’s already pulling off his gauntlets. “Yeah, okay. Just for a bit.”

“A bit,” Danny agrees, but he’s already leading Tim upstairs.

The bats are left standing in the Cave, mouths agape.

Jason’s the first to break the silence. “Did we just get out-maneuvered by Tim’s boyfriend? The guy who hangs out with Harley Quinn for fun?”

Dick snorts. “I mean, are we really surprised? Danny’s been handling Tim better than any of us for years.”

Bruce exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. “As long as Tim’s resting, I don’t care how it happened. Danny’s good for him.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees with a shrug. “Kid’s weird, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. And if he can get Replacement to sleep, I’ll send him a damn fruit basket.”

The bats exchange a rare moment of collective relief.

Upstairs, Danny tucks Tim into bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as Tim curls into him. He doesn’t care about strategies or what the bats think. All that matters is Tim, finally at peace in his arms.

"Sleep well, genius," Danny murmurs, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. And for the first time in days, Tim does.

[bear-yawns]

　𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗧, 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧.　oscar piastri · #81

　　　your boyfriend loves to take naps, and occasionally, you decide to join him.

genres : fluff ... established relationship.　word count : 0.7k.　warnings : none.　 note : my first official f1 fic!! super excited but also nervous to be posting this :') it's the start of a new era <3　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

Oscar took the chance to nap whenever he could. The constant jetlag messed up his sleep schedule throughout the entire season, so when his body felt tired and there was even 5 minutes to spare, he would take the chance. Lando, not missing any opportunity to tease him about something, said it was because he was still going through growth spurts at twenty-three. 

Given your boyfriend’s habit and love for sleep, you often arrived to see him completely knocked out, whether in the garage, hotel room, or at home. It was endearing, and you had your own way of finding enjoyment in his habit. For instance, your camera roll was overflowing with sleepy Oscar pics; excellent blackmail material if you ever needed it, but most often, you just looked at them whenever you missed him. But your favourite part of it all was waking him up.

Tousling his hair, poking his cheek, booping his nose, kissing his forehead or lips— your methods were practically endless. A lovesick smile was permanently stuck on your face whenever you heard the groggy mumbles he let out as he woke up or saw his scrunched up face at the feeling of your touch. There was a certain charm to all his clumsy, loserish habits, contrasting so starkly with his confidence on track. There were many sides to Oscar, and you had fallen in love with all of them over the years.

It was around 2PM when you opened the door to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. It had been a day full of miscellaneous errands that you had kept putting off, one of which was stocking up on Oscar’s favourite snacks. Now that the 2024 season was finished and he was back home with you— yours for the next four months— you wanted to cook him some of his favourite meals. You had expected to see Oscar in the kitchen or living room, as he usually was. But the house was unusually quiet as you put away food in the fridge. Though, one look into your bedroom told you where he had been hiding.

After knowing Oscar since you were teenagers, it was unsurprising to you when you found him fast asleep on your bed, hugging your pillow to his chest. You smiled at the sight, figuring he must still be struggling to adjust back to the timezone. With you gone first thing in the morning, there wasn’t anything to keep him awake, either. It was no secret that Oscar was the clingier of you two (quite a problem when it came to races conflicting with your schedule), and for all the hoodies and shirts of his that you stole, he liked your pillows. 

The mere sight of your boyfriend comfortably cosied under the blankets on the bed had you starting to feel drowsy yourself. You hesitated for a second about whether to wake him up, join him, or leave him entirely and drink another cup of coffee to get through the day. But you realized quickly that more than anything, you missed his touch the last couple days. Cuddles to sleep was all you craved for. So with all hesitation gone, you climbed up on the bed, easily slipping your arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging his back. The movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked, slightly dazed as he turned around in your arms. 

“You’re back,” he mumbled, words barely above a whisper before he closed his eyes again like a cat squinting in the sun. You giggled, adjusting the pillows as Oscar nuzzled closer to you. “You smell nice… did you get a new perfume?” 

You smiled, closing your eyes as well as Oscar wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands found their way to his hair. “I did. It’s peach. You like it?” He hummed in confirmation. “Still jet lagged?”

A gentle squeeze from Oscar was all the answer you got, but it was all you needed to understand. With the scent of your perfume, your hands threading through his hair, and a soft kiss pressed to his lips, he was already falling back into his dreamland. You soon followed, wrapped in his arms; close, content, and comfortable.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hey lovie i was wondering if you could do an imagine where 2 year old baby Russell spends day with her Uncle Alex and Auntie Lily please 🥺🥺

Strawberry Fields

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the paddock as George pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. Yn giggled, her small arms wrapped around his neck.

“Be good for Uncle Alex and Auntie Lily, okay?” he murmured.

Yn nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. Carmen, standing beside them, smiled warmly. “She’s going to have the best time. Right, sweetheart?”

“Stwawbewwies!” Yn chirped, clapping her little hands together.

Lily chuckled as she reached out to take Yn’s tiny hand. “That’s right! We’re going to pick the biggest, juiciest strawberries ever.”

Alex, standing beside her, ruffled Yn’s hair. “And we’ll make sure to bring some back for you two.”

George sighed, pretending to be dramatic. “Guess we’ll just have to survive without her for a whole day.”

Carmen laughed. “You’ll be fine. Have fun, baby,” she added, kissing Yn’s cheek.

And with that, the trio set off, heading to a beautiful strawberry field just outside of town.

The drive was peaceful, with Lily playing some soft music while Alex entertained Yn with silly faces in the backseat. She giggled, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Uncle Lex, funny!” she declared, causing Lily to laugh.

“I try,” Alex said with a grin. “It’s my best skill, you know.”

Soon, they arrived at the field, stretching wide and lush under the summer sky. Rows and rows of bright red strawberries glistened in the sun, and the fresh scent of ripe fruit filled the air.

Yn, securely holding her tiny play stroller, looked around with wide eyes. “So many!” she gasped.

Lily crouched down beside her. “You ready to pick some?”

Yn nodded eagerly, gripping Lily’s hand as they walked towards the entrance. Alex grabbed a small basket and slung a bag over his shoulder for the extras.

“Okay, Yn,” Alex said, squatting to her level. “You pick the best ones, and Auntie Lily and I will help.”

Yn pouted slightly. “I do it myself!”

Lily and Alex exchanged amused glances. “Alright, alright,” Lily said. “You’re the boss.”

They started walking between the rows, Yn stopping every so often to examine a strawberry carefully before placing it in her stroller instead of the basket.

“Uh, sweetheart,” Alex began. “The berries go in here.” He tapped the basket.

Yn frowned. “But stroller…”

Lily laughed. “She has a system, Alex. Let her do her thing.”

Shrugging, Alex complied, though he had to bite back a smile as he watched Yn methodically fill her tiny stroller with strawberries. Every once in a while, she would hand one to Lily, who would pretend to inspect it before putting it in the real basket.

After a while, Lily decided to give Yn a little treat. Holding up a particularly plump berry, she asked, “Would you like a taste, sweetheart?”

Yn’s eyes widened, and she eagerly opened her mouth. Lily carefully fed her the strawberry, cupping her small chin to catch any juice that might escape.

“Yummy!” Yn declared, licking her lips. “More?”

Lily grinned. “Maybe a little later, or else we won’t have any left.”

Yn huffed but nodded, happily resuming her mission.

Meanwhile, Alex found himself in charge of pushing the ridiculously tiny play stroller whenever Yn wanted to use both hands to pick berries.

“This is… definitely my biggest challenge yet,” he muttered, maneuvering the little stroller through the uneven ground.

Lily smirked. “You handle it well.”

“Should’ve been a professional stroller-pusher instead of a racer,” he joked.

Yn, overhearing him, turned with a serious expression. “No, Uncle Lex. You dwive fast.”

Both adults burst into laughter. “Well, I’m glad you approve,” Alex said, ruffling her hair again.

As the afternoon wore on, Yn began to slow down, her little hands rubbing at her eyes.

Lily noticed and leaned down. “Tired, sweetheart?”

Yn nodded sleepily. “Sleepy.”

Without hesitation, Alex scooped her up, settling her against his chest. She let out a tiny sigh, curling into him. Her little arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

“Guess it’s naptime,” Alex murmured, adjusting her to make sure she was comfortable.

Lily took the stroller from him, shaking her head fondly. “I hope George and Carmen realize what an angel they have.”

“Oh, they know,” Alex chuckled. “But we’ll send them proof just in case.”

Lily pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Yn snuggled against Alex, her little hand clutching his shirt. Then another of Alex, now carrying both Yn and her beloved stroller, an amused expression on his face.

She sent the pictures to Carmen and George, adding a simple caption: A successful day of strawberry picking. Yn is officially the cutest.

Almost instantly, Carmen responded: I might cry. This is adorable.

Then George: Tell Alex not to get too comfortable. That’s MY little girl.

Lily laughed as she showed the messages to Alex, who smirked. “Tell George he has competition.”

Lily typed back: Too late, George. I think she’s switching teams.

They shared another quiet laugh before making their way back to the car, where Yn slept soundly in Alex’s arms, her tiny stroller tucked safely beside them.

Later that evening, when they returned to the paddock, George and Carmen met them at the entrance.

“Did you have fun, baby?” Carmen asked as Yn rubbed her eyes, waking up.

“Stwawbewwies,” she mumbled sleepily, making them all chuckle.

George took her from Alex’s arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I think that means she had the best day.”

Lily handed Carmen the basket of strawberries. “She was very dedicated to picking only the best ones.”

Carmen smiled. “Thank you both for today.”

Alex and Lily exchanged a glance before Alex said, “Anytime. She’s the best.”

Yn, still sleepy, peeked up at Alex. “Uncle Lex?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She reached out, patting his cheek. “I love you.”

Alex’s heart melted instantly. “I love you too, munchkin.”

George sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright, she can have Alex as your favourite uncle.”

They all laughed, knowing that this was just one of many perfect days to come.

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Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀