#very solid and thick. good for playing with

[klunkcat]

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something. 

Maybe less tired. 

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it. 

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well. 

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course. 

And so, as the classics say, here they were. 

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out. 

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet. 

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked. 

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear. 

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero. 

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut. 

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat. 

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all. 

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them. 

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all. 

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger. 

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off. 

Okay. Well. Less than ideal. 

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo— Sensei smothers a sigh. 

“He’s trying not to  answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.” 

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything. 

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.” 

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.” 

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.” 

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.” 

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected. 

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless. 

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt. 

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.” 

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead. 

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.” 

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.” 

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head. 

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least. 

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself. 

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self. 

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him. 

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either. 

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone. 

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all. 

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?” 

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping. 

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win. 

“Is it— can you ground him?” 

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit. 

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present. 

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan. 

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out. 

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood. 

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.” 

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.” 

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…” 

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.” 

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?” 

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.” 

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.” 

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.” 

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.” 

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms. 

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.” 

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk. 

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.” 

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him. 

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?” 

Ah, well. 

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.” 

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.” 

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go. 

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.” 

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?” 

“Come on, I’ve been fine.” 

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.” 

“I know how they work.” 

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.” 

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants. 

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.” 

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with. 

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short. 

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?” 

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?” 

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?” 

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.” 

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here. 

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly. 

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.” 

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering. 

“Obviously.” 

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run. 

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for. 

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.  

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late. 

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks. 

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same. 

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken. 

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“God, stop ,” the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.” 

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else. 

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide. 

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought. 

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.” 

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?” 

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler. 

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.” 

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.” 

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?” 

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.” 

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue. 

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.” 

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?” 

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.” 

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive. 

Or that he’d failed. 

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves. 

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes. 

“He was really tired.” 

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.” 

Oh . He supposes that’s fair. 

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it. 

“Kid—” He exhales. 

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all. 

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.  

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—” 

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have. 

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.” 

The kid is silent. A long moment passes. 

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.” 

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it. 

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—” 

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.” 

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he’d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down. 

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ” 

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak. 

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.” 

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.” 

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.” 

The stare gets more intense. “No.” 

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.” 

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs. 

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.” 

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him. 

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about. 

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.” 

At least they had Mario Party. 

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay. 

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off. 

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk. 

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?” 

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.” 

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it. 

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?” 

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.” 

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him. 

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo. 

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.” 

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down. 

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.” 

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares. 

Kid, Sensei tries. 

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee. 

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl. 

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die? 

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways. 

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents. 

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room. 

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.” 

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.” 

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”  

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?” 

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.” 

It’s your life, Sensei whispers. 

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.” 

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly. 

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply. 

The kid stays silent. 

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.” 

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out. 

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.” 

The kid glares. 

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.” 

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.” 

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all. 

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?” 

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.” 

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.” 

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.” 

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?” 

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head. 

“Fine. Bring him back, please.” 

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.” 

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?” 

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years. 

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing. 

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this. 

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?” 

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.” 

A pause. “Say it anyways.” 

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?” 

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.” 

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks. 

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious. 

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest. 

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.” 

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now. 

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small. 

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now. 

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.” 

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm. 

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all. 

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back. 

[robinsceramics]

Emo owl </3

[image ids: six pictures of a small ceramic owl that seems to be wearing black eyeliner. It is pale gold or cream in color, with tiny spots of dark brown in the glaze. The owl has no wings or features except two tiny feet and its eyes; its head is marked only by an indentation in the smooth oval of the owl's body. The eyeliner on the left side of its face is heavily smudged and seems to drip down the owl's cheek.]

[gojosprettyprincess]

❝​REPAYMENT​❝

Synopsis! - Oh no! What happens when the big, massive strong man that saved you during a very dangerous war, wants something from you in return for his bravery?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

Warnings! - Dub-con, mentions of killing people, creampie, ass play, size kink, he stuffs his gloves in your mouth, he's possessive, mentions about keeping you with him. Dark content. this was kinda rushed so sorry for any errors!!

Art credits @umkochannart on twitter!

A/n - I NEED HIM, SOMEONE PLEASE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh my— fuck! Sir, please we shouldn't be doing this, someone might see!” you stammered, legs trembling as your panties lazily pooled around your ankles. You mewled at the feeling of his hard, cold gear slapping against the mound of your ass, making the flesh ripple against his clothed pelvis. You keened as the wooden table dug into your stomach as you held onto the edge for dear life.

His cock was so thick and long—perfectly curved as it stretches open your tight, compressed walls to alter his girth. He grunts, feeling your tight little pussy eagerly fluttering around his invasive dick as you blabber on and on about your little worries about getting caught. Of course, you minded that a stranger man was destroying your pussy, but that was the least of your worries right now. The thought of getting caught and someone seeing your vulnerable self—almost naked, being pounded against a small table in the supply room by a big solider that's fully clothed, except for the crotch of his pants that's zipped down to free his aching cock, that's currently having your cunt drooling—making a mess all over his thick combat pants, made your mind hazy and your cunt throbbing in both excitement and frustration.

“Aww don't worry bout' that darling—I’ll just kill them for you so they won't say anything, will that be better?” he chuckles, his gloved hands digging into your hips as he deeply thrusts himself inside your dripping pussy relentlessly, fucking every single brain cell out of you. For someone who is “scared”, your pussy sure as hell was soaked and aroused.

He smirked under his skull mask at the feeling of your sweet pussy throbbing in tight circles around his cock to his words. “Oh? What a dirty little slut, does my talking about killing people make you horny? Such a sick little bitch, this pussy is clenching around me like it's fucking addicted to my cock, you a virgin, darling?”

Your eyebrows furred together at his sick wordings, you felt on the verge of losing your mind as the feeling of pure pleasure clouded your mind. “No, M’not!” you whimpered out, your tits grazing against the wooden table as your gushy pussy leaked all over his veiny shaft, every thrust had your pussy coating his cock even more with your filthy juices—as if you were enjoying it, or maybe you were?

“Oh yeah? Well, your cunt sure is fucking tight and warm—squeezing me so hard for someone that's a whore, whaddya say I keep you here and split open this little pussy whenever I feel like it?” he chuckles darkly, a huge palm slapping your bouncing ass as it jiggles against him, you moaned, tears prickling at your tear line as his thick, filled balls slaps against your poor clit, creating even more friction that had you seeing stars.

“No! Sir—can't, you promised you'll let me go after this!” you muttered, feeling so stuffed by the big man’s cock. “Shh, shhh I'm just joking with you doll” he laughs wickedly, perverted eyes moving down to where the two of you were lewdly connected. His eyes fixated on your other little neglected hole, which's already coated with some slick from your pussy. He eagerly pulled off one of his gloves and placed it on the table. You jolted unexpectedly when he stuffed a thumb deep into your mouth, he pressed his weighted chest onto your smaller back—getting closer to you as he whispered, “Get it all wet and lubed up, it's for your own good, darling”, you were confused and oblivious to what he'd be needing his thumb for but obeyed him anyways, not wanting to make the big man angry.

You whirled your tongue around his finger, making sure to get as much spit on it as possible. After, you hummed, letting him know that you were done. He pulled his finger out, sticky drips of spit coating him. Your eyes widen with fear when you felt his fat thumb circling your virgin asshole, he spreads the spit all over the shy, fluttering hole before sinking it in little by little. “Fuck! Sir—please be gentle, never had anything in there!” You yelled as you cried out in pain of your untouched hole getting stretched out. He quickly picked up his glove and shoved it into your mouth when there were footsteps heard thumping outside the room. “For heaven's sake, please shut the fuck up or I’ll really kill someone. I'm not joking darling. You’re mine now and I won't let other eyes see what's mine” he said in a stern tone. He hissed lowly at the feeling of your asshole swallowing his whole thumb in, all the way to the hilt.

“Such a tight little asshole, M’honored I’ll be the first one to break open this pretty ass”. Your muffled cries got louder as he pounded his hefty cock harder into your pussy, making it gushing all over him as he fucked out more and more juices out of your body. Soon the pain turned into pleasure as he started wiggling his thumb inside of you, feeling it exploring your tight walls. Your moan grew sweeter and more fucked out as you felt your orgasm washing over you—his huge cock tip nudging against your G-spot bullyingly, making your mind hazy. He felt it—felt the way your pussy grew more wetter and tighter around his length, taking him in all the way in as he pants. “Fuck darling are you gonna cum? Go on baby, you can cum, cum all over my cock, you slut”. He ordered, letting his thumb hooked into your butthole as he uses three other fingers to rub wet circles around your clit.

You moaned out, standing on your tippy toes as you clenched both holes tighter around him, making him hiss as you squirted all over him—your filthy mess splattering all over his uniform and gear as he fucks more and more juices out of your dirty pussy. He groaned loudly as you made a mess all over him—he never had someone squirting on him before, so it drove him fucking crazy. He lands slap after slap on your ass cheeks—making the flesh red as you whimpered. “Such a messy little whore, you really squirted on a random man you don't even know? You really are a little slut, I'm definitely keeping you darling” he laughs out, feeling his orgasm following him. “I’m gonna stuff this cute little pussy so full of my seed, gonna drain it so deep inside you baby, it'll come out your mouth” The whole room reeked of sex as he towered over you, his massive cock snugly engulfed by your little pussy, so tight and warm for him. He moans louder, splitting out a few curses as he pulled out his thumb out of your ass, making your little hole wink at him at the loss of his finger. He used both hands to grip your hips, holding you steady as he used your body as a little fuckdoll, manhandling your little body to meet his cock halfway as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

“No please! Sir not insi-” Too late, hot ropes of warm sticky cum spurted into your poor hole, filling it up as your eyes roll back. “Fuckkk, ohh fuckk yesss, such a good little cumslut for me” he moaned out with ecstasy as he emptied into your warm pussy—after so long.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stilled himself into you. He bent over once again, his chest and gear touching your back as he whispered to you. “Don't worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you, will fucking kill anyone if they dare look in your direction. You'll be mine forever, pretty”.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch3. domestic encounters

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 10)

ᰔ word count. 14.1k (i like this number)

a/n. hello hellooo my ihm bb's :'') so good to see you all again. so this is actually the first half of an original 26k word chapter 3 that i had written lmfaooo i genuinely entertained the idea of posting a 26k word chapter but like gat damn. idk i thought it would be too much. so there is this first part which is 14k and then the next chapter will be 12k! anywho, this chapter was fun to write, there's still a lot of set-up tho hahah. ihm has been really fun to write for me cuz it's kinda chaotic but chill at the same time lol :0 i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Soooo…..ready to consummate the marriage?”

You turn fast on your heel, so fast that Gojo almost trips over his own Welcome mat at his doorstep in an attempt to not accidentally topple over you, which you’re sure by the sheer size he has on you would’ve killed you or at the very least paralyzed you from the neck down, so it’s a good thing his hands fly out of his pockets then brace himself on the wood paneling above the door. 

“Wha–” you stutter, “what?!”

He stands up straight before leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms, the sleeve fabric of his suit stretching across thick muscle but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking. “The marriage technically isn’t valid unless we consummate it.”

You roll your eyes and dig your finger into your heel to take it off and then do the same with your other, relishing in the freedom of your feet from the shackles of constrictive feminine clothing articles, although you’re a solid two and a half inches shorter again. “I would rather make love to one of those inflatable balloon salesmen at car dealerships that flail and flap around in the wind than let you touch me for the purpose of sex.”

“Fuck that’s harsh,” he laughs, like he’s genuinely impressed by the comeback this time, “so a dead bedroom then, huh?”

“Can’t be dead if it was never alive in the first place,” you mumble as you tread into his house and toss the documents envelope you had been holding onto the coffee table. You hear Gojo make his way across the hardwood floor behind you paired with the metal clanking of keys as he throws them into the paper mache bowl on the foyer table. 

“By the way,” you hear him say, and you turn your torso slightly to side eye him only to see that he’s casually taking his suit jacket off with a flip of it backwards, “who was that guy in the courtroom that was glaring daggers into my soul?”

Your eyes widen briefly. And then you sigh. “My ex.”

He pulls the jacket off behind him by the sleeves and tosses it onto the loveseat. “Huhhh. You used to date a cop? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What?” you say as you face him fully. He’s loosening his tie now with a tug. “Why not?”

“You’re kinda…delinquent. Figured a cop would like a more ‘docile’ woman,” he says.

“You sound creepy as fuck,” you say, grimacing a little as you narrow your eyes at him.

He sighs before tossing his tie off to the side as well. “I don’t agree with it. I’m just getting into their headspace. Everyone knows how cops are. Y’know, controlling.”

“Choso is different,” you immediately spat back at him, before your head can even run the words through a filter, and you realize it came off as defensive. Your cheeks warm, because now it looks like you’re not over your ex. And you want to be. Why were you still protecting Choso’s dignity?

Gojo blinks at you, a little surprised before he swallows slowly and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender. “Alright. I believe you.”

You turn away from him and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awkward before you scratch your elbow and then turn back to face him again. “Well. If you run into him around town,” you say, “can you try to make him feel emasculated and jealous? He did me dirty.”

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “Uhhh. How?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, “brag about how great our sex life is or something.”

“But we have a sexless marriage.”

“Oh, yes, speaking of this sexless marriage,” you start, jutting your hip out to the side as you cross your arms sternly, “there are some ground rules that need to be set between you and I.” You point between the two of you.

“Ground rules?” he mimics after you as he undoes the top couple buttons of his white dress shirt, “like what?”

You hold a finger up. “Like no touching.” You hold another finger up. “Obviously, no sex.” You hold another finger up. “No sneaking into my room in the middle of the night.” You hold another finger up. “No peeping in on me while I’m showering.” You hold another finger up. “No ogling me around the hou–”

“These rules sound incredibly one-sided,” he snorts. 

“Yeah, well, don’t break them, you creep.”

“And if I catch you ogling me around the house?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Such a thing will not happen.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he sarcastically affirms, and he approaches you which makes you flinch a little but you realize he’s just walking past you towards the living room.

“Y–” you stutter, “you heard me, right? Once I start living here, you have to adhere to these rules.”

He waves his hand in the air dismissively with his back facing you. “Yes ma’am.”

Your eye twitches slightly, and you storm towards him only to watch him slump down onto his couch, knees spread wide as he leans forward with a small grunt to grab the remote off the coffee table before settling back again. He lays an arm up and stretched across the backrest of the couch before he turns the TV on and scrolls through news channels. 

You make your way in front of him, obstructing the view of the TV, and he leans off to the side to try to catch a glimpse at the screen but you reposition your body so that he still can’t see it. His eyes slowly move to you and he has an irritated look on his face. 

“I’m tryna watch CNN,” he says. 

“Punishment,” you say, “for breaking any of these rules will be severe.”

He raises an eyebrow, interested all of a sudden as he tosses the remote back onto the coffee table and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Oh? What’s the punishment?”

Honestly, you don’t know. You just want to threaten him to keep him in line. Forget the fact that he’s the one doing you the favor here with this marital arrangement, and yet you’re threatening him. But it has to be done. “You don’t want to find out,” you say, trying to sound as eerie as possible.

“Not knowing what it is makes me want to find out,” he tells you, his knee swaying side to side like a dog wagging its tail. 

You briefly glance down, and for fucks sake why is all of his clothing so perfectly fit and stretched taut whenever he does anything? You try not to eye the shape of his thighs as the black fabric stretches while he’s seated.

You clench your fists at your side, worry your bottom lip under your front teeth, furrow your brow and blink rapidly from not being able to come up with something to say, and Gojo seems to read this as worry before he laughs a little.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna break any of your silly rules, despite how tempting it might sound to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter as you walk around the couch towards the kitchen, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. 

“Seriously. I won’t. You’re not my type,” he says from behind you on the couch, with a tone that tells you he’s trying to sound reassuring but it really just pisses you off even more, “I don’t really go after women with daddy issues.”

“Wha–” you gasp, offended, and you spin on your heel to glare at the back of his head. “Who the fuck said I have daddy issues?!?!”

“No one has to say it, I can feel it,” he says as he continues to clicks through channels.

You pick an avocado up out of the pile of fruits from the bowl at the center of the island, holding it over your shoulder to charge up as much kinetic energy as possible so you can chuck it at him hard enough to knock him unconscious, and it’s like he senses the malice radiating off of your body because he looks over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asks.

“A grenade,” you say, “that I’m gonna launch at you.”

“Oh, thank god,” he exhales in relief, “I almost thought it was an avocado for a second.”

You deadpan stare at him. “I don't find you funny.”

“I think I’m pretty funny,” he says mindlessly, like he’s just arguing with you for the sake of arguing.

“No. I have never once laughed at a single thing you’ve ever said. Only grimaced with disgust,” you say.

He sighs. “Look at us. We’ve barely been married for an hour and we’re already fighting.”

You abandon your empty glass on the counter, shuffling around the corner towards the front entrance of the house because you can feel the headache from your pure annoyance starting to creep up on you. You sense Gojo’s eyes on you from the couch as you shove your feet back into the uncomfortableness of your heels. 

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Back to my house,” you grumble, wobbling a little when you take a step towards the door and place your hand on the handle.

“When are you gonna move in?” he asks suddenly.

You freeze in your tracks at his question. You’ve never heard the question before, because you’ve never had the chance to live anywhere that wasn’t your childhood home next door. So the question is jarring at best, and threatens to make you cry a little at worst. 

“Once I get my mom into hospice,” you say, quiet enough to where it’s possible he might not have even been able to hear it over the sound of presidential election updates. And then you make your way out of his house. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a beautiful sunny spring morning, clouds trailing by across the sky offering momentary relief from the heat reaching the pavement, and you’ve got a good marching band walk going on as you stroll down the sidewalk of your neighborhood for your morning walk. Well, that phrase implies that you go on morning walks often. You really don’t, you very rarely have the time or energy. But today you decided it was time to turn your life around (your running shoes will see you same time next month). 

You hear some commotion off at the right side of the street, and when you lift your head up a little to clear the obstructed view of your sun visor, you see a couple of cops standing on a lawn, chatting up your elderly women neighbors with their laughter bolstering in the air. One of the cops turns around, making eye contact with you, and—  of fucking course, it’s Choso.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mutter under your breath and try to walk faster down the sidewalk in Korean ahjumma style. 

“Hey! y/n! Wait!” you hear him call out and he jogs across the street to catch up with you.

You continue to military march down pavement. “What do you want, Choso? Why are you stalking me?”

He runs up in front of you to stop you in your tracks. You frown at him and cross your arms across your chest. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “I got a call about a stray dog out here.”

“Oh. Wonderful. So glad to know our officers are keeping us safe from cute street dogs,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“The dog had rabies. It bit an old man. Had to put it down,” he deadpans.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, “well, then, leave? Your job here is done.”

“I just—” he starts, “I want to—” He sighs, looking flustered like he’s trying to gain some sort of courage. And you’re almost entirely certain he didn’t need to garner this much courage to face a rabid dog than he seems to be needing for you. “I, uh, I want to meet your husband.”

“W-What??” you exasperate.

“To say congrats,” he says, but through gritted teeth.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah fucking right. You just wanna abuse your po-po powers to arrest him then throw him into jail then kill him to leave me widowed so that I’ll get back together with you and make a fool out of myself all over again.”

“Your capacity for catastrophization never fails to amaze me,” he says.

You’re pretty sure your therapist said something similar to you last week, too. 

“Ahhh!! y/n!!” you hear a familiar feminine voice call from down the street, and both you and Choso turn your heads toward the source of the sound.

Amaya, your neighbor, who is roughly thirty-weeks pregnant at the moment and therefore waddling down the street to get to you, is waving her arms in the air as her husband as well as another one of your neighbors follows after her. She finally reaches you and takes your hands into hers. “I haven’t seen you in forever!! How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s doing well…just getting by,” you say awkwardly, as Choso’s cop partner also approaches this little group that’s forming here, along with the elderly neighbors that he had been talking to. 

“Doctors taking good care of her?” Amaya’s husband, Ren, asks you with a twisted expression on his face and arms tightly crossed over his chest like he was gonna beat the doctors up if they weren’t. 

“Yes…” you say, “although, I think I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser.” Oh. Fuck. You should’ve kept that to yourself. Big mouth.

You can feel Choso’s eyes on you as he watches this interaction between you and your neighbors. 

“Oh! That’s interesting,” Amaya says, and as her hands soothe over yours, she feels the bump of the ring on your left hand. She glances down. “H-Huh??? Is this a wedding ring?!”

Choso crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits in your periphery.

“Y…yeeeeesss…” you say awkwardly.

“You’ve finally married?” your elderly neighbors chirp out at the same time.

You shoot them a dirty look over the word finally. “Yes.” Please drop the subject, please drop the subject.

But Amaya has always been the gossipy nosy neighbor. “To who??”

Choso snaps his face to you, intently studying your body language. You take a deep breath.

“I-I didn’t tell you?? I married Satoru!!” you chirp, as if it was a normal thing.

“Ehhh?!” you hear multiple of your neighbors’ voices call out. 

“You married Satoru??? But you hate him!!” Amaya blurts out, her voice loud and echoing down the street of the neighborhood.

“I—” you stammer, ducking your head a little to hide behind your visor, “um, oh, y’know…those feelings just…snuck up on me!”

“Awwww good for youuu,” Amaya coos, and one of your elderly neighbors comes up to you with a cheeky smile to then rubs your arm approvingly, “he’s sooooo handsome, you’re so lucky!!”

Ren lets out a hmph over his wife’s flattery of another man, and you roll your eyes, wanting to put Gojo in his place even in the face of just your neighbors, but then you remember that a loving wife wouldn’t say something like his personality makes him an ugly rat. 

“But when did this happen?” Choso’s partner speaks up, his voice accusatory. Choso hits his partner’s chest vest with the back of his hand, as if to say cut it out.

You feel pissed off at that.

“Oh yeahhh, you and Choso only recently broke up!” Amaya says, pointing between the two of you.

You purse your lips together from the anxiety of this entire conversation. “Three weeks ago. Choso and I broke up three weeks ago,” you say, not even sure why you’re disclosing your personal matters to this group of congregated people, but the peer pressure was damning, and you’re pretty sure silence on this subject in front of your neighbors would only make Choso more suspicious, “and—” you had to get your story straight, “well…within those three weeks, Satoru and I just…got to know each other.”

“Eh?” Ren speaks up. “But he was out of town for two weeks. He only came back a week and a half ago.”

You blink at him.

“Ohhh yes, yes, that’s right, honey,” Amaya agrees with a slow nod in remembrance as she pats her husband's chest, “those chocolates he brought us were from London, right?”

Choso tilts his head at you, giving you a glare with the intent of having you crack under this pressure, because you’ve just been caught in a cold hard lie. More importantly, how the fuck did you not notice that Satoru had been gone for TWO WEEKS??? He was your next door neighbor. You’ve seriously been so damn out of it these days. Also, why the fuck didn’t he get you chocolates from London?!?!?! The fucking snake. 

“A marriage within three weeks is a little odd, no?” Choso’s partner speaks up, but with less of a casual conversation tone and more of a I sense something illegal going on here tone.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Choso sighs, taking a step to stand in front of you. “Let’s all get on with our days. She doesn’t have to share any information she doesn’t want to.”

You blink in surprise at Choso’s words, of which all your neighbors acknowledge albeit slightly reluctantly as they wave goodbye to you and start dispersing back to their homes. Choso’s partner gets some notice through his radio, and he pulls it from the velcro of his chest to speak into it before heading back to their cop car with a slight jog. Once everyone is gone and it’s just you and Choso again, he turns around to face you. His arms are still crossed at his chest while he wears a very skeptical and almost reprimanding look on his face.

“What are you up to, y/n?” he immediately asks you, and you feel goosebumps tickle your skin even in the heat. “I really hope it’s not something fishy. Or illegal.”

You swallow hard. You know the U.S. federal codes in the law for marital & insurance fraud like the back of your hand, since you read through them hundreds of times before deciding if your arrangement with Gojo would be worth it. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for insurance fraud. And under that statute, you can also be fined up to $250,000. The best case scenario is that you just have to divorce Gojo, and forfeit your chances of ever recovering from your crippling debt. And while it’s hard to prove marital fraud, Choso had reason for a personal vendetta against you, and he has the resources to launch an investigation. 

“Why would I do something illegal??” you ask, as if to convince him that the possibility was absurd. 

He takes a step closer to you, and your breathing picks up. “People do illegal things all the time,” he says, “for the thrill, out of curiosity,” another step closer, “the most common reason that I’ve seen?” He’s so close to you now that you catch the familiar scent of his skin. “Desperation.”

You catch a small gasp of air from his imposition in your personal space, and finally, your weak legs manage to take you a step back. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about here,” you say with a shaky voice.

He raises an eyebrow at you. And then he sighs. “Stay out of trouble.”

Your eye twitches at him, annoyance resurging but you have to bite your tongue for self preservation. Gojo’s words about cops liking more docile women ring in your ears for a brief moment, and you have to physically shake your head to get his voice out of it. 

His partner yells for him from his car, something about a call they got for a robbery downtown, and Choso spares you a warning look before he turns on his heel and jogs back to the car. The sound of police sirens mimic the panic in your beating heart as you watch them speed off down the street and out of sight.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You pull into your neighborhood at the early hours of the morning, skin feeling dry and eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion as you yank your hospital badge clip off your scrub top to toss onto the passenger seat along with your stethoscope, releasing it from your neck like pulling a noose loose. 

Before your shift last night, you had to take your mom to the hospital because she was have shortness of breath, and her oxygen saturation was low on her pulse oximeter. She’s stable now, it was just yet another flare up of her COPD, but given her other risk factors, the hospitalist admitted her to monitor her overnight and through to the evening today if all goes well. Which meant that you could have the house to yourself for once. It might sound selfish to say, because shouldn’t the more dominant feeling be I hope my mom will be okay, but the reality was that there’s only so much of that worry you can have at a time. It doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of her literally every second of the day. It just means you’re human. 

The weirdest thing about working the night shift is seeing everyone else’s days start while yours is just ending. There’s a bit of satisfaction with it. Like imagining laughing at their faces ha ha! You have to go to work now at seven in the morning, meanwhile I get to sleep! as if working the night shift doesn’t lead to substantially higher rates of cardiovascular disease and other chronic illness, as well as an early death. So who really got the last laugh? Day shift workers. Literally.

It wasn’t something you did because you liked working the night shift. You do it because you get paid a 20% differential for it. And you need all the money you can get right now.

Your brain seems to be working more than usual if you’re able to think about all these things after a shift. Swiftly pulling into the driveway of your home, around the hull of Gojo’s obnoxious boat in the driveway, you get out of your car with your purse hanging from your shoulder and just before you shut the door, you see one of your elderly neighbors waving at you from across the street. You’re pretty sure her name is Margaret, but you’re awful with names. You do remember that she was in the posse of neighbors that were flocking you yesterday and asking you pushy questions about your marriage in the presence of Choso. And your body stiffens a little. 

She tilts her head at you as you stand in your driveway, and you awkwardly glance over at Gojo’s house.

“Oops!” you chirp from across the street, “always forget to pull into the Hubby’s driveway instead! Silly me!!”

You grab your emergency overnight stay bag from the back of your car and hurry over to Gojo’s house, knocking on the door incessantly and ringing the bell so as to not arouse any more suspicion from your neighbors about why two married people aren’t living together. “Forgot my keys!! Hahahhahaha,” you exclaim while your pounding on the door intensifies. You’re sure you're just being paranoid, because why would sweet old lady Margaret (Janice? Patricia?) snitch on you? But you’ve been paranoid all your life. It’s one of your fatal flaws. 

The door opens suddenly, right as you were about to pound harshly once again, and you stop the motion in time to not sock Gojo in the abdomen with your fist. He blinks down at you, his face a little puffy from sleep, his hair shooting out in all different directions, and he scratches at his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, one he clearly threw on last minute before opening the door considering the fact that he put it on backwards. And inside-out. 

“Huh? y/n?” he mumbles, his voice deep and kind of raspy with sleep, “what are you doing here?”

“Just let me in,” you hiss at him, glancing over your shoulder to your elderly neighbor's lawn for a second, and then duck under his arm that was holding the door open to get inside the house.

You turn around to see him shrug his shoulders and slowly close the door, clearly too tired to deal with the bullshit this early in the AM, and he turns around to face you before leaning back onto the surface. His eyes close, like he’s trying to preserve the sleepy feeling for when he gets back into bed.

“Can I help you?” he says. His head falls back with a small thump to rest on the door.

“I’m going to sleep here for the night. Er, for the day,” you say. “I will move in starting today.”

“Okay,” he easily agrees.

You blink at him. “Um. Show me to my room.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he heads for the stairs with the shuffle of his slippers across the hardwood floor. You note that he is very easily malleable and overall smooth brained when he’s sleepy. You try to ignore the fact that you find it kinda cute. 

You follow him up the stairs and he leads you across the loft into a hallway studded with a couple of doors. He opens one of them for you, his head drifting a little like he’s about to fall back asleep. “Here you go,” he says while gesturing inside the bedroom and rubbing his eye with a weakly closed fist, “guest bedroom. Uh, there’s another one near the master too that’s a bit bigger, but this one has a lock on the door. So that I don’t sneak into your room in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks,” you accept and head inside. You set your emergency overnight stay bag on the bed and then turn around to face the door to find Gojo still standing in the frame. He has his hands pushed into the pockets of his pajama pants as he squints at you. 

You feel…a little…nervous? Shy? Who the fuck were you to be shy in front of Gojo? You really don’t give a damn what he thinks about you, since a lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep (you’ve been doing reruns of Game of Thrones this past week), but starting today, you’ll be in his territory, and this whole situation is so domestic that you feel vulnerable in front of him. Like the sheep somehow managed to splay the lion open this time, and now the real you is on display for him. You’re suddenly self conscious of the unruly state of your hair and the stains of IV fluid on your black scrubs and the fact that the allegedly flake-proof mascara you put on at the beginning of your shift has long since flaked all over your cheeks.

“Um. Can you leave?” you say in a small voice.

“Huh?” he responds, like he himself forgot that he was still standing there. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He lets out a very long exhale. “Make yourself at home.” And then, still facing you, he walks off to the side veeeeeeery slowly until he’s out of sight.

You walk up to the doorframe and peak your head around to the left to see him still standing there.

“Satoru. Stop treating me like I’m some animal at the zoo. Leave.” 

“It’s just so weird seeing you in my house like thi—”

You slam the door on him, your breathing finally slowing down again as your palms lay flat on painted white wood. You move your hand down to the handle, thumb and forefinger lingering on the lock as you look at it for a moment, but ultimately decide against locking it.

The room has a bathroom attached to it which is nice. The bed is a queen size, fitted with light blue and eggshell white sheets, tucked neatly spare for one corner of the bed where the duvet is flipped over. To the left of the bed is a nightstand and to the right is a dresser that looks very new. You take a glance at your reflection in the mirror sitting above it, and let out a small gasp at your less than flattering appearance. 

A five minute shower does you wonders, and you pat yourself dry with a towel that matches the shower curtain. You find one of your floor-length vintage nightgowns, with the long frilly sleeves, after rustling through your overnight stay bag, along with a toothbrush and some moisturizer. 

As you brush your teeth, you pace around the room. There’s a little staggered rack near the window that is lined with plants and the blinds are angled perfectly for sunlight to get through to them. You poke your finger to one of the plant’s soil and notice that it’s damp. Been watered recently. Gojo is a plant guy? He really doesn’t seem the type. Well, actually, he’s pretty vain about his avocado tree. But houseplants were a different story. A whole different trope of person.

After getting ready for bed, you slip into the sheets and lay stiff despite the comfortable mattress as you stare up at the ceiling with the duvet tucked under your arms. It’s bright in the room. Back home, you have blackout curtains, which help you sleep because it blocks out the morning light. Here, you don’t have that. You don’t have your melatonin either. But you do have the exhaustion in your veins, making you blink slowly and slowly until the water in your eyes feels as thick as oil. You’re so tired to the point that you can’t even sleep.

You force your eyes to close anyway. You’ll pretend you’re a queen in a palace, here in a foreign land she has recently conquered under her empire. A daydream that you find doesn’t really help you drift off to sleep. But counting sheep never fails you. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You awake in the afternoon with a headache that pounds at your head like the FBI is trying to infiltrate your own mind. And all you can hear now is the FBI OPEN UP!!! meme as you groan and rub at your temples with one hand while leaning over the bed to pet at the nightstand for your go-to bottle of Tylenol just to–

Pet around at nothing.

“Mm?” you mumble, opening your eyes cautiously before harsh light makes you close them again. But even behind the protection of your eyelids, you’re still very keen on the brightness that finds you in this room. Finally, you’re able to blink the sleepiness away and adjust to the light, and when the blur of your vision subsides, you realize that you’re in a bed that is most definitely not your own. And then you remember.

You spent your first night (well, technically morning and early afternoon), at Gojo’s house.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, balled up fist rubbing at your eyes ferociously as you sit groggy from the sleep that enveloped you so performatively after your shift last night. You can’t even remember coming to his house, which is concerning, since that could mean you forgot to do a lot of other things when coming home. Like changing your clothes, and scrubbing your make-up off. But it seems like habit and routine has saved you, since you glance down and see yourself in one of your nightgowns and your skin doesn’t feel dry.

A loud thud! noise from directly beneath you startles you, jolting some of the sleepiness out of you, and you finally feel inclined to head out the door.

You make it across the loft and to the top of the staircase so you can peer over the railing to the downstairs floor. But from the top, you can’t see anything except for the entry area and the family room, but you assume the sounds you hear are coming from the kitchen, because it sounds like the closing of a fridge and ceramic on marble paired with footsteps on hardwood. Lifting the hem of your nightgown up so you don’t trip over it, you creep down the stairs, diligent in avoiding the 2nd and 7th step (you’ve since learned that they creak a little), and make steady progress in getting to the bottom of the stairwell to then stealthily peak your head around the rail and peer into the kitchen. You only have a view of one side, the long counter strip with the stove and the fridge, but you freeze when you’re met with the sight of a man standing there shirtless pouring orange juice into a coffee mug.

You’re temporarily shocked, your fight of flight immediately kicking in as you clutch the imaginary pearls around your neck in fear…but then…you slowly…find yourself starting to stare. This man’s back is huge, massive really…with tense and defined muscles, expansive smooth lines with ridges that meet bone. His shoulders are broad, rounding down into strong arms that are split with veins. And your eyes trail the way his waist narrows down to his hips, of which gray sweatpants very loosely hang from. Honestly, if the door in the movie Titanic was as large as this man’s back, then maybe Rose AND Jack could have fit on it and survived. (a/n. basically picture this)

And in the middle of your drooling, you realize. That this man. Is. Gojo.

Which should be a relief to you, because if it wasn’t Gojo, and there was just some random man in the house, then you’d have to start looking for a weapon of sorts. But instead you just continue to watch him silently without coming out of your hiding. Shirtless in his own kitchen (a crime, really) as he pours OJ into a black mug (who the fuck drinks juice from a coffee mug). He suddenly turns around to face the island and a small gasp leaves your lips before you duck your head behind the rail to hide yourself from his line of sight, and when you realize you’re in the clear, you slowly peak your head back out.

The sight of his chest and torso nearly knocks you breathless, because why is his skin so smooth…and taut across the defined muscles of his abs, glistening with a sheen you can only guess is a salty layer of sweat. His fringe is damp, sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face, a droplet of sweat rolling down from his temple towards his chin but he uses his bare shoulder to wipe the sweat off before it can get that far. He brings the mug of OJ to his lips and tips it back with a swallow, the thick muscles of his neck rippling and rolling with the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, a singular droplet of orange juice escaping from the corner of his lips, trailing down the vein on his neck and into the territory of his chest. Okay. You were being creepy as fuck right now. He can’t find out that you’re staring at him like this, you’d literally move to a different country if he ever caught you. And yet, for some reason, you just can’t stop either. 

He pulls the mug from his mouth, letting out a large exhale since he literally just gulped it all down in one go. He places his palms flat on the table, slightly distant from one another, as he takes in the sight of his counter, while you take in the sight of the way his biceps bulge and the veins on his thick forearms tense. He looks like he’s contemplating something. And then he shrugs his shoulders slightly before grabbing the carton next to him and chugging straight from it, like whatever he poured himself wasn’t enough to quench the thirst for citrus juice he seems to have after–you can only assume–the workout he just had. 

There’s a deep noise that’s muffled in his throat in the second before he pulls the carton away from his mouth and his eyes glance at something on the floor. You can’t see what it is, but you can see the marvelous shape of his ass through his sweatpants– I mean, you can see him furrow his brow a little and then he’s suddenly crouched down on the floor, ducked behind the island and out of sight, before he mutters something that you think sounds like damn fridge…

You stand on your tiptoes on the last step, trying to peer over the obstructing view of the counter, but you trip over the hem of your nightgown, losing balance and–

–fall straight onto the hardwood in front of you, on all fours. 

“Ah,” you exclaim blandly, and in your periphery, see Gojo suddenly stand up straight from his crouched position.

“y/n?” he calls out from the kitchen, his tone surprised.

“Sorry!” you chirp as you feel embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks, “just, uh, fell down the stairs!”

“What?!?” he exclaims in a panic, and you forgot that most people would panic if someone said that to them. He rushes over to you and gets down on one of his knees to peer at your face, his hand shooting out to grab your upper arm with little delicacy out of concern, and his eyes roam all across you to assess for injuries. “Are you okay??”

“Just!” you chirp as you yank your arm out of his hold, “Peachy!” You’re not able to make eye contact with him as he remains kneeled next to you, but you can’t find yourself able to move either. So you just relish in the ridiculous feeling of being on all fours in your vintage grandma nightgown in front of your shirtless and, breaking news: very hot, fake husband. God you can smell the musk and sweat from him when he’s this close, and it’s sexy. You have to be careful to not just straight up mount him on the floor right now. Much to your aroused dismay. 

“Um,” you squeak out, “can you put a shirt on.”

“Huh?” he looks down at himself, like he forgot he’s half naked. “Oh. Yeah.” He stands up. “Sorry, I’m not really used to having someone in the house anymore,” he says, and his use of the word anymore isn’t lost on you. 

He heads over to the coat closet, pulling a gray sweatshirt that’s a shade darker than his sweatpants off of a coat hanger and then pulling it on over his head. He pulls the hood off, and now his hair looks damp with sweat and sexily ruffled up. And he’s also in a comfy-looking sweatshirt. That was way hotter than being shirtless, for fucks sake. You wonder if he’d reconsider being shirtless again. He’s kneeling down beside you once more, and yes you are still on all fours just staring down at the hardwood floor like an animal paralyzed with fear. 

“Have some decency, please. Especially since I am to start living here from today onwards. I would appreciate modesty around the house,” you say as a tactic of self preservation. “Take note of my attire–appropriately covering all skin.”

“Are you gonna stand up?” he asks you.

“No. I shan't.”

“What? Why not? And why are you talking like that?” 

“It appears I am frozen.”

“Are your knees okay?”

“I believe so.”

He sighs and gets up from his knelt position, then suddenly comes up behind you, bending over to wrap his arms around your waist tightly before picking you up with the same ease in which someone would pick up a plastic lawn chair. You gasp, still retaining your four-legged creature formation, until he shakes it out of you and then sets you back down onto your feet. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a sigh as he heads back towards the kitchen, and he’s back to crouching down somewhere behind the counter.

You shuffle your feet over to the kitchen and peer over the kitchen island to see that he’s examining the floor in front of the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He scratches at his eyebrow. “The fridge is leaking again.”

“Oh.”

He clicks something on both sides of the fridge's feet and then grips the corners of its body, pulling it out from the wall with a small grunt leaving his lips. Even with the baggy sweatshirt, you can see the curves of the muscles in his arms as he works. 

You place your elbows on the island and hold your face in your hands as you watch him. “How are you gonna fix it?”

He’s dabbing at the wet hardwood with a very worn out rag to get it dry. “I just have to shut the water valve off for a bit.”

“How do you do that?”

He points over his shoulder with his thumb, and you trace the line of it to the cabinet under the sink. 

“Really? You’re gonna get under the sink?”

He dusts his hands off and tosses the rug off to the side. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you can fix it?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“How long has this been an issue?”

His gaze flicks to yours briefly before he stands up. “About a week.”

“Don’t you think you should just call someone?”

“What?” He turns to face you and crosses his arms across his chest while raising an eyebrow at you, like you’ve just deeply offended him. “Why the fuck would I call someone for a job I could do myself?”

You tilt your head at him, trying to hide the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “Well you said it’s been a whole week.”

“Yeah, I’ve–...I’ve just been busy. So I haven’t had a chance to really take a look at it.”

“Ohhhh okay okay,” you say in a teasingly skeptic tone, poking your tongue to your cheek as it’s getting progressively harder to hide your grin.

“What?” he says to you, impatiently.

“Nothinggg,” you purr, and you watch him with a cheeky look on your face as he glares at you before he disappears off towards the garage.

He comes back with a tool box and you spend some time poking around in it curiously as he grabs a couple of tools before crouching down in front of the sink.

For some reason, you feel shy watching him. Maybe it’s because when he’s laying on his back, the top twenty-percent of him ducked underneath the sink, and he’s working his hands on some pipes that you can’t see, his sweatshirt rides up a little and you can see the very lower part of his torso. And then when he yanks particularly hard on something, it rides up more and you can see his abs tensing and relaxing with almost every breath he takes and every move he makes. You’re just grateful he can’t see you, and the urge to clench your thighs together is almost stronger than your brain’s disposition to convince yourself that he’s not attractive just because you think he’s annoying most of the time. 

“y/n,” he calls out to you from under the sink, and you jump a little. He tilts his head a little so he can make eye contact with you from under. “Can you hand me those slip-joint pliers?”

“I have no idea what that is or where to even begin to know what that is.”

“The pliers that have the serrated edges,” he tries.

“Huh?”

“.........shark with sharp teeth.” 

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course,” you grab them and then shuffle over to him before crouching down, balancing on your toes, “here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says in a flat tone, slowly taking them from you. 

“You’re welcome!” you chirp. You feel very useful. 

His head disappears back to deep underneath the sink again to work on stuff again. Even though this whole thing is probably just his masculine ego wanting to fix things around the house by himself rather than just call a person that is literally paid to fix these sorts of things, you have to admit that you’re not complaining for getting to watch him do something handy. 

“I’ve just– gotta–” he grunts a little and you hear the creaking of pipes, “tighten this up a bit–” he lets out another gruff noise, his voice strained with effort, and you’re ashamed to say it sounds hot. “Alright!” He pulls himself out from under the sink and stands up back onto his feet with a bounce in his step as he dusts his hands off. “Fixed. For now.”

The fridge starts making a strange whirring noise. You raise an eyebrow at him. He quickly reaches behind it and clicks some button before the eerie whirring stops.

“Okay. Now it’s fixed.”

You give him a very skeptic look. “Sure, Jan.”

“Don’t sure jan me. Trust. It won’t leak anymore.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond before heading back up the stairs to freshen up. 

By the time you go back downstairs, Gojo is nowhere to be found, and you take the opportunity to sit on his couch in the living room to then peruse which streaming services he has on his TV. It isn’t until about ten minutes later that you hear someone coming down the stairs, because he makes no effort to avoid the creaky steps.

You put your elbow up on the couch backrest and twist your torso to look at him. He’s wearing pajama pants and an unmatching black short sleeve cotton T-shirt that’s loose around his torso but tight at the arms. He’s ruffling his hair up with a hand towel, attempting to get it dry from the shower he clearly just took. As he makes his way towards the living room, you catch a waft of the clean soapy aqua fragrance of shampoo lingering in his hair. He stops about four feet behind the couch.

You glance down at his feet. “Why the fuck are you, as a grown ass man, wearing bunny slippers inside the house?”

He opens one eye to glance down at his slippers as he continues to tousle his hair dry, “oh, Juno got them for me for Christmas last year. She wanted me to wear them ‘all the time or else uncle toru’s feet will burn off from the floor lava.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

Juno is Gojo’s five-year-old niece, and from the interactions you’ve seen between them, and from the way My Little Pony was the first thing that popped up when you turned the TV on, you know that Gojo absolutely adores her and vice versa. You’ve met her a couple times, even babysat her once in an emergency, and she’s a cute and bright little kid that you certainly have way more fondness for than her obnoxiously annoying uncle who is also now your fake husband. Wait, does that mean that Juno is your niece now, too?

Gojo lets out a sigh before hanging the towel over his shoulder, his hair apparently adequately dry enough for him now. He looks younger when his hair is messy and a little damp, falling over his forehead flatter than usual. It’s kinda boyish and dare-you-say charming.

He looks down at his slippers again with a pleasant reminiscent look on his face before placing his hands on his hips like he’s a baseball dad of three. “Y’know, when I was growing up–”

“Ah yes. During the Great Depression.”

He gives you an annoyed look. “Quit it. When I was a kid–”

“Back in the 1800s.”

“Aren’t you pushing thirty?” he asks you.

“Aren’t you in need of some new dentures?” you ask him.

“Fuckin’ rude,” he mumbles as he walks towards the foyer table to rip open some of the mail that was scattered across it.

“What happened when you were a kid?” you ask.

“Forget it,” he says, tucking some of his bills back into envelopes.

“What!! I wanna know,” you say.

“Yeah well I don’t want to tell you anymore,” he responds.

As you two fully grown adults continue bickering like toddlers for the better part of two minutes, your phone is ringing upstairs unbeknownst to you. 

“Wait. Shut up,” Gojo cuts off your next insult as he snaps his head up-right suddenly. 

“What?! Did you just tell me to shut u–”

“Shhhhhh,” he hushes you, turning his ear towards the stairs with a concentrated expression on his face.

You silence yourself, and then you hear the ringing coming from upstairs.

“Fuck,” you mumble as you scramble off the couch and jog to the bottom of the staircase, Gojo’s eyes on you the entire time as you run up the steps back to your room.

You hear your phone ringing on the bed somewhere but you can’t find it so you rummage through the sheets before finally spotting it, swiping on the call and bringing it to your ear without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” you say.

“Oh! y/n, hi there. It’s Dr. Johnson calling. I was prepared to leave you a voicemail,” he says.

“I’m here,” you say hastily, holding your phone to your ear with both hands as you feel your entire body tense up. 

You never knew what to expect with any sort of phone calls these days, especially when you’re at work or when your mom isn’t home, because a phone call could be something as simple as approving a refill on some of her medication, to something much worse than that. Something much more final than that. 

“It’s not an emergency,” Dr. Johnson says on the other line, like he can sense your fear and anxiety through the phone, “just wanted to reach out to let you know that I spoke with the hospitalist who admitted your mother to the hospital and she’s doing better now. They’ll likely discharge her by the end of the day.”

You slowly let out the breath you were holding. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I know she needs to come in for chemo tomorrow, so it’s perfect timing.”

“Yes, we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Uh, Dr. Johnson, I do want to let you know…I’ll be admitting my mom for hospice in a couple of days,” you tell him. You wince a little, because you know it’s probably something that you should’ve discussed with him prior to all of this. “It’s…likely that you won’t have to continue her care anymore, since she’s been approved for Kaiser insurance, I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser physicians.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line, the briefest moment of hesitation from a self-assured doctor who always had something to say right away. “Really? That’s–...wow. I can’t say I won’t be extremely sad to not see her anymore.”

“I know…” you say, worrying your bottom lip through your teeth, feeling a sudden wave of guilt overtake your senses, “you’ve been following her progress ever since her diagnosis, even got her into remission…it’s just a little complicated with some insurance stuff and some bills as well. If I could have things my way, I would continue care with you and your team.”

Even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s nodding on the other line. “I understand, y/n. I know that there’s more to healthcare in this country than just…receiving care. But I don’t have to explain those things to you, since you’re a nurse. Do what’s best for you and your family. Give me the details for the hospice, and I’ll have my MAs send over your mother’s chart.”

“Thank you, Dr. Johnson,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “Really. For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Oh–” you stutter, in fear he might hang up right as you remembered to ask him something.

“Yes?”

“I know I’ll see you tomorrow so we can discuss it then too, but I was just wondering if the scans were back from my mom’s brain MRI she had done? I know they usually take three weeks to come back but just wanted to check.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “I had a feeling you’d follow up about that. No, there are no scans that have come back. I’ll let you know right away when they do.”

“Okay…” you say.

“I know you’re worried about a possible glioma,” he speaks up, “but let’s just try to stay positive until we see the scans, okay?”

“Yes. Sounds good. Thank you, doctor.”

“Alright. I will see you and your mom tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bye,” you say and hear his word of farewell too before hanging up. 

You stare down at the screen of your phone, taking in slow deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You just wanted these scans to come back already so that you could feel at peace knowing that your mom’s worsening neurological condition is due to her Alzheimer’s and not a tumor in her brain. The average survival length of a person with a brain tumor is low, and even worse if it’s a glioblastoma, ranging at around 12-18 months. You can buy her a few years at least with the stage of cancer progression she’s at right now, even with the possibility of remission, but if it becomes severely advanced disease then–

You gasp softly and cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even fathom the thought without feeling a feverish chill run down your entire body. Now's not the time to spiral. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Now is the time to stay positive. Just like Dr. Johnson said. 

Putting one step ahead of the other, you leave the room, cross the loft and slowly make your way down the stairs and stop at the very last step when you see Gojo rushing across the foyer with his dress shoes on, wearing a dark blue suit, save for the tie, and he looks like he’s pressed for time.

“Are you going somewhere?” you ask from the last step, your hand curled around the rail still.

“Hey, uh, yeah,” he scrambles, grabbing his keys from the paper mache bowl on the foyer table and then pats at his pockets for his wallet only to notice it’s absent. “Fuck.” He disappears somewhere into the house in a hurry and then returns with his wallet in his hand before shoving it in his pocket with the jingle of his keys too. “I had to push a couple house viewings from this afternoon up, so I need to leave.” He finally turns to face you and exhales slowly to regain his breath. “Small favor?”

“What’s up,” you say.

He rubs the back of his neck a little guiltily. “Well, Sana called a few minutes ago asking if I could watch Juno since she had to pick her up early from school, and I said sure, but I have to leave now, so–”

“I can watch her,” you say.

He claps his hands together in prayer form and holds them up to his face, “I owe you one.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you hum, watching as he resumes his haste to leave the house. And just before he heads out the door, you say— “Collar.”

“Huh?” He turns around to face you. “Oh.” He takes a second to flatten the collar of his shirt. “Thanks.” And then he’s out the door.

You sigh, relishing in the emptiness of the house. Maybe you should raid his pantry, or play porn on the TV super loud so all the neighbors think he’s a creep. But perhaps that is not appropriate, given that his sister will be bringing his niece over very soon.

You quickly head over to your house to change into something more appropriate than your nightgown, just some blue jeans that honestly make you look like a soccer mom, and then a T-shirt. You walk back to Gojo’s house and only get about five minutes to peruse his pantry when the doorbell rings.

When you open the door, you’re met face-to-face with Gojo’s sister, Sana. How would you describe Sana? Well, first of all, she’s beautiful, with all the same features as Gojo except in female form. Striking round blue eyes, silky white hair that shimmers silver underneath sunlight (you would describe Gojo less poetically than this, though). Her hair is pin straight, falling down just past her shoulders. She’s sweet, or at least has been the couple of times that you’ve met her, but she can also be a little serious and strict. The type to not really laugh at the dinner table if you make a pointed joke about the current political state of the country, but maybe it’s because she didn’t even understand the joke to begin with. Either way, she’s very different from the annoying and irritating temperament of her older brother, and how their mother managed to give birth to such two different kids is beyond you.

“Hey,” you greet her at the door with a small smile.

“Hi, y/n,” she returns with a polite smile of her own. She’s holding onto Juno’s scrawny shoulders as the kid stands in front of her, barely to the height of her mother’s hips. Juno was toying with the light pink baseball cap on her head, her hair pulled through the opening in the back and tied up into a ponytail. “I’m so sorry to bother you with her.”

“Oh! No, not a bother at all, I love getting to see her,” you say as you crouch down to get at eye level with her. “Hi Juno!”

Juno has curly white hair rather than the pin straight that her mother possessed, a feature that more closely resembles her father’s hair, along with her hazel eyes. You’ve only met Sana’s husband, Jun, once before. From what you know, he’s some type of businessman, and the first thing you noticed about him was that he was the same height as Sana. But his wife was blessed with supermodel height and was probably taller than most men, so it wasn’t surprising. Jun was hearty, almost suspiciously kind, laughed boisterously loud, and in the small amount of time you met him, it was easy to see that Sana very rarely humored his ill-mannered and awkwardly-placed jokes, but they seemed very in love with each other regardless. Apparently he and Gojo go golfing every other weekend. Information that you seem to know despite any desire to know it. 

Juno hugs her water bottle to her chest, shy as she makes eye contact with you. “Hi, auntie y/n.”

“I loooooove your baseball cap! It’s so cute, where did you get it?” you ask her.

She blinks off to the side timidly, her fluffy white lashes fluttering over her bright eyes. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Ohhh I see, I see! It suits you.”

Sana nudges her a little with her knee. “What do we say, Juno?”

“Thank you, auntie y/n,” she immediately squeaks out in reflex.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the white bandage wrapped over her tiny arm and your brow furrows before reaching out to gently hold it. Juno winces a little from the sensation. You stand up straight.

“What happened to her arm?” you ask Sana.

Sana sighs as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “She fell on the playground at school today. It’s a pretty large scrape and it’s been hurting her a lot.”

“Did you disinfect it?”

“Oh…I just–...washed it with some water. The school nurse wasn’t there today so I just had to pick her up early.” 

“Mm, I see,” you say, “I can take a look at it. I have some neosporin in my purse.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, like she was secretly hoping you would make the offer. “Thank you. Really.” She gently pushes on her daughter’s shoulder. “C’mon Juno. Go inside and set your homework up on the table.”

Juno cranes her neck up to look at her mom. “Mommy, can I have a snack first? Pop-tart!”

“If your uncle has them in the pantry, then sure,” Sana says, and immediately upon hearing those words, Juno rushes inside the house with giggles filling the air. “But only one!!” Sana yells out to her in a strict tone, and you watch with amusement as Juno skips off before returning your attention back to Sana.

“Sooo…” she starts, a small hint of hesitation playing on her usually prim face, “I suppose we’re sisters now. Sisters-in-law.”

Your eyes widen and your shoulders stiffen. It was at least a good thing that Gojo told his family already that you two are married, because it seems that most of his extended family live here in this town. At least, you know that his sister’s family and his parents live here. Better to be heard from him directly than to run into you randomly living at his house all of a sudden when they drop by. You’re sure his family has questions about this extremely sudden marriage to say the least. You’re not sure how much they’ll try to pry, but you hope it’s not much, because you’ve never really been a great actress. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“Mm,” she hums pleasantly at you, nodding slowly and peering off into the house beyond your shoulder, “say…I’m, um, just a little…surprised by how sudden this all is.”

“Hmm?”

“With you and my brother,” she says straightforwardly. “Obviously, you must know he’s been married before, but it’s…a little odd, it feels like just yesterday when he told us he was…getting a divorce. And now he’s married again.” She trails off when she has some sobering thought that flashes through her head. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m blabbering about this. I’m just–...I’m just thinking out loud. It must be a sore topic.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all. No worries,” you say with an awkward laugh, “I’ve, um, come to terms with it?” You try your best to come up with a believable response.

“That’s good,” she says while she runs soothing circles with her thumb over the skin at her elbow, “well, some love moves faster than others.” She displays a well-meaning smile on her face. “I’m really happy for you two.”

For some reason, your heart warms. Like when the lines of reality and imagination blur, and so you’re left here with a truly comforting feeling. Only it’s fleeting and temporary, like escapism. “Thank you,” you say softly. And after a moment, “by the way, I’m really sorry for…Satoru and I not having a proper wedding. We just wanted something simple.”

She lets out a small scoff. “Oh, gosh, don’t apologize for that. I’m sick of weddings. I was so glad I didn’t have to peruse yet another wedding registry this year. There are only so many toaster ovens I can buy.”

You’re a little surprised by the humor from her, but the two of you let out small laughs in unison at the doorstep.

Sana glances at her watch. “I have to get going. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

You nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

You close the door slowly, watching her briefly through the stained glass window as she heads towards her car and gets inside before promptly driving off. 

There’s the sound of ruffling heard and then the sound of things falling off a shelf towards the kitchen. You turn on your heel and head in the direction. “Junooo,” you call out, “where are youuuu?”

“In here!” she chirps from the pantry room. You turn the light on to see her standing in the center with a couple boxes of cereal fallen around her. She’s holding an empty box in her hand. “The pop-tart box is empty,” she says with a pout and sulk of her shoulders as she makes the most :(( face you’ve ever seen a child make.

“Oh no,” you say, grabbing the box from her and inspecting the inside, “your devious uncle must’ve eaten them all in a manic episode.”

“What is a manic mean?” she asks you as she looks up, rubbing her ankle with her other foot.

“Oh, it’s like…crazy? He went crazy?”

She giggles at the thought.

“If you’re hungry, I can make you something,” you offer.

She shyly nods her head but her grin fully rounds her cheeks before she darts off towards the kitchen. 

You find her standing near the kitchen island, trying to get up onto one of the bar stools but to no avail. You come up behind her to pick her up then set her down on the seat, adjusting it so it’s a little higher. 

“What do you want me to make?” you ask her as you come around to the other side of the island and set your elbows up on the cold marble, leaning over to place your chin in your palm. 

“Um…” she brings her index finger up to her bottom lip in thought, “pancakes? Can I have blubbery pancakes?”

“Huh?” 

“Um…” she starts again, “last time, when I eated them at your house. Um, when I ated them at your house,” she tries to correct herself, “I really liked them.”

“Oh!” you perch up from your bent over position, “I remember! The blueberry pancakes. Aww, Juno, you remember that? How sweet.”

She becomes a little bashful and glances down at the her lap.

“Okayyy,” you say, placing your hands on your waist as you look around at the kitchen, “well I’ll have to see what ingredients I’m working with here, but hopefully I can make them for you.” You tilt your head at her before pointing a finger. “Have you ever seen the show Chopped?” 

She sits up straight with excitement. “Yes yes! Me and mommy love it.”

“Good. Let’s pretend I’m working with a mystery basket here,” you say, and then you turn around to open Gojo’s fridge. 

You can learn a lot about a person based on what the inside of their fridge looks like. You’re surprised to find the inside of his looks…sparkly? That was the only way you knew how to describe it. With clean shelves that reflect the bright lighting off the plastic, plastic that looks as mirror sheen as glass. As your eyes take in the contents inside, you notice he has some leftover thai food at the front, most likely leftovers from as recent as last night. One of the produce drawers is filled to the brim while the other is mostly empty, and you notice he separates them by leafy stuff vs. veggies. The leafy stuff is the drawer that’s filled to the brim, and you just know he’s stressed out over how to use all of it up before it starts wilting. Must’ve been on sale, you think to yourself. To the right of the fridge, there are an insane amount of orange juice cartons, and you notice he drinks the same one as you–pulp free with the added vitamins and calcium that’s made for kids. Although maybe he has an excuse for it, since he has a five-year-old niece. There’s a few containers of meal prep stacked up at the back of the fridge that look like some sort of arrangement of quinoa, chicken and Mediterranean vegetables. And then there’s just a bunch of assorted cans of beer throughout the fridge, which you assume are to appease the diverse preferences of his friends whenever he has them over. 

You grab a couple of eggs from the egg carton, placing them on the counter along with a stick of butter plus a half-full carton of milk, and peer deep into the fridge past the wall of condiments to eye for any fresh fruit such as berries, but you don’t see any. You try the freezer and are relieved when you see he has some frozen blueberries in there.

“Okay!” you shut the fridge. “Just need to grab a few more things from the pantry room and then I’ll make you your pancakes, okay?” 

Juno nods enthusiastically. “Um. Can I get my backpack?”

“Sure.” You pick her up off the bar stool to set her down on the ground and she runs to the coffee table in front of the TV to grab her things as you head to the pantry room. 

Flour, sugar, baking powder, all tucked in your elbows as you carry the ingredients back to the kitchen before dropping them onto the counter and picking Juno up to place her on the barstool again. She starts to lay out her glittery pens and pristinely sharpened pencils in front of her as well as a packet of papers. 

“I can’t believe they’re giving Kindergarteners homework these days…” you mutter under your breath as you grab a bowl. “Juno, wanna help me crack the eggs?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go wash our hands then.”

As you mix all your ingredients together and Juno continues to stare at her papers with her face awfully close to them (does she need glasses?), you think to yourself what a nice little life this is. Although you haven’t been able to spend the day at your house like you were hoping you would, since you could finally have it for yourself, it was nice to spend it at Gojo’s. It was something different, something refreshing, something grounding. An escape that you needed. 

“Um. Auntie y/n?” Juno calls from behind you as you flip a pancake at the stove.

“Yes sweetheart.”

“How is mommy?”

“Hmm?” you hum. “My mommy?”

“Yes!”

“Oh you are just the sweetest thing. She’s doing okay. She’s just a little sick still.”

“When I’m sick,” Juno speaks up with a childlike enthusiasm in her voice, “my mommy gives me grape soor–...stir–” she struggles with the word, “shrup, ah, syrup! Grape syrup. It makes me better.”

“Ohhh honey, I know,” you coo as you try to match her enthusiasm, placing two little pancakes onto a plate for her. “When you get the sniffles, right?”

“Yes! Maybe your mommy will be better too if I give her some of my grape syoorup?”

You stop in your tracks, staring down at the food you were just plating.

The innocence of a child. It was hard to stay strong in the face of it. When you were younger, you probably would’ve thought that a magical potion would make your mom all better, too.

You turn around to face her. “Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little to fight the knot that you find is twisting it, “I think,” and now you’re blinking away the faint sheer of tears as you press your lips into a thin smile, your soft soft above a whisper, “that that is a wonderful idea.”

Juno gobbles up her blubbery pancakes with the extra maple syrup on them and you watch her take every bite. There was something satisfying about seeing a little kid eat so well. The sight made you feel well-fed on their behalf.

“Alright,” you say with a small grunt as you pick Juno up and set her down onto the ground, then take her hand to lead her over to the carpeted family room. “Let me take a look at this scrape of yours.”

Juno’s hand tugs slightly when you try to pull on it, so you turn around to see that she has stopped in her tracks halfway through the trek to the other room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

“I don’t want you to see it…”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“Juno,” you tug on her hand a little, “I have to see it so that I can clean it. Otherwise you might get sick. A type of sick that even grape syrup can’t fix.”

She looks up at you with curious eyes, not fearful ones. 

“There is sick like that?” she asks you.

“Yes. Now give me your arm.”

Juno follows you to the family room and stands still, the front of her jutting out slightly as she pouts, a display of her remaining disapproval for you taking a look at her scrape. You get down onto your knees and slowly undo the bandages, unwrapping the layers one-by-one before the end falls off and you’re staring at a 4x2cm superficial abrasion on her arm, and when your thumb lightly swipes at the skin underneath it, Juno winces from the pain.

You also notice she has a bruise on her left upper thigh, right below where the hem of her shorts end.

“You…only fell onto your right side, right?” you ask her.

“Mhm,” she nods.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How come you have a bruise on your left thigh then?”

Her eyes widen slightly with shock and her head quickly snaps down to look at her thigh. “Um. Um. I don’t know. Um. Um.”

“Juno,” you say, trying to muster up a strict tone, but she refuses to make eye contact with you anymore as she stares at the carpet beneath her. You gently grab a hold of both of her wrists. “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Her eyes slowly lift up to meet yours. “I want to help you, but I can't help you unless you’re honest with me.”

Her big eyes blink at you slowly and her bottom lip quivers slightly.

“How did you really hurt yourself?”

She immediately starts bawling. Full on sobs that echo throughout the room and startle you slightly as the tears freely fall down her cheeks and she struggles to wipe them off with her left arm, but they only drip down her elbow.

“Oh–” you stutter, holding her by her shoulders, “Juno–”

She sniffles. “They–” she hiccups, “they pushed me…they always push me.”

“Who pushed you?? Who always pushes you??”

She sucks in a deep breath as she continues to cry and you struggle to wipe at her tears for her with the pad of your thumb. “The–hic–girls at school. They’re so–hic–...wahhh…they’re so mean.”

“They pushed you on the playground and that’s how you got this scrape and bruise?” you ask her.

She nods as she slowly begins to come down from her outburst, her remnant sniffles and short sharp inhales showing that she was struggling to breath. You run to grab some tissues and then come back, holding them to her nose before she blows into them.

“Oh sweetheart…I’m so sorry,” you say to her.

She suddenly runs into you, hugging you tightly, and you’re momentarily surprised before wrapping an arm around her too and then gently patting at her back.

“How long has this been going on?” you ask her.

“Mm…ever since I–hic–ever since I got on T-ball team…but they couldn’t get on.”

“Oh…” you coo, gently rubbing her back now. You’re not a mom, you’ve got no fucking clue how to navigate this sort of situation. But you can try your best to give some advice. “Juno, you have every right to feel happy and safe at school.” You gently pull her away from the hug so that you can look at her face. “And it’s okay to stand up for yourself and against anyone that is being mean to you. Don’t let them take that power away from you.”

She nods slowly, her lip quivering slightly again.

You sigh slowly before giving her another hug. “And we’ll work out something with your mom too, okay? She can talk to the teachers.”

“No!” Juno shrieks, pulling away from you suddenly. You blink at her. “No. Please don’t tell my mommy.”

“W-Why not??”

“Because–” she stutters, “um…I want to tell her myself. Because I lied, and mommy always says to me to not tell lies. So I have to fix it myself.”

You tilt your head at her, frowning slightly. You’re not exactly sure how much autonomy over such things you should be granting a five-year-old, but you decide to give her the choice. You hold your pinky finger out to her, “you have to promise me you’ll tell her though, okay?”

She nods and wraps her pinky around yours. 

After getting her scrape cleaned up and tended to, Juno spends the next hour or so watching My Little Pony on the TV as you clean up the mess you made in the kitchen. And as you’re staring out into the backyard while wiping down the cutting board, the sound of the doorbell ringing makes you jump with a startle and breaks you out of your trance.

You were prepared to open the door to find Sana standing at the entrance, but instead you’re met with the sight of a different woman.

Much older, and with all the same features, it doesn’t really take you long to figure out who she is.

“Ah! There she is!” the woman chirps out. “I’m—”

“Juno’s grandmother,” you finish the statement for her.

“—Satoru’s mother,” she instead says.

You both blink at one another.

“Well,” she chirps, “I’m both!”

Gojo’s mother appears to be a kind woman, and it’s evident that being gorgeous must run in the family. Although she has aged features, they’re still beautiful in a graceful way, where people would take a look at her and think of aging as a privilege and not a curse. Her eyes are somewhat feline, different from the roundness of those you’ve seen in her family, and her hair is a shimmering silver all around with a pretty silk press layered hair style that flatters her frail jaw. She was wearing a French-style button up dress with a rather gaudy belt around her waist, and you catch the scent of her lilac perfume even while she’s standing three feet away.

She puts her hands on her hips and has a forced smile on her face. “My son gets married and he doesn’t even tell me a peep about it, or introduce me to his new wife! I have to come all the way over here myself!” she exclaims, and her tone is like she’s trying to play it off with nonchalance but the stiffness of her features makes it look like she’s losing her mind. “Well,” she clicks her tongue, “he’s always had the penchant for never sharing anything he ever does with me.”

“Ah…I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gojo,” you say to her, unsure why you’re apologizing, but there was this energy to her that made you realize she had a skill for making people feel apologetic in her presence.

“No worries! Not your fault. I’ll deal with him later,” she says, her smile growing to where it almost fully crescents her eyes in a frightening way that almost sends a shiver down your spine, “anywhoooo,” she takes both of your hands into hers, “you’re very beautiful, and you have a very lucky-looking nose!”

“Lucky?”

“Yes, yes. You will bring luck to our family.”

“Thanks?” you say, trying to manage a smile.

She takes a step closer to you. “Tell me, what do your parents do for a living?”

“Oh! Um, well, my mom is retired, but she used to be an art teacher. My dad is in the food business, but uh, I haven’t spoken to him in years ever since my parents got divorced.”

“Ah,” she says curtly, her face blank as if she couldn’t think of a single thing to follow up with after that. She peers past your shoulder. “Where’s the little princess?”

“She’s just inside grabbing her things.” You gently slip your hands out of her hold and turn around to face the inside of the house. “Juno!! Do you need help?”

“No!!” she calls from the kitchen.

“Say, my dear,” Gojo’s mother speaks up, “why don’t you and Satoru come by for dinner this weekend? Jun and Sana apparently have some important news they’d like to share with the family, and I offered that we all hear it together over a meal. This way you can meet your father-in-law too!”

You take a deep breath in, realizing that this fake marriage agreement involves a lot more deceit than you ever thought it would. “Sure. Yes. I’d love that. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, just in time for when you feel Juno brush past you towards her grandma, hunching over slightly with her backpack’s weight. Gojo’s mother pulls you in for a hug which entirely startles you and you slowly wrap your arms around her as well. “It’s so lovely to have a daughter-in-law. Oh, I am just so happy to have you in our family.”

She lets go of you but still keeps you close by a delicate hold of your elbows, a gleeful smile on her face as she looks you up and down slowly.

“Bye, auntie y/n!!” Juno squeaks out, hugging your leg, and you pat at the top of her head. Her grandmother finally lets go of you and takes Juno’s tiny hand in her frail one, and you see them off to the car.

By the time you make it back inside the house, you let out a deep slow breath, one that you didn’t know you were holding in, as you lay your weight back on the front door. You feel a pressure in your head from your dwindling social battery and all these tricky encounters.

So, you’re part of a whole other family, now?

That. Is. Frightening.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 3]

a/n. ah!! hope you enjoyed this ihm chapter :’’) sorry if it seemed like a bunch of random scenes lolol i swear it’s all set up for stuff that will happen down the lineee. i just be yappin so the word count ends up kinda high. hope to see you in the next one!! <3 love u all. also it’s my frank ocean anons bday today so i dedicate this chapter to themm 🫶🏼💕 manifesting dilf gojo for u bb for anyone curious about why reader is a bit paranoid w potentially being busted for her fake marriage, i had another reader that was curious about this too so i answered them here if you'd like to check it out :)

➸ take me to chapter four!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

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[crashandlivewrites]

Hear the Dogs Howling

Dedicated to the lovely @soapsgf for allowing me to ramble and bounce ideas off as I wrote this, along with being so sweet and helping me grow my confidence. This is for you.

Pairing: Dom!Ghost x fem!switch!reader x switch!Soap

Summary: Soap doesn't know how to stay quiet during sex. Tonight is no different. When you finally knock on his door to get him to tone it down, you walk in on a scene you weren't entirely expecting to see.

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, MMF threesome, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving vaginal; m receiving anal), anal sex (m receiving), mild dubcon as Soap is initially choking on cock but he's into it, minor pet play (Soap is referred to as pup)

Read on Ao3

Soap was a noisy neighbour. There was no other way to put it. You’d been rooming next to him for a good while now ever since you were placed on the task force, and he always found a way to disturb your peace. Whether it was the sound of his music, or telly being up too loud, or his booming laughter as he chatted on the phone, or his or his partner’s noises of pleasure as he fucked them into the squeaky bed the base provided. 

Sure, you might have been jealous, picturing him above you, behind you, beneath you instead of them. Yes, you may have also touched yourself listening to his moans, wishing he was making those sounds for you, but you thought better of actually doing something about it. Pushed those feelings deep, deep down. Ruining the team dynamic, especially when you were the newest member put you more at risk than the others of transfer, or worse, discharge.

Shaking your head, you broke out of your chain of thoughts, biting your lip as you tried to focus on the report before you. Price wanted it by tomorrow. Demanded it by tomorrow. Cursing, you rested your forehead on your palms, trying to keep yourself awake as the half-empty cup of coffee remained stagnant next to you. Two pages left. That’s all you had to get through. 

And then you heard it. A muffled moan from next door. Fucking Soap and his inability to keep it in his pants for more than a few days. 

Clenching your teeth, you snapped your head over your shoulder, glaring at the wall as if you could curse him into silence. But, knowing Soap, this was only the beginning. The man knew how to fuck, and had the stamina to keep on going, meaning if you didn’t put a pin in this now, you were going to be listening to the sounds of your teammate fucking for the next few hours. 

Sitting in your chair, you debated for a few minutes, wondering if it really was something you wanted to walk in on, or interrupt at the very least. Tapping your foot and the pen in your hand in a steady rhythm, you tried to focus on the report before you, but after another five minutes of staring into empty space and the sounds from next door filling your head, you caved. Pushing the chair back, you marched over to your adjoining wall, banging on it harshly. 

“Keep it down, Soap! I have shit to do for Price.” 

You thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. As though he was intentionally trying to spite you, the noises got progressively louder, more frequent. You’d slammed on the wall more times than you’d care to admit before you finally snapped. 

Slamming your door open, you march over to Soap’s room and bang your fist against his. But instead of it being solid, the door gave way, swinging open to reveal a scene you’d never thought you’d walk in on. Instead of Soap being on top of a pretty girl, he was on his knees, stark naked with his lips stretched wide around a thick cock that was being shoved down his throat. And not just any cock. Ghost’s cock. Your mouth sagged open slightly as your eyes flicked over the pair of them, taking in Soap’s bare form and comparing it to Ghost’s fully clothed one. 

Making a small noise of protest, Soap shuffled his weight on his knees and went to pull back, but Ghost was quicker, gloved hand reaching down to grip Soap’s mohawk firmly, keeping him pressed into his crotch.

“Ah! Did I say you could move, pup?” Ghost’s voice was stern and deep, stirring something deep inside you. In reply, Soap whined, blinking up at the larger man. It was only then that you noticed tears streaming down his face. Your breath hitched as you finally turned your gaze towards Ghost who was staring directly at you. 

His dark eyes were sharp and calculated, locking you in place as you stood stock still in the doorway. It was like your shoes were rooted to the spot and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the erotic scene even if you tried. 

“You just gonna stand there and gape at the slut?” Ghost cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinting in amusement. “Or are you gonna make yourself useful, Sergeant?”

The resolve in you crumbled. If Ghost and Soap could fuck with seemingly little consequence, surely you were fine to join as well. Feeling the heat bubble inside you, and your heart thump in your chest, you knew there was only one correct answer moving forward.

Swallowing thickly, you shut the door behind you. 

Despite the balaclava covering his face, you could see the interest spark in Ghost’s eyes at your actions. His eyes crinkled as he looked down at Soap, who whined pitifully, drool leaking out the sides of his mouth as he held position. 

“Seems like you’ve got another playmate, pup.” Ghost rumbled, carding his fingers through Soap’s hair gently as you walked forward, steps muffled by your socks on the wood floor. “You gonna put on a show for our guest?” 

Soap moaned, wet lashes fluttering as glanced between you and Ghost before beginning to bob his head in a slow rhythm along Ghost’s cock. The masked man let out a sharp hiss, fingers gripping Soap’s hair roughly as he grunted in pleasure. You stood there, less than a metre away from the pair, watching, feeling the heat of arousal spread through your body, accumulating between your thighs. Your mind raced, wondering how exactly you were going to fit into this scenario, but that question was answered when Soap reached a hand up towards you, stretching out his fingers. 

You kneel down next to him, lacing your fingers through his as his mouth continues to work. Soap’s own cock was rock hard, twitching slightly between his parted legs as the tip drooled pre-cum, pooling on the floor beneath him. He squeezes your hand in thanks and moans prettily, glancing towards you through the corners of his eyes and you grin, leaning in to purr into his ear. 

“You’re doing such a good job, pup. Putting on such a good show for me, aren’t you?” Despite the Ghost bullying his heavy cock down Soap’s throat, he whined at your words, opening his mouth even wider to accomodate the thickness. You cooed at him encouragingly, your other hand tracing circles on his back as Ghost groaned. 

Thrusting his hips forwards, he bumped his dick into the back of Soap’s throat causing him to gag. You could see the bulge of his cock every time he bucked his hips forwards, yet Soap swallowed eagerly, one hand laced in yours and the other resting on his thigh, twitching with every bounce of his cock. 

It was now your turn to stare up at Ghost from your position on the floor and you almost wished you hadn’t. He was a sight. Large and imposing as he stood over the pair of you, eyes darkened with lust as he stared. Your mouth went dry as his mere gaze sent another rush of desire through you, shivers running up your spine as you squeezed your legs together, trying to stave off the lust. He reaches a gloved hand down to cup your cheek, then your neck, tipping your chin up to hold your attention. 

“Can I touch him?” You breathed, voice barely audible over the excited yet muffled noises Soap was making at your words. 

“Good pups don’t touch themselves.” Ghost answered, brow raising. “He can cum from just sucking me. Sure you don’t wanna see that?” 

You had to admit, watching Soap cum without any direct stimulation would be enticing, but you couldn’t wait. You needed to touch him. After months of hearing him fuck, and presumably be fucked, you were finally getting to live out your deepest desire. You shake your head, keeping your eyes fixed on Ghost.

“Not right now. Wanna stroke his cock and watch him lose his mind as he gets you off.” Ghost simply cocked his head to the side before turning his attention back to Soap, but it was Soap who reacted viscerally. His hips stuttered; cock bobbed between his legs as he began to tremble. You felt a sly grin flash over your face. 

“Look at you… so excited to be touched? Is that it?” Releasing his hand, you move your own to stroke his thigh, running your hand along the inside, feeling his muscles twitch beneath his skin. “Such a good pup, aren’t you.” He nodded as best he could with a cock down his throat. 

Reaching down between his legs, you swipe a finger through the small pool of pre-cum on the floor and move to circle the head of his cock with your fingertip. He whined, hips canting forward to seek more stimulation, which you granted. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you began to stroke him with a light grip, in time with the bobbing of his head. Soap shivered, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hand touch, and he built up a steady rhythm, causing your hand to move quicker. He moaned, eagerly swallowing down Ghost’s dick to the base, causing him to hiss, gloved fingers tugging at Soap’s mohawk. 

“Good fucking pup. Look at you. Swallowing me so well. Makin’ a fuckin’ mess as you do.” Ghost’s dark eyes flicked over to you, before reaching over and cupping your cheek. Breath hitching, you raised your head up to look as him as your hand continued to work over Soap’s slick cock. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl too. Takin’ care of my pup. Makin’ sure he doesn’t get too antsy. Can be a right pain in my ass sometimes.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as you ducked your head, glancing away from him and back to Soap who was pumping his hips forward, desperate for the pace to increase. His eyes flick to yours pleadingly and his hips moved, brows pinched together as he made a muffled noise of impatience. 

“Stop touching him.” Ghost growled his command as he yanked Soap’s head back as you pulled your hand back quickly. Letting out a multitude of protests, Soap’s brows furrowed as he glared up at Ghost. 

“The fuck did ah dae?” His tone was petulant, accent thick as he coughed, heaving air into his lungs. 

“Bein’ fuckin’ impatient, pup.” Ghost leaned down, leering at Soap who squirmed under the stern gaze. “We have someone nice enough to come in and touch that needy cock of yours, and you’re actin’ like a brat. Rein it in, or I’m gonna fuck your face like a slag I’m payin’ and leave you hard and leaking.” 

Soap kept his head low, but you could see the pout evident on his face. His eyes remained cast down as he nodded in response to Ghost’s words before reaching back up to fill his mouth. A strong hand pressed to his shoulder, stopping him going any further. 

“Open your mouth and use it for fuckin’ words like your s’posed to.” Soap glowered, huffing before he turned his head towards you. 

“Sorry fer bein’ impatient. Ye can touch me how ye want.” You smiled at him for a moment, before Ghost’s fingers tapped on your cheek, turning your attention to him. 

“Keep him in line, or after I’m through with him, I’ll show you how to properly keep a pup in line.” His soft, yet deep voice sent shivers down your spine, and you felt wetness pool in your panties, sticking to you.

“Yes sir.” Ghost let out a barely audible breath at your submission as his thumb stroked along your cheek bone. 

“Keep that up and maybe I’ll fuck you too sweet thing.” Your mouth parted as your head tilted back, angling slightly as Ghost stooped lower, as though he was about to kiss you through the mask before he pulled back. Wrapping a hand around the base of his thick cock, he fed it into Soap’s open and willing mouth, cupping the back of his head before thrusting deep. Soap gagged at the sudden intrusion but kept the dick deep in his throat as he swallowed around it. 

Spitting on your hand, you wrapped it back around Soap’s cock, mixing between long, languid strokes down his full length and quick, sharp ones over his dripping head. Soap trembled at the changes, body shaking slightly as he remained still for you. Cooing into his ear, the pace of your hand increased slightly. 

“Look at you, pup. Sitting so pretty for me now, aren’t you. Bet you look real sweet when you cum too.” Soap moaned out an affirmative, one of his hands cupping the back of Ghost’s muscled thigh as his other reached for your leg, resting high up near the apex of your thighs, but refusing to lift any higher until he was told so. You grinned at his good behaviour. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum for me? Wanna be a good boy and spill all over my hand?” Soap moaned again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he continued to suck off his teammate, messy and sloppy as drool dripped down his chin. 

“Oh, fuck yeah, love. Make him moan like that again.” Ghost grunted; eyes closed as he continued to shallowly thrust. Not wanting to displease either man, you tightened your grip and swept your thumb along the ridges of Soap’s cock head, teasing his frenulum as you went. Letting out a keening sound, Soap’s dick twitched in your grip as his hips bucked into your hand, the grip on your thigh tightening.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Leaning forward, you whispered into Soap’s ear, before mouthing kisses down the line of his neck to his back as your other hand cupped his ass. “Come on, pup. Do it. Do it for me.” 

The cock in his throat meant the moan came out garbled, but his hips jerked forward erratically as he reached his climax. With every heavy twitch of his cock in your hand, a thick pulse of cum shot out, adding to the mess already on the floor. 

“Fuckin’ hell pup.” Ghost growled, both hands now gripping at Soap’s hair as the pace of his hips picked up, shallowly thrusting into Soap’s mouth as he moaned, eyes still rolling from his climax as Ghost used his teeth to take his right glove off before pulling out and stroking his cock roughly, releasing his load over Soap’s face, grunting as his whole body shivered, breath coming out in short pants. 

Once he’d finished, Ghost tucked his cock back into his pants, before pulling the chair up from Soap’s desk and sitting down. Unsure of what to do next, you glanced over at him, brows furrowed slightly as you waited for direction. Noticing, Ghost cocked his head to the side, before his eyes squinted appraisingly. 

“Soap could learn a thing or two from you, love. So well behaved, you are.” You went to face him, but he held up a hand, stopping you from moving any further. “The pup’s quite messy there. Why don’t you give him a hand cleaning all that up?” 

Eyes widening, to glanced over to Soap, who was dragging a finger through the mess of cum on his face and holding it out to you. 

“C’mon, bonnie thing. Show how good ye can be fer him. Fer us.” Soap’s eyes darkened as he stared at you expectantly and suddenly, you realised precisely how fucked you were. 

Your eyes followed his hand as he held it out towards you, Ghost’s cum dripping down his finger enticingly. Without further thought, you leaned forward on your knees, lips closing around the outstretched digit. Soap’s eyes widened slightly as he glanced over at Ghost, his mouth dropping open slightly as you licked and sucked his finger clean of cum. Pulling back, you swiped your thumb over his cheekbone, and then, keeping your eyes fixed to Soap’s, you sucked your own thumb clean as well. 

“Fucking Christ, hen.” His tone was breathy, his hands reaching out to push you down onto your ass on the cold floor. Your hands flew out behind you to break your fall as he nudged his way between your legs, pressing into your space with an intense need. “S’fuckin bonnie fer me. Been listening to me fer months, haven’t ye?” He whispered into your ear as his hands groped greedily at your body. 

“Gonna make ye feel s’good, I promise.” You were barely able to process his words as he tugged at your shirt, shucking it up and tugging your bra down to expose your breasts so he could latch onto one with his teeth, moaning as he did so. Letting out a sharp gasp of pain, you smacked his shoulder, eyes staring down at him accusingly. Soap released your breast and pouted. 

“Ye’ve got such bonnie tits, hen. Couldnae help maself.” His mouth spread wide in a toothy grin as he reached out to cup the breast he bit, squeezing it apologetically as his eyes traced over the marks his teeth left. “Wanted ye fer months. Thought ye wouldnae have me.” 

“I wanted you.” You breathed; eyes wide with surprise at his confession. “Always did. Thought it ruin things. Thought that it wouldn’t be professional.” Even in your ears, the words were a weak excuse. Soap’s grin spread even wider. 

“Touch yerself at the sound of me, aye?” His hands roamed your body, roughly groping at every piece of bare skin he could access. He lowered his mouth to your tits once more, sucking the nipple tenderly this time, tongue laving over the swell of your breast as he moaned. “Was extra loud fer ye too. Hopin’ ye’d break that door down sooner. Didnae take ye as the patient type.” 

“Shut up.” You hissed, arching your back as his hand reached for your other nipple, tweaking it between his fingers. Lifting a hand up, you carded it through his hair, tugging at the strands lightly, his mouth still firmly attached to your breast, sucking dark, claiming marks into your skin. 

“Tug it harder, love.” Came a rumbling voice from behind you. Breath hitching in surprise, you glanced up, remembering Ghost was still in the room watching the two of you intently. One hand sat at the seat of his pants, rubbing softly and you couldn’t help but moan at the sight. Blinking once more, you turned your attention back to Soap and, heeding Ghost’s instructions, tugged at the mohawk a little firmer. Soap let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering slightly, but it wasn’t enough to break his attack your chest. 

Closing your hand over his hair tighter, you pulled roughly, harder than you’d meant to, but you were rewarded with a strangled moan as you wrenched Soap back from your chest. His eyes were glassy as his hips canted forwards. Ghost mumbled his praise at the action, and you felt a stir in your chest. 

“That’s nae fair, bonnie.” Soap growled. “Ye’ve had ye fun teasin’ me.” His brows furrowed as he pulled back, making you lose your grip on his hair. Moving quickly, he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand as the other reached for the buttons of your pants. 

“Gonna show ye what I dae tae wee sluts who play dirty.” His eyes were wild as bore down on you, nose brushing against yours. You could feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheeks. “Gonna tease ye till yer gaggin fer ma cock.”

Before he could make another move though, a sharp whistle sounded, and you both snapped your heads up in Ghost’s direction. He was lounging back on the chair, head tilted and resting on one first as the other cupped his bulge. His eyes narrowed towards Soap. 

“Thought I trained you better than that, pup. Manners.” The tone was stern, unwavering and was met with a soft whine from Soap. “Take her pants off and finger her pussy. If you make her come, you’ll get a reward.”

As though the instructions sparked something in Soap, his rough hands turned soft as he began to caress your body, slowly sliding up your sides to remove your shirt and bra properly. He cooed; eyes soft as they roamed appreciatively over your body. He dragged his hands down your torso, trailing down to the waistband of your pants. His breath was coming out in heaving pants as his fingers made quick work of the buttons, pulling both your pants and underwear down in one go. 

“Steamin’ Jesus hen.” Soap groaned, throwing the clothes to the side so he could return his hands to your body, sliding over your ass and up your legs before spreading them apart, eyes focused on your soaked cunt. The heat and desire in his eyes alone made your cunt pulse. “Jus’ wanna sink ma teeth into ye.” 

“Play nice, pup. Don’t wanna break your chew toy too early.” Ghost muses from his spot. Your eyes meet his and suddenly, you realise just how exposed you were. Soap may have also been naked, but the way Ghost’s eyes were roaming over your bare body and grinding against his palm made your face heat. 

“Cannae help maself, Lt.” Soap leaned down, mouth trailing kisses along your thigh, working his way down towards the apex of them. His teeth dragged over the sensitive skin, leaving red marks, but not hard enough to break skin. You felt your body jerk as his warmth breath fanned over your leaking cunt and you whine pitifully. 

“Please… Soap. Need it. Need you.” Your hands pushed through his hair, gripping tightly as you tried to angle his face towards your wetness. Groaning at your impatience, he lowered his mouth, flat tongue dragging a line from your hole to clit. Letting out a shuddering gasp, you arched your back, fingers tugging at his mohawk to hold him close. But that didn’t last long. 

The chair creaked as Ghost pushed himself up, boots heavy as he marched over and wrenched Soap’s head up unkindly, causing him to cry out. “I said, finger her pussy, not eat it, impatient slag.” He spat in Soap’s ear, voice low and harsh. You whined at the loss, bucking your hips up to chase his mouth, but Ghost’s hand pushed you back down. “Look at you both. Such greedy fucking whores. You take what I tell you to.” 

Your brows pinched as you stared up at Ghost. 

“Please Ghost… please I need it. Need his mouth on me.” Reaching out, you clasped your hand over one of his thick forearms, squeezing as your eyes pleaded up to him. Ghost sighs, bringing one hand up to sweep the hair from your face as he leans in to whisper into your ear, other hand still firmly gripping Soap’s hair, causing him to huff petulantly as he was dragged away. 

“The pup’s gotta learn to listen, love. I’m not punishing you, yet anyway. If you’re good, and you cum on Johnny’s fingers, he can eat you out. Got it?” He leaned back slightly, eyes soft as he waited expectantly for your reply. Nodding in response, you went to look down at Soap again, but Ghost’s rough hand in your hair stopped you. “No. Words, love. If I ask you a question, you answer it with words.” 

“Yes, I got it.” You breathed; eyes glassy as you stared up at him. “I’ve got it sir. I’m sorry.” Ghost let out a gentle sigh, hand releasing your hair as he stroked your chin tenderly.

“There’s a good girl f’me.” His gaze then hardens as he turns to face Soap. “Remember the rules, pup. You listen to me. Now finger her wet cunt until she cums or you won’t be getting your dick wet.” Soap’s nose crinkled slightly; brows furrowed as he stared at Ghost. 

“That’s nae fair, Lt. The lass was leakin’. Pure gaggin’ fer it.” His hands run gentle lines on your inner thighs as he spoke, and you felt the anticipation rising. 

“Then make sure to use those fingers to make it good for her and she’ll get it. You always yabber on about how good you are at pleasing pussy. Show me, then.” Ghost cocks his head expectantly and you felt like nothing but a toy for Soap to play with in that instant, and boy if that didn’t send a fresh wave of arousal down your spine. 

“I’m better with ma mouth than ma fingers.” He sulked, pouting up at his superior. 

“Then you’d better learn quick, Johnny.” Despite the mask, you could hear the grin, see his eyes crinkling as he waved his hand towards your cunt. “Go on, pup. She got you off with her hand. Return the favour.” 

Mumbling incoherently, Soap trailed his fingers towards your wet cunt, eyes flicking up to meet yours and smirking slightly. Dragging the tips of his fingers through, he gathered your wetness and began to circle your clit slowly. Shuffling forward slightly, he leaned over you before hesitating and turning back to Ghost.

“Can ah suck her tits?” His question was measured, as if he hated asking permission, but thought better of it. Ghost chuckled behind the mask. 

“Good pup for askin’. Does she want you to suck her tits?” Soap snapped his head down to you, eyes wide as pleading. Grinning, you nodded encouragingly. 

“Please, Soap.” Grabbing at your breasts, you shoved them together enticingly, causing Soap to moan and lean forward, burying his face between them, tongue dragging over the warm flesh before his mouth closes over one nipple, sucking intently as his fingers flick over your clit. 

Moaning softly, you spread your legs wider, encouraging him to keep going. And he did. His fingers were on the rough side as he continued to roam, trying to find what you liked. Reaching down, you moved his hand slightly, positioning it exactly how you liked it, and he took it on board, working his fingers in this new spot as his teeth closed over your nipple, making you cry out. 

“Pathetic. Needing to be shown where she likes it pup. Can’t find it on ya own?” Ghost rumbled, shaking his head as he continued to brush a hand through your hair tenderly. “Look at her cunt, weeping and clenching round nothing. Come on, pup. You’re not even trying to make her cum.” 

Soap whined at the words and, desperate to prove himself, his fingers moved to circle your hole before pushing two in. You hissed slightly at the sudden stretch of his thick fingers but moaned as his thumb continued to flick over your clit and clenched down on his fingers. 

“Curl them upwards.” Ghost whispered, his other hand trailing down to where Soap’s was between your legs. You twitched as you felt the rough material of his gloves against your sensitive pussy. “Get that spot right in here.” You couldn’t stop the loud moan that broke through your lips as Soap followed the instructions, hand reaching down to grip at his wrist as your hips ground against his fingers, building up a steady rhythm. 

Grinning darkly against your chest, Soap continued to suck at your breasts, squeezing and nipping at the sensitive skin as your pussy squeezed around him, slick dripping down onto the hard floor beneath you. 

“That’s it, bonnie. Fuck yerself on ma fingers. Can feel ye clenchin’. Dinnae ye wanna cum fer me? Ye can dae it.” He rambled; voice muffled against your chest as he quickened his pace at your clenching. 

“Don’t speed up.” Ghost admonished him, smacking his hand down where Soap’s was inside you, causing you to jolt. “If she likes it, keep steady. She’ll let you know if she wants the pace changed.” You moaned in response to Ghost’s words, one hand clutching at Soap’s wrist, the other reaching for Ghost to squeeze him in thanks. 

“Just like that, Johnny. Keep it like that!” Panting, you continued to grind down on his fingers. He pulled off your tits, leaning down to spit on your clit before bringing his other hand over to rub over it like you showed him before. Gasping, you squeezed around his fingers tighter, feeling your impending climax build. His hungry eyes bored into yours, his face twisting into a leering sneer. 

“Feels good aye? Gonna cum, bonnie? Make a mess all over ma fingers?” Unable to form a coherent sentence, you whined, hand squeezing his wrist to hold him inside you, pleading silently for him not to pull out. “Nae goin’ anywhere. Stayin’ right here til ye cum.” 

Your eyes rolled as you moaned, head falling back, only for a rough hand to grasp your hair and pull you back up. 

“You keep lookin’ at him, love and you don’t look away. Show him how fucked out you look when you cum.” Ghost’s words were harsh as he positioned himself behind you but sent a sharp bolt of heat through you and Soap moaned as he felt your cunt clench and pulse. “Yeah, that’s it, love. Be a good girl now. Show him how good he’s makin’ you feel.” 

“So fu- ah! So fucking good, sir.” You blinked up at Ghost, whose eyes were wide and feral. Adjusting you slightly, he pressed his hips into your back, and you felt his stiff erection pressing against your shoulder. 

“Feel what you’re doin’ to me? Feel how hard you’ve made me? Been such a good girl yeah? Lookin’ so fuckin’ pretty with your fucked out face when you ain’t even had a cock in you yet.” Panting at Ghost’s harsh words, you glanced back down at Soap, eyes wide and desperate. 

“I’m gonna cum. Soap please! I can’t...” He shook his head, body trembling. 

“Give it tae me, hen. Please. Been such a good fuckin’ lass fer us. Show me how bonnie ye look when ye cum, aye?” Your brain was going into overdrive, stimulated by not only Soap fingers, but his and Ghost’s desperate words, the intensity of their eyes on you… you felt yourself crumbling, careening towards the edge as one more flick of Soap’s fingers sent you over. 

Jerking your hips, you cried out, body shaking as Ghost wrapped his arms around you, cooing in your ear and talking you through your orgasm, but you couldn’t make sense of the words. Soap’s fingers softly worked you through your release, slowly pumping in and out of you until he felt your body sag. Withdrawing his digits, he held them out to Ghost, a sly grin on his face. 

“Wanna taste, Lt?” Looking up lazily at the two of them, you noted Ghost’s narrowed eyes. But they weren’t focused on Soap due to his coy request, but rather his glistening fingers soaked with your climax. Pulling the balaclava up to expose his mouth, Ghost leaned forward, sucking Soap’s thick fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste. Whining softly at the erotic sight, you reached back behind you, trying to wrap your hand around his clothed cock, but his gloved hand stopped you. 

“Not right now, love. Need to see Johnny fuck you.” He whispered, squeezing your wrist tenderly before lifting himself up a little straighter. “C’mon pup. I can see you leaking from here.” 

“Och, I thought I was eatin’ her out next!” He grumbled, body already halfway shifted to put his head between your legs. 

“Plans changed. You can eat your cum out of her. Need to see her crying on a cock, now.” His voice was urgent, as he pressed his palm into his aching erection. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

At the warning, Soap scrambled back up your body, lowering his head to capture your lips in a kiss for the first time. His tongue pressed into your mouth, sweeping over yours as he shuffled his legs up until you felt the heat of his hard dick against your sensitive pussy. Everything about him was demanding and insistent, impatient as one hand clawed at your breast. The other was wrapped around his cock, sliding it up and down the length of your wet slit, catching your clit with his head and causing you to jerk. Breaking away from the kiss, you surged up, eyes transfixed on the glistening head of his cock, covered in your slick. 

Grinning savagely, he pressed inside, both hands gripping at your hips as he let out a throaty groan as your own breath stuttered, reaching out to grasp at his arm for stability.

“Steamin’ hell she’s tight, Lt. Like she’s nae been fucked in a wee bit.” His nails dug into the skin of your waist, surely leaving marks that would remain for days after. Ghost grunted and you heard him unzipping his pants. Glancing over, you watched as he pulled out his heavy cock, thick and hard with his tip flushed and leaking. Tugging his glove off, he held out his hand to Soap, who spat on it without a second thought. Then, he held his hand out to you with an expectant look. Without hesitation, you spat in his palm as well and he moaned, closing his hand around his cock and pumping it steadily. 

Before you’d even gotten accustomed to his size, Soap began to thrust, hard and fast from the get-go. He buried his face into your neck, whining and rambling nonsense about how good it was, but most of it was incoherent, his accent thickening as he continued to erratically slam his hips into your cunt. You hissed, the pace bordering on being not pleasurable as he grasped your hips tighter. 

“Soap…” you whined, pressing against his shoulders, but the man was unmovable, lost in his own head. Your eyes flicked up desperately to Ghost, who huffed, shuffling down Soap’s body to place a resounding smack on his ass. Yelping, Soap sprung up, cock pulling out of you entirely as he spun around to glare reproachfully at Ghost. 

“That hurt, Simon.” He pouted, brows furrowed. Ghost snorted, clearly not feeling sorry. 

“You’re pathetic, pup. Losing your head the moment you get your dick in something warm, and you wonder why I don’t let you fuck me.” Soap ducked his head, face flushing as he let out a whine of protest. 

“Felt so good, Lt. Couldnae help maself. Her bonnie pussy was grippin’ me like a vice.” He glanced over at you, eyes apologetic, but with a spark of lust, as if he enjoyed Ghost telling him off. 

“Not just about you, pup. Do I need to show you how to fuck a pussy?” Soap shook his head indignantly, turning his back on Ghost to bring his attention towards you. Running his calloused hands down your legs, he wrapped them around his waist as the head of his cock caught against your wet hole. Moaning, he slides back inside with ease, hands reaching for your tits once more as he set a better pace, rolling his hips and catching your clit with his pubic hair every pass. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He growled, mouth lowering to latch onto your nipples, tonguing over them as he continued his slow, grinding pace. “Such bonnie tits. Such a bonnie cunt too. Fuck lass, ye been holdin’ out on me. Could have fucked ye sooner if ye weren’t so stubborn.” 

Between Soap’s praise, his rocking hips, and the insistent press of his cock inside your cunt, you felt like you were melting into the floor below you. 

“Just like that, Soap. God, your cock feels so good in me.” Your hands dragged red lines down his back, causing his pace to stutter and pick up again. Moaning, you felt your second orgasm edging closer as he continued, bucking his hips up to grind against the spongy spot his fingers had fun into before. Ghost kneeled just off to the side, stroking his dick in time with Soap’s thrusts, grunting every time he swiped his thumb over the head. 

“That’s it, Johnny. Keep fucking her like that. Doing a good job for once, pup. Touch her clit like she showed ya too.” Soap’s face was flushed as he nodded along with Ghost’s words, reaching down between you. His hips stuttered as you clenched around him at the contact, moaning as his pace fumbled again, legs shaking as his thrusts sped up, breath coming out in short pants. You whined softly, feeling your orgasm fade with the change in pace. Scoffing, Ghost moved behind him, gripping Soap’s hips to halt him once more. 

“Losing your head again, pup?” He titters, shaking his head as he mouthed along Soap’s neck. “I’ll show you how to really fuck her, since you clearly can’t without blowing your load early.” 

Soap smacked one of the large hands off his hips, glaring over his shoulder. 

“Fuck off. I can fuck her just fine. You can wait ye fuckin’ turn, ye bastard.” 

Instead of being offended, Ghost chuckled darkly. 

“You’re losing her when it starts feelin’ too good for you. But don’t worry pup. I won’t be fucking her.” His arms reach down, tracing over Soap’s to place his hands on your hips as well, holding you steady. At the look in Ghost’s eye, you whimpered softly, cunt squeezing around Soap, causing him to twitch. “I’m going to fuck you into her. Still got that plug in ya, right slag?” 

Your eyes widened, realising what was about to happen. Soap was practically vibrating between your legs, breath stuttering as his eyes became unfocused. 

“Wouldnae be able to hold it if ye fucked me too.” His voice cracked as he stared over at Ghost.

“Too bad, pup. Already showed me you can’t fuck a pussy properly. Need me to show you how. You alright with that, sweetheart?” He glanced over Soap’s shoulder as his hands reached down to toy with the plug in Soap’s hole that you hadn’t noticed before. Your eyes were wide as you nodded fiercely before remembering Ghost’s earlier request. 

“Yes sir… want you to fuck him into me please.” With the mask still lifted up above his mouth, you could see his appreciative grin. 

“Good fucking girl. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you what you need.” He reaches his hand down to your mouth, holding out his fingers. “Get them wet f’me, yeah?” Nodding, you lean your head up, sucking his fingers into your mouth, letting saliva pool on your tongue before swiping between the thick digits, tasting the lingering muskiness of his cock on them. Ghost let out a deep rumbling sound in his throat as he began to shove his fingers deeper, pressing down into your throat, gagging you slightly. Cooing softly, Ghost stroked the pads of his fingers along your tongue. “That’s it, love. Just like that.” 

Between you both, Soap whined, tipping his head back to rest on Ghost’s shoulder.

“Please, Simon. Please.”

Withdrawing his fingers, Ghost pressed his thick digits into Soap, causing him to fall forward, hands either side of your head as his cock twitched inside you. Breathing softly, you watched his face crease, his brows pinching as his mouth hung open. 

“Fuck Si… right there!” He gasped, breath hitching as he rocks his hips back onto Ghost’s fingers, and forwards into your wet cunt. His hands clenched into fists as he opened his eyes to stare into yours before leaning down and sealing his lips over yours once more, hips beginning that same slow, filthy grind. Wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close, you pressed your tongue into his mouth in a messy kiss, swirling it around his. 

Your head grew hazy as time passed and you felt your orgasm returning as Soap picked up the pace of his grinding, stimulating your clit as his hands tweaked at your nipples. 

“Fuckin’ hell. Still so fuckin’ wet from earlier, pup.” Ghost withdrew his fingers before pressing the blunt head of his cock, catching it against the rim of Soap’s hole, causing him to jerk, fingers digging into your hips. “That’s it, pup. Open up f’me. Let me in ya.” One of Ghost’s large hands wrapped around Soap’s neck, pulling him up and breaking your kiss with him. The other gripped Soap’s hip, pressing in slowly with a loud groan until his hips sat flush against Soap’s. Releasing his neck, Ghost placed his other hand on your hip, squeezing you softly. He set a slow, but harsh pace, hips smacking into Soap’s, causing his cock to punch deep into you as he did so. 

Letting out a choked gasp, Soap fell forward again, burying his face into your neck and peppering the sweaty skin with nipping kisses as his hips were pushed forwards into you. Rocking back against him, your hands clutched at his hair desperately, cupping the back of his head as your other hand reach out to Ghost’s thick forearm. Your head was spinning, a strangled noise leaving your mouth as Soap’s tongue dragged its way up your neck. 

“Tastes so good, hen. Feel so fuckin’ good too. Wanna feel ye cum ‘round me, please.” One hand tangled in your hair as the other reached down to your clit once more, sending shivers down your spine. 

Ghost continued his pace, the loud slapping of skin filling the room as his breathing grew heavier. Soap was also growing desperate, driving his hips forwards and backwards, stimulating himself over and over as his thumb continued to flick over your clit. 

“That’s it pup. Doin’ s’fuckin’ well.” Reaching down, Ghost added his own thumb to the mix, flicking over your clit to make sure Soap didn’t lose his rhythm, his eyes catching yours. “Fuckin’ hell look at you, love. So bloody pretty. Can barely look at me, can ya? Cock feels that good, yeah?” He chucked, whispering something inaudible into Soap’s ear as you arched your back, feeling that brink edge closer. 

“Ghost… Soap.” You weren’t sure which name to call as you felt your body twitch, pussy clenching around Soap’s cock as he continued to buck his hips into your wetness. You could feel yourself beginning to spiral, eyes locking onto Soap’s face as he panted heavily, a soft whine leaving his lips after every one of Ghost’s heavy thrusts. 

“Bonnie… tell me yer close… I’m so fuckin’ close. Need tae feel ye cum first. Please… fuck, oh fuck please. Need it real bad.” Soap practically whispers, one hand clutching at your breasts, your hips, your legs as his other still pressed between you both, covered by Ghost’s larger one. 

“Good fuckin’ pup, Johnny. Beggin’ for her to cum ‘n all.” Ghost’s voice was rougher, sweat beaded on his brow as he quickened his pace, fucking into Soap with angled thrusts that made him shiver and whine. “Come on love, you can do it. You can cum for him. Make the pup feel real good, yeah?” 

All you could do was nod and moan, fingers digging into weathered skin as your cunt began to pulse rhythmically. One final hard thrust from Ghost pushed Soap up deeper into you as their combined thumbs over your clit sent you hurtling off the edge. As your toes curled with the sensation, your back lifted off the hard floor, hands clutching at the two men desperately as your head spun. 

Soap followed soon behind, thrusting quick and sharp up into your clenching cunt before releasing inside, cock twitching and releasing his load deep inside you as he shook with pleasure. 

As he shivered through his orgasm, Soap leaned forward, collapsing on your chest as your arms wrapped instinctually around him, both panting in tandem. Not wanting to be left high and dry, Ghost pulled his hips back and set a merciless pace, pounding into Soap’s hole until he began stuttering. 

“So fuckin’ tight, pup. Both of you… so fuckin’ pretty. Good fucking sluts. So good f’me. Gonna fuck both of ya next time. Wanna see how good you sit for me, love.” He rambled, eyes half closed as his pace turned erratic until he slammed his hips forward with a low grunt, stomach clenching from the effort as he emptied his load deep into Soap. 

Moaning softly at the feeling, Soap stirred, looking over his shoulder accusingly. 

“Ye ken I hate shittin’ out cum, ye eejit.” He grumbled, nestling his face into your chest, his soft cock slipping out and resting wetly against your thigh. Grimacing slightly, you glanced up at Ghost, who had a dazed smile on his face. He looked at you, as though assessing the situation before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Get over it, Johnny. You beg me to cum in ya more often than not.” He shook his head before returning his attention to you, cupping your cheek softly. “Did so well for me, for us. You up for doing this again?” 

Without hesitation, you nodded, eyes wide and hopeful as Ghost grinned, pushing back from the bed and standing up. 

“I’ll get cloths from the bathroom. You take care of our girl, right Johnny?” Soap simply hummed, burying his face further between your tits as Ghost scowled, but smiled and walked away. 

“I’ll eat ye out in the mornin’ hen. Good wake-up call fer ye.” He rumbled against your chest.

Grinning to yourself, you threaded your hand through Soap’s hair, holding him close as you felt yourself settle, being lulled to sleep by the warm body that was sprawled on yours. Price’s reports could wait.

[unlosts]

Honey, you're familiar

Summary: Hotch takes the day off, you plan to take full advantage of it.

A/N: MDNI!

A calloused hand softly caressing your cheek is what wakes you up instead of your alarm, or more accurately Aarons alarm. 

The solid weight of him pressed against your back, his other arm caging you against him. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble, sleep still coating your voice while you tilt your head backwards to leave your neck bared to him, and thread your fingers through his sleep mussed hair. Very pleased at the small groan you manage to pull from him. 

“I have the day off, remember?” He says against the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses from right behind your ear to the base of your neck, the feel of it sending shivers down your spine, entirely too early to feel like this. 

“I did remember -” a yawn cuts you off “I just didn’t really believe you when you told me”   

He pinches you softly in retaliation making you squeal and try to detangle yourself from sleep, an arduous task given that you’ve entangled yourselves to fully  usually go to bed on different sides of the bed only to wake up in the middle as an incomprehensible mess of limbs. 

“Okay, okay I'm sorry, now get back here”Aaron uses the momentary distraction to draw you back into his arms, moving on top of you and caging you between his thick forearms. 

“Good to know all that FBI training isn’t going to waste” 

“What, you think I do this with suspects?” He asks with an arched brow

“Well, I should hope not” You say between laughs with the kind of carefree full teeth smile that drives him crazy. 

Here cradled by the morning sun, he remembers the morning he met you, and how that feeling he thought had long died in that old house, began to appear again.  

“What?” You ask a little breathless, your calf rises to slightly nudge his hip and his hand leaves your forearm to grip your thigh. 

Suddenly the morning sun feels scorching on your skin, your breath deepens as he lowers himself down to kiss you,  the solid weight of him on top of you a heady feeling. 

Aaron’s lips are all consuming, in a morning like this one he’s trying to make up for every late night and missed date even when you’ve told him that he doesn’t have to. His hand angles your jaw to deepen the kiss and yours go up to pull at his hair, causing a groan that makes your cunt clench. 

When you first slept together you discovered the sort of sounds you could pull from him so unlike the quiet and stoic man you had come to know, that you became devoted to learning him. Focused as a scholar, learning exactly where to press, pull or kiss to elicit the sort of sounds that would drive you crazy. 

His hand slides from your thigh, fingertips slowly trailing up leaving only goosebumps in their wake, up to your stomach. 

You separate only for a second as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up to your neck to suck a bruise there, making you hiss and pull at the hair in the nape of his neck once more. 

“You better not have left a fucking hickey Hotchner” you say between heaving breaths, but his only reply is a teasing grin against your neck. 

Aarons fingers play with the band of your sleep shorts while he goes back to kiss you unhurried even in the face of your growing desperation; his fingers run tauntingly back and forth, occasionally slipping a finger in to tug at the band of your underwear only to pull back out. 

They finally slip in to press against the patch of wetness forming in your underwear. You suck in a sharp breath when he touches your clit through your panties, rubbing more intently as you pull away from him to let out a weak moan.

“Aar” you gasp, breaking the kiss for a second, leaving his lips to chase after yours, kissing the corner of your mouth softly while you grind against his fingers. 

“I know” He says, his gravelly voice reverberating through your body “just relax honey, let me take care of you” 

He leans closer to you, braced on his forearm. Like this almost nose to nose he just watches you pant for a moment. Taking in this one sliver of time where his entire world is narrowed down to this bed. While holding your gaze he moves aside your underwear and finally runs his pointer finger against your cunt, collecting your wetness before going back to rub your clit. 

He swallows your moan with a hungry kiss, his calm facade abandoned when two of his fingers enter your cunt and feel your walls clench around them, the thickness of them still makes you dizzy even after so many times together. 

“Fuck” you moan, your foreheads pressed together when his fingers expertly twist to press against a spot that makes you feel like you’re on fire, his thumb going back to rubbing circles against your clit. 

“Yeah?” He asks, your hips bucking against his fingers, seeking even more closeness. 

your hands going to squeeze your breasts over your (his) sleep shirt.

He stares at your hands and you know exactly what he wants then, there’s no time to pull away and take off your shirt so you pull it up to expose your breasts to the cool morning air, Aarons lips immediately going to one, sucking softly while you arch into his mouth.

Whatever there was before in your veins replaced with something molten hot, every single part of you feels like it’s on fire. 

“Yeah”  You nod, unable to think of everything else, brain pleasantly emptied of any coherent thoughts. Your hands leave your shirt to caress his back, the nape of his neck, everything you can reach, you just want him as close as possible. 

He alternates between both breasts, sucking one pebbled nipple into his mouth only to let go and switch to the other, not before nipping at the side of your breast. 

After that your orgasm comes quick and loud, you don’t see it coming really, you only feel Aaron rub your clit sharply one last time before you feel it crest through you, leaving you to crash against the sheets.  

“Aaron”   You moan loudly, uncaring of the neighbors. 

“That’s it” He murmurs, his fingers have stopped moving but his thumb still rubs your clit until you can’t take it anymore.   

Despite his fingers still being inside you, you want him near so you pull him to you, the ensuing kiss sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“I’m going to need you to take time off more often” You say, smiling against his lips. 

[frantic-fiction]

Secluded Evening 18+

(GIF: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x F!Reader, Astarion x Tav

Warnings: 18+ MDNI pretty much pure smut, fluff, nipple piercings, nipple play. Skinning dipping, unprotected sex, Late Act 1 Astarion

Summary: Astarion catches reader during a midnight swim. Playful flirting becomes physical. Basically, my take on reader and Astarion's first time in act 1. There is way more implication of Astarion's real attraction for reader, not just a manipulation tactic.

Word Count: 2.8k

The shadow curse land is just a few days west, and a sickly feeling has crept through the camp. The party is on edge, fighting a constant headache as you attempt to mediate the tension in a group of solid personalities during highly stressful events. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are at each other’s throats, bickering and pulling daggers when either sends a quip in the other's direction. Karlach is still burning hot despite her upgrade, and with Dammon already far along the path, all you can do is promise to get her to Baldur’s Gate as quickly as you can. Wyll is fine, but he’s Wyll, so that’s not surprising.

Gale, however, might be the one pushing your buttons the most, or at least he is testing your patience past your limit now. “Tav, I don’t believe I have to express again how important it is to acquire a magical artifact soon.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you get the sudden urge to whack him over the head with the book you held unread in your hands. “I will be glad not to have to feel my chest be ripped in two, but I will repeat: if I do not consume an artifact, I will die and level the general vicinity with me.”

You push off the log, slamming the novel down. Level-headedness has been one of your strong suits. It’s the main reason you found yourself leading these misfits across the kingdom. You can keep your cool under the most extreme sources of stress, but everyone is just annoying you today.

“Look, I get it. You need a shoe to chew on, or you’ll go boom. But guess what? I have given you every spare artifact I have to give. Our coins are down to silver and copper. So unless you are willing to chomp down on the stupid circlet you just ‘had to get,’ then you can suck it up and wait until we reach another town.” By the end, you’re yelling, and Gale looks like a kicked puppy. The rest of the camp has turned to look at your outburst. You burn with regret for everything immediately.

You reach out a tentative hand, “Gale, I didn’t—”

“No, you are absolutely right. Apologies for my inconvenience. I hope you enjoy the rest of the night, Tav.” He quickly returns to his tent and pins the flaps close.

Sighing, you rub your hands down your face. You feel terrible; Gale’s condition is excruciating, and you hate to be unable to get him something to alleviate the pain, but your supplies are down to the bone. “Fuck,” you breathe, picking the book back up and storing it away.

“I must say, my sweet, I could get used to this more dominating personality of yours. It certainly gets me excited.” Astarion practically purrs in your ear. You turn face to face and stumble back slightly at his proximity.

Brushing your hair behind your ears, you avoid his eye contact. A warmth spreads across your face. “Oh, I'm sure,” you smirked, clearing your throat and recovering quickly.

It was a game between you two, ignited on the beach with a knife to your throat. Harmless flirts, playful banter with no attention to go further. Attraction is thick, but neither dares to press in this dance.

He crowds into your space. His nose practically tickles yours. He plays with your hair, fingers tangling in the locks. His face dawns an emotion of concern. “Darling, I’ve noticed you’ve been very stressed these last few days.”

His breath fans your face. You grab the edge of his shirt. “I think it would be a good idea to release some tension. Some alone time, maybe?” His pointer finger traced the bone of your jaw.

You smirk and pull away, trailing your hand up the contours of his chest. “You're right.” His wicked grin widens like a cat playing with prey. “I think I'll call in early and have a night to myself. I hope you will be okay hunting tonight.”

When you were scouting the perimeter, you stumbled across a small alcove. It was breathtaking. Several willows enclosed a small lake, water beautifully sparkling in the sun. You love swimming and have been thinking about the lake ever since. You occupy yourself with finishing your book until the sun sets. Once the camp settles for the night, you grab your pack and sneak your way out to the forest line.

Astarion’s grin drops, and his arms go limp. You slip away, lifting the edge of your tent. “Thank you again. Do you mind telling the others as well?”

He glares knowingly, and with a wink, you drop the flap and sit on the floor. You gather your supplies: a change of clothes, your only towel, and your washing bag.

The lake isn't too far, and before you know it, you're there. It's different in the moonlight. Fireflies buzz around the cattails, the willow branches sway softly above the water, and frogs croak on lily pads. You set a blanket to place the rest of your stuff around, quickly tossing your clothes off and wading into the water.

It's not as cold as expected, but you still gasp at the initial sting. You adapt quickly and soon dive fully, submerging into the fresh water. You stay underwater; ears plugged, giving a warped vibration through your head. Once your lungs begin to burn, you surface and gulp air.

“Well, isn't this just a coincidence?” Astarion chuckles, standing at the shore with pale forearms crossed over his chest. “I was just out on my hunt when I came across such a delectable treat.”

You bite your bottom lip, pulling your hands back and forth, sucking water in and out around your form. “Well, now that you've found me, what do you plan to do with me?”

You move onto your back and float, exposing your entire front half to his eyes. The water on your skin chills in the air. Your nipples pebble, and you hear a groan.

Floating in the water, you close your eyes. It's quiet momentarily before a large splash startles you and you're pulled under. You kick instinctually, and Astarion grabs your foot and drags you closer.

His strong arms circle your waist, and you resurface. You smack his chest. “You asshole.”

He laughs, and before you know it, you're laughing too. You sway in Astarion's arms as he carries you deeper into the lake. Grabbing a flower floating in the water, you begin to pick some of the limp petals. You look up and slide the flower into his hair. It's adorable.

Astarion pinches your chin and pulls your face close, staring deep into his eye. There are no words; you feel the line shatter when the reality of what's happening sinks in. There is no performance in his eyes. No formulaic flirtatious lines or sexy words. What is happening? You don't know, but when he crashes his lips to yours, you really fucking want to find out.

It's like a rubber band. The kisses open the damn, and soon your legs are wrapped around his hips. One hand threads through his pale curls, the other encircling his neck.

Astarion breaks from your lips and trails sloppy kisses down to your neck. "I have waited long enough to ravish you, my dear,"

And then you are moving; he's quickly wading through the water, not once removing his lips from your throat. You know it will bruise, and the idea of another mark of his sends heat lower down your body.

You sigh when Astarion nips your neck, pressing you down on the blanket. Wet skin slides against damp skin. Grabbing his hair, you pull him back up, capturing his lips. It is messy, sloppy, and all too much to handle.

You arch up, pressing your breast against his chest. He pauses, and you whine when he pulls away.

"What are these?" Astarion practically growls, pinching your hard nipple. You gasp his name as he twists the small metal bar through the nub. He grinds his hips against your leg. He's hard, his cock presses against his stomach.

"Jewelry," you moan, clutching his shoulder. "They make me more sensitive."

"Oh, my naughty girl," he lowers to take your neglected breast into his mouth. His skillful tongue sucks your breast, his hand paying equal attention to your other. Feeling a scrap of his fangs, you let out a cry of ecstasy, rolling your hips, seeking any source of friction.

Astarion pins your hips down and pulls away from your breast with a wet pop. "No, no, my sweet. I think you have not been fair keeping least lovely tits from me. I can't remember ever seeing such unique body modifications." He gives a sharp bite to your breast, just deep enough to pierce the skin.

Droplets of blood beaded to the surface; it was quickly lapped up with his tongue, a groan crawling its way up his chest. He slips one of his legs under yours, and his hips slide his stiff cock between sopping wet folds. You choke out his name, and his mouth moves to the other breast. "I think I'm owed a bit longer exploring such a beautiful chest."

"My, my, you're so responsive. I could spend hours pleasing you with my tongue." Astarion trails his tongue up between your breasts, eyes boring up into your flushed face. "Just imagine the delightful words I could pull from your beautiful lips as I lay between your thighs, playing your exquisite body like a bard's violin."

Your breath is uneven, panting while Astarion takes his time lavishing your breasts. Soon, your nipples are on fire, swollen from the ruthless attention Astarion has provided. Tears sting your eyes. You are desperate for anything, nothing; you are not sure, but you are moaning and pleading up into the night air. All available skin was victim to your desperate fingers.

"Starion, ugh-please, they're too sensitive." You tug at the small hairs at the nape of his neck. His lips tug the metal bar just enough to pull another cry from your lips. He releases your breast with a wet pop.

You bite his neck (almost the same spot he uses to feed from you) and all semblance of his control dissolves—you're back on the blanket in a show of Astarion's speed. Air was knocked from your lungs. "Fuck, my dear," Astarion grinds against you coating his cock in more of your juices. "I believe we've waited enough time to enjoy each other. So, I think I fuck you, deep and slow, until you can only scream my name. And if you're lucky, spend the rest of the night pulling lovely whimpers from your over-sensitive cunt."

His husky voice purred in your ears. Your thighs clench, arousal dripping onto the blanket. "Star," you breathe out, grabbing his face and crashing your lips together. Teeth clashed, and tongues fought for dominance. Wrapping your legs fully around Astarion's slim hips, you roll up. Using his distraction as leverage, you twist your hips and maneuver the two of you.

Astarion is now on his back, curls silver in the dark, and his eyes are wide with shock. You comfortably sat on his hips, hands pressing on each of his pecs. "You have my full permission to do that, but if you don't fuck me right now, I will be taking care of myself in my tent." Lips are back on his before you chuckle in his ears. "We have teased each other for months. I think it's about time you do something about this pretty boy."

Astarion doesn't leave a moment to respond before he impales you with one deep thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Astarion grabs your calf, raises your leg, and sets a brutally slow pace.

You were matching each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. Your mouth at his chest and throat, sloppily leaving kisses and spit on his pale torso. "Ug-fucking Gods, you so tight," The sounds of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of pleasure break up the quietness of the lake.

Astarion presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your whimpers of ecstasy. The force of his thrusts is jostling your breasts; your nipples rub against his cold skin.

The moans roll off your tongue; you put a hand into his hair. "A-astarion fast…faster," you choke, snaking a hand between your conjoined bodies to rub small circles over your clit. The warm tightening coils in your lower abdomen. "P-please, Star."

"Beautiful." Astarion's pace picks up, his balls slapping against your pussy. He quickly pushes your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own.

He doesn't need to be asked twice, and the cold pierce of his fangs digs into your throat. You choke on gasp, hips stuttering. Astarion is dragging, mouthfuls of your blood down his throat, his fingers picking up pace, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The coil is tightening, and soon, you cannot form words outside of Astarion's name between pleases. "Oh, my sweet girl, so lost on my cock. I...fuck...I know it feels good."

He pinches your left nipple again and you whimper. "Your body is exquisite. I won't be able to last much longer, my love." His voice is hoarse, and he rambles between frantic ruts. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Astarion presses kisses and licks to the hollow of your throat. He is asking for permission, and you quickly press him closer. "Yes, please," you groan. All the sensations Astarion was giving you were becoming too much. You were quickly approaching the edge.

The pain mixes with pleasure, and it's too much. Tears prick at your eyes. You ticken around hos cock and a rumble ruptures through his chest. He takes a few more gulps before pulling away. Astarion's tongue licks, ensuring no waste of your blood.

As soon as he pulls away from your neck, he's pushing his tongue into your mouth with a quick thrust—the metallic tang of your blood mixes between your mouths. "I'm close," you breathe, running your nose against his. Your panting, feeling like no breath can satisfy your burning lungs.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy, devolving into more grinds of hips. His fingers drag over your clit in tight, fast circles. "Me too," he's just as breathless, hips stuttering with pleasure. "Come for me, darling, let me hear you."

It's like your body was waiting for his honey-slick words to give you permission. Because the moment those words leave his devilish lips, you snap. You scream his name, legs pulling him close.

You didn't expect post-sex cuddles from Astarion, but gods, you could fall in love with this man if you weren't careful. But would that be too bad? To fall in love? You kiss his collarbone and pull your towel over the majority of your body.

With one, two, three more deep thrusts. Astarion comes with a breathy moan spilling deep into your core. You two lay there, tangled in each other's body. Hearts are pounding as you breathe each other's air.

Astarion pulls out and rolls to his back. You curl onto his chest, laying your ear over his silent heart. He plays with your hands and peppers kisses over your hairline.

You wish to stay the night in his arms right here, just having him hold you. But Astarion stiffens slightly when a shiver rolls through your body. It's like the bubble of serenity pops. Astarion is quick to remove himself from you.

"I don't believe cuddling wet and naked with a vampire is good for one's health." He's pulling his clothes on. And reluctantly and with shaky legs, you follow his lead. Astarion is quiet on the walk back, lost in thought. He plays with a coin mindlessly.

You don't push, knowing Astarion better than to pry. So you let him walk you to your tent. And just as you move to duck into your bed for sleep, Astarion grabs your wrist.

You turn and look up into his scarlet eyes. His expression is hard to read; his confusion, hesitancy, affection, and anger are fluidly behind his eyes. They could all fit, but nothing seemed to reflect Astarion's eyes. "I…" He pauses, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He opens his mouth again but clicks it back close. Astarion searches your eyes as if they held the answer to his unspoken question.

Astarion doesn't seem to find what he's looking for because he shakes his hand—pressing a light kiss to the apple of your cheek. He drops your hand reluctantly. "Have a good night, my dear,"

Then he's gone, leaving you alone, the tingle of his lips still lingering on your skin. Your fingers trail across your cheek, and a small smile stretches your lips. Yeah, you could very easily fall in love with that man. Maybe you already have.

Okay let me know what you thought? I haven't written smut in forever and have never been super confident in it.

If you liked this how about checking out my other two Astarion pieces.

Happy Birthday **** Reoccurring Nightmares

[anantaru]

DAY 12 — COCKWARMING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — heizou, alhaitham, baizhu

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, cockwarming, tit play, teasing you to the brim like staaaaaahp, a sprinkle of brat taming because why not, mean genshin boys

𖧡 — HEIZOU

"ah- i could get used to this."

and needless to say, it feels good, largely to heizou though— especially when he shadows his skilled fingers over your bare chest because he knows it'll drive you insane, his hand slowly settling down on top of your breasts, squeezing and massaging the mounds before groping your tits, together with his cock slipping past the solidness of your slit— throbbing, pressing and stretching inside.

you cling to him for your dear life, the fulfillment of his erection jammed within the bounds of you swelling pussy, candidly battering your cunt when you attempt to press down on his hips, or perhaps move for that matter, instead whimpering sweetly as heizou stills your hips with a solid arm whilst the other pinches your aroused nipple and tugs on it ever so slightly.

you pout out deliberately, yearning for him so terribly you cannot help yourself but moan into his neck, "heizou.." you say, stumbling over your words, "don't tease me now.. please." and it's not necessarily something your boyfriend would consider teasing— especially since in his opinion, you should be utterly aware on how his real taunting looked like.

in the span of no time, it had gotten to the point where it became a game between you both, one which he would most likely end up winning the moment he shushes your cute sniffles with a kiss, idly shuffling in his seat before unintentionally (it was very much intentional) moving his cock and thrusting up hard against one cloying, pressing, spot.

"fuck— well, you faced worse before, haven't you?" his words, although dripping of artificial consideration, vibrate all the way from your pouty lips, to your sensitive nipples being played with, to your wet messy core slicking up his buried shaft, shortly gushing around it so much that a white, thick ring of whites took shape around the base of his cock— he’s still entirely buried in you, with that single thrust hitting you like a sudden hot fever dashing on top of your shoulders.

heizou continues to keep you pressed against his cock, one hand long since branding the flesh of your juddering hips— and it's almost bruising to you, long fingers plunging into the skin hard enough to make you wince out and beg again, only to be met with a cocked up brow, a wet smirk and an even deeper throb of his erection.

your quivering body was exceedingly past recovering by now and you helplessly swallow down a bubbling sob from your throat when he grinds inside you again, yet with barely any strength aiding the move— the stiffened veins of his erection melting with your walls that the combination of those very sensations heizou brought forth focused on intermittently inching you into madness.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

your thighs clamp against each side of alhaitham's hips while one arm freely closes around your waist, the last thing he'd want is for you to move and disturb his peace— whilst the other, well, was occupied in holding a book he was currently reading, adventurous eyes deciphering each and every little letter printed on top, eagerly memorizing and pondering about a much deeper, more crucial interpretation behind the portrayed story.

yet you're taking him just like he needed you to, raw and hard, while he barely gifts you any attention. ugh, some sort of punishment coming from the scribe? might be, but you knew alhaitham very well and that his mind simply wasn't wired that way, instead he probably thought that it would cost him far less effort to put two into one, pleasure and knowledge, as he referred to it, stitched together with both sides unable to slip past his grip.

it's mostly exhausting around your legs, specifically the insides of your thighs that began to stiffen and ache, forcing you to taste subtle early signs of lightheadedness from your desperate attempts to not move nor clench down on him so strongly.

another breathy gasp, and you let him know that you're obviously struggling with his cock being way too big and heavy to remain in that way without moving at the very least— a warm puddle of your arousal exuding from your hole and divulging at the foundation of his shaft, sending droplets of the mixture on the office floor.

"please, oh, please." you whine, suddenly flustered when you realize you just blurted those frenzied pleas out loud, establishing them right against the shell of his ears, his headphones since long disposed of and placed on the table next to you— whilst beyond questioning, besides the fact that alhaitham was wholly absorbed into the fantasy novel in his hand, he'd never pass up on an opportunity to listen to your short-lived whines, the cute weeps or the loud thuds of your heart beat reverberating against his chest.

"already?" he speaks softly before you meet his eyes, surprisingly enough his pupils were blown wide and you cannot even fathom this level of discipline when it probably hurt him too to not move at least an inch up and down your fluttering hole. "i barely started this chapter."

"then read faster!" you interrupt him, no, practically snap at him, nervously licking your lips as your hands run over his cheeks to make him kiss you, his raw erection throbbing at the bold move as he for once redirects his entire attention from that pestering, bothersome, annoying book in his hand that you would love to just dispose of entirely.

"okay, okay," the man shuffles around, "you better make it worth my time then." and he teases you, always, then drinks up a trembling moan that spumes up on your mouth as his quick tongue darts out to run around your lips and wet them with his saliva, your throat aching in excitement for what's about to come. 

alhaitham bites back a groan when you swiftly mould your walls over his cock, needful and slobbering your arousal once more— you're so soft there, ah, it never fails to amaze him. but to get himself on top of things again, most importantly to not lose himself in you, he traces your back up and down with his palm before teasingly rutting into your wet sex, it's barely perceivable to you and maybe that's what would ultimately tip you over the edge if alhaitham does not stop those cruel tactics.

although, pondering over his honesty, it's quite cute when you're frustrated and bitter because of a situation he put you in, or how much harder it was to stay disciplined in focusing on his book when a coat of a heavenly expression litters across your bristling cheeks— it just feels so dreamy to be inside you.

alhaitham might just look past the little shifts of your body that you sneaked between pauses, despite them offering you the tiniest teases and moments of friction on your overflowing hole, and yes, your leg muscles were screaming for some sort of pleasure, regardless keeping yourself still and happy to take his perfectly shaped length.

𖧡 — BAIZHU

you brace yourself, without further questioning settling on baizhu's lap before lining your slit up with his leaking cock— his pre like a translucent film sheer on top of the rosy tip.

and for the most part, this scenario appeared to be quite familiar to you— at the end of the day, your boyfriend could never be entirely satisfied when you ride him for hours, he needs it without pause. it warms his heart when you’re on top— as if you were somehow claiming him, his groans exuberant with lust, a velvet tune on your ears so exciting as you watch how he succumbs to the touch of being engulfed by a warm, soft cunt.

this time, although, something didn't align with previous scenarios— because the second you had pushed him in, touched up his shaft with your wetness, baizhu instantly places both hands on your moving hips, breathily laughing in both bliss and an ulterior emotion as he squeezes the flesh of your ass, your pretty noises almost making him decide against doing this right now.

of course, you try to lift your hips so you could bounce up and down, his cockhead snugly enclosed and piercing your swelling flesh as he spread you apart by his girth, your body desperately clinging against his chest and it's only then, when you realize what's going on, your hot, breathless moans garnering his gentle attention.

"uh?" you tilt your head to the side, then wince when his cock reaches impossibly deep and nudges over your sensitivity, the infused tingles of that singular drag holding you captive, intimately trapped within his arms, "ah— is something wrong?"

"no, nothing." baizhu coos, mouthing a wet spot over your jawline before slotting his lips over your own. you fall into a kind of daze when he keeps you strong against his thudding cock, your hands on his shoulders when you press your nails into the clothed skin, breathing deep, slow, at least trying but your attempts immediately fall flat when he offers your body some teases of friction.

"is something supposed to be wrong?" you're sweating at his words, your leg muscles screaming when you gaze at him through confused, widened eyes, "i- i'm not sure," you babble, the shivers in your lower area doing everything in their limited power to keep the pleasure going for as long as possible, anything to make you feel at least something but baizhu wouldn't let you.

"think harder, darling." he grins, letting the exposed warmth of your cunt wrap around his cock as he lifts you up, "is this better?" no, of course not, you panic, this was even worse and you whine at the lost fullness, leaning against him to wrap your arms around his neck, his cock head still nudging at your slit.

"it's not, it's not, it's not.." you can hardly move, and baizhu swallows down your mewls with a lick into your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip before smirking when he feels how you're rolling your hips, or at least, try— despite that, you're being met with strong resistance again, wondering how someone such as baizhu, who was perceived as a frail man, suddenly claimed such sturdy force in his arms.

"easy now.." he whispers cruelly, and you can practically taste his amusement on your tongue.

"maybe then "i'll move."

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[darkficlord69]

Fire & Ice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jacaerys Velaryon

Warning: tastefully depicted smut (18+)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When fire meets ice, the very walls of Winterfell seem to tremble. But is the wolf a worthy match for the dragon?

Jacaerys Velaryon sat beneath the sprawling canopy of the godswood, a single white flower caught between his slender fingers. He plucked its petals one by one, watching them drift down to the withered grass like fallen snow. A sigh escaped his lips, soft as the summer breeze, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings fashioned in the shape of dragons' scaly tails, stilled when a bee landed upon his pink nipple. He dared not move, resembling a statue of marble, all sharp curves and delicate lines, carved by a true master’s hand. He held his breath until the bee took flight, then allowed a small smile to break across his face as he prepared to rise.

But then, a shadow fell over him, long and imposing, blotting out the sun. Jacaerys looked up, squinting against the sudden darkness.

"Good day, my prince," came a husky voice, roughened by the chill of the North.

"You too, Cregan," Jacaerys replied mildly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he feared to break the stillness of the godswood.

"The lords of the war council request your presence in the solar," Cregan Stark said. "I had hoped you would care to join us."

Jacaerys let his gaze wander over Stark’s solid frame, taking in the man’s sturdy build. Those legs, long and strong beneath plain woolen breeches; that broad heavy chest hidden beneath layers of soft furs and leather; his hair, brown as autumn leaves, and his hard eyes, grey as winter’s ice—eyes that could thaw even the heart of a dragonlord.

He was lost in girlish thoughts, caught up in the rugged beauty of the Stark, when a soft throaty cough brought him back to himself. Cregan extended a gloved hand.

"Of course, my lord," Jacaerys said, taking the offered hand and letting Cregan pull him to his feet. "Anything you need."

***

The great hall of Winterfell rang with voices of discontent. Lord Umber’s booming shout rose above the rest, his face as red as his hair. “Straining our armies will only increase the risk of wildling attacks!” The room responded with a chorus of grunts and murmurs of approval. “Southron skirmishes are no concern of ours, I say!”

Lord Manderly, heavyset and lounging in his chair, responded in a bored drawl. “The South is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the North. Sooner or later, one king or queen will force us to choose a side.”

“The Iron Throne will not look kindly upon our allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Lord Hornwood intoned. Cregan Stark, seated at the head of the long oak table, had listened to enough prattle to make his head throb in annoyance. With a resounding thud, he slammed his large hands on the oak table, sending goblets rattling and silencing his bannermen. A sombre heaviness fell over the room, thick as the northern snows. The Warden of the North took a breath, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“We pledged our support to King Viserys’s heir long ago,” he said, his voice stern. “Never has a Stark broken his word, and I do not intend to be the first. Remember where your loyalties lie, my lords.”

With those words, dark and final as the grave, Cregan rose from the table, his wolfskin cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Jacaerys Velaryon followed, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Once they were alone in the dim corridor of the Great Keep, Jacaerys’s mask of composure slipped, revealing the warmth beneath. “Cregan,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, “thank you.” The support of the North meant that his mother would be one step closer to claiming her birthright.

Cregan gave a curt nod, intent on heading to his chambers. But before he could take another step, he felt a firm yet gentle push, his back pressing against the cold stone of a column.

“Now let me show you how a dragon expresses his gratitude,” the prince murmured, a teasing grin curling his full, pouty lips. The words hung in the cold, still air, filled with a heat that made Cregan's blood pulse faster. Jacaerys moved with a lithe grace, every step a promise, every movement a dance of seduction.

Slowly, Jacaerys knelt before the Stark lord, his hands gliding up Cregan’s strong thighs. His touch was featherlight, just a whisper of fingers trailing over thick wool and leather, but it was enough to make Cregan’s breath catch in his throat. The prince’s eyes were dark, glimmering with mischief and desire, his expression one of pure intent as he let his fingers dance along the inside of Cregan's legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, insistent rhythm that matched the stirring in his loins. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to pull Jacaerys up, to crush their mouths together in a desperate kiss. But he held back, held still, mesmerized by the sight of the prince at his knees, those nimble hands tracing patterns on his skin.

Jacaerys’s fingers found the edge of Cregan’s tunic, slipping beneath it, brushing against warm hair-covered flesh. The touch sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Jacaerys looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Cregan’s thigh.

The prince leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Cregan’s leg, just above the knee. Cregan’s muscles tensed beneath the tender touch, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out, to bury them in the dark waves of Jacaerys’s hair. He watched, entranced, as Jacaerys continued his slow, torturous journey, his lips brushing lightly up the inside of Cregan’s thigh, each kiss a spark, each touch a flame.

The wolf stirred within Cregan, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the heat of Jacaerys’s mouth moving higher. His desire, coiled tight like a spring, grew with every brush of those lips, every teasing touch. He felt himself harden, the ache of want becoming almost unbearable.

Jacaerys’s smirk widened as he felt the evidence of Cregan’s arousal beneath his hands. He looked up again, his eyes meeting Cregan’s, holding his gaze as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Cregan’s hip. Cregan’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, his control slipping, his need overtaking him.

With a growl, Cregan reached down, his hands tangling in Jacaerys’s hair, pulling the prince up with a rough urgency. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, finally unleashed.

Jacaerys responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The prince’s lips were soft but insistent, demanding and giving all at once. Cregan could taste the heat of him, could feel the fire that burned beneath his skin, and he met it with his own cold fury, his own wild, untamed desire.

Their mouths moved together, each kiss deeper, more intense than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other, to fuse together through sheer will. Cregan’s hands moved down, grasping Jacaerys’s waist, pulling him closer still, until there was no space between them, until they were one, bound together by the force of their need.

His lips left Cregan’s mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat. Cregan tipped his head back, a groan rumbling in his chest as Jacaerys found a sensitive spot, sucking gently, teeth grazing over skin.

The prince’s hands moved lower, finding hard planes of muscle, scars that marked his furry skin. He traced them with his fingertips, memorizing the shape of them, the feel of them, each one a testament to the man before him, to the strength and the honor that he embodied.

Cregan’s hands moved to Jacaerys’s waist, fingers digging into the prince’s hips as he pulled him impossibly closer, grinding against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through the layers of fabric. Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through him, his body arching into Cregan’s touch.

They moved together, lips meeting again in a fierce kiss, hands exploring, claiming, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wolf and the dragon, fire and ice, together in the dark, bound by a passion that neither could deny. And in that moment, they were lost to the world, to the weight of their titles and the burdens of their duties, lost to everything but each other.Jacaerys gasped, his fingers tangling in Cregan’s thick, dark hair as he pressed ever closer, his body melting against the northerner’s like ice before a flame. Cregan’s lips moved to Jacaerys’s neck, finding the pulse there and biting down just hard enough to make the prince hiss in pleasure.

“More,” Jacaerys demanded, his voice breathless, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Show me how fierce the wolf can be.”

Cregan needed no further invitation. He lifted Jacaerys effortlessly, the prince’s legs wrapping around his waist as it was Cregan’s turn to press him against the wall. The cold stone was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to this moment, to the taste of each other’s mouths and the feel of their skin.

They were fire and ice, light and shadow, opposites drawn together by a force neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to fight. Here, in the shadows of the keep, they were free of the burdens of their titles and the weight of their responsibilities. Here, they were just two dandy men, lost in the madness of each other.

Cregan’s hands found the laces of Jacaerys’s lacy smallclothes and pulled, the fabric sliding down the prince’s hips and pooling at his feet. Jacaerys shivered at the sensation, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders as the northern lord knelt before him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Jacaerys’s, asking a question without words. Jacaerys nodded, a silent answer, a trust given and accepted.

“Stay still now, woman,” Stark commanded and Jace whimpered at the order.

Then, Cregan’s lips were on him, hot and wet and hungry, and Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back against the stone. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the heat of Cregan’s mouth and the rough scrape of his beard against sensitive skin.

Jacaerys’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in Cregan’s hair as pleasure coursed through him, building and building until he thought he might shatter from it. And then, with a cry that echoed off the walls of Winterfell, he did, his body tensing, his back arching, and then collapsing against the stone, boneless and sated.

Cregan rose, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as he pulled Jace into his arms, holding him close as the prince caught his breath. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their breathing, the only warmth the heat of their bodies.

Finally, Jacaerys pulled back, his eyes bright, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Well, Lord Stark,” he murmured, “I must say, your loyalty has its rewards.”

Cregan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through Jacaerys’s already sated body. “And you, Prince Jacaerys, are a demanding wench.”

Jacaerys leaned in, his lips brushing against Cregan’s ear as he whispered, “Only because I know you can handle me, oh Wolf of Winterfell.”

Cregan’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with promise. “Then you’ll have to show me again, you feisty dragonling,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Jacaerys laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the corridor. “Oh, I intend to, Cregan Stark. Many times over.”

And with that, they slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of their passion behind them.

End.

Hi! Hope you liked it 🥰 Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated! 🫶

[mrsvalentinefucker1]

Support class dick hc, kinks + How they fuck

Cw: knives, rough sex, blood

Sniper

•Dick: I’d say about 6, 6 1/2 inches if I’m being generous here. Definitely not thin, it’s got some girth to it that’s for sure. He never ever clean shaves he thinks it looks weird (he’s not wrong) so he’ll definitely just trim up a little or maybe not at all. Wild man moment. Plus, he kinda loves the scruffy look he has going on. I know everyone says he’s uncircumcised and i definitely agree with that. Tip is not red but definitely a deep pink, it’s cute. Two visible veins, one on the top of his shaft and one underneath it. So he’s very very sensitive.

•How he fucks: Rough. He likes to be fucked hard and to fuck hard. His favorite position to see you in is definitely mating press or doggy style (with a knife to your throat) he loves to see your face contort with pleasure and fear. He’s very vocal i mean haven’t you heard his voice lines. Come on. He loves telling you how great of a fuck toy you can be when you aren’t being a cunt or a teasing slut. He doesn’t have a favorite place to cum really.. Whenever he gets his rocks off is where it stays so.

•Kinks

Praise: definitely, but backhanded praise “look at you, good little slut.” Stuff like that you know?

Predator vs prey play: I know this is so basic but oh my goodness he LOVE LOVE LOVEEEESSS to chase you down and just fuck your brains out if your skull. Like I said, he likes it rough. (Me next)

Knife play: Ofc this is one of them. That mf is a literal animal. He just likes the power trip tbh. Having your life in his very hands, though he’d never do anything to ever hurt it.. it’s hot to watch your fearful eyes and if you enjoy it just as much as he does, you’re in for a ride of dirty talk and rough hard sex.

Public sex: touching you while in public. Something about it. Maybe it’s bc he likes to tease and see how long you can last without gripping his arm while shaking and begging to cum or maybe it’s because nobody around you can (probably) tell how good he’s pleasing you, and how they’ll never get a chance to touch a wonderful lady like you the way he does. Who knows

BREEDING: Though he is scared to have kids and will take every procedure to make sure you won’t get pregnant, he still loves to just cum inside of you all day, everyday. (Same sniper.)

Stepping: he probably likes to be stepped on. He’ll buy you beautiful, expensive heels just so you can step on him or press against his hard cock. (Meow.)

Spy

•Dick: solid 5 1/2, it’s not too thin but not exactly thick.. it stretches you very very nicely that is for sure. He trims it constantly. He is never out of order, he takes too much pride in himself to let it grow out like that wretched bushman. Uncircumcised, his dick skin is like.. oddly soft and velvety. One small vein on the side of his cock, it’s nice. Tip, I’d say, is a light cute pink.

•How he fucks: He either makes love for a long time or he plows you hard. Usually both. He rides the fine line very well. While he goes at it soft and caring, he teases you a lot. Vibrators, toys, his finger, his mouth. He just likes to tease you a lot.. but once he slips in, its game over for him. He can’t help it. He has to fuck you like an animal in heat.

•Kinks

Lingerie for sure. He loves to either buy them for you to give you his card to buy yourself some and then surprise him with it! (Will probably write a fic based off this)

Spanking or brat taming: He will absolutely wreck your ass if you talk back to flirt with ANYONE. He will spank you so hard you’ll become a babbling mess.

Body worship: Giving or receiving, he loves to tease you by kissing down your gorgeous body and leave small bites all over you. Nipping, kissing, nipping, kissing. You know. Backhanded kisses

Medic

•Dick: He’s German and from my experience, they’re packing serious heat. 7 inches hard. Argue with the wall because I will not listen. Tummy bulge will happen so be prepared. Much like spy he keeps himself in check, trims every couple of days. Circumcised, dark pink with a red hue tip. It’s sensitive as hell. No visible veins until he gets to fucking, then they all start popping out. Thick. Hard stretch that’s for sure.

•How he fucks: They all fuck hard but him.. dear lord. Pray and buckle up because he will bruise your cervix. He pounds. He doesn’t even fuck, HE SLAMS. bed? broken, operating table? broken, desk? Broken twice. He loves to just fuck you into a mindless mess. That’s all

•Kinks

Roleplay: He loves to roleplay anything really. Nurse and doctor, doctor and patient, boss and intern, things like that.

Knife play: scalpels are going to be pressed against your skin.. which leads me to my next kink hc

Blood kink: Licks the blood off of your wounds or the small cuts he marks your body with. If you have a period, best believe he will be begging to fuck you on it

“Meine Liebe! It feels so much better when you’re on your period, it also relieves cramps too!”

[metranart]

He sighed, and kissed the crown of your hair. “You really need to stop overreacting each time I touch you, baby bird.” You tried to pry his hands away, but he was just so much stronger than you. “Then stop fucking touching me without my permission, Keigo!”

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 7)

- Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut. -

You could hear the water running, splash! splash! repeatedly, your body felt much better than when you had fallen asleep, you felt rested, relaxed, all your muscles had loosened... and that clear drumming against your back, very calm and rhythmic, it felt delicious, hypnotic. You didn't want to wake up, and suddenly you relax even more, God! Your whole body trembled violently with pleasure that invaded every pore, it was delirious, and you loved it. A soft moan came out of your half-open lips, like music to the ears of your companion.

“That´s it, baby bird, this is how things should be always.” A different kind of chills flooded your arms at the sound of Keigo’s voice so close to the shell of your ear. “My little girl fits so nicely inside her mate´s arms.” His contented sigh brushed the skin on your bare shoulder, and it was only when his warm, wet lips landed on the exposed skin that you forced your eyes to open.

“—W-what?!....” you breathed awake, the steam from the hot tub flooding your nostrils and filling your lungs with aromas of vanilla and lavender. “Where-where...... why am I wet?” water raised barely covering your naked breasts, your heart almost beat out of your goddamn chest when a strong set of arms squeezed you tight against another equally solid chest.

“Don´t stress yourself, baby bird, I barely managed to make you cu-” Keigo cut himself midsentence, purposely halting his speech at once, knowing that the truth will only anger you. He was trying to be a good boy, even now, with you trashing and forcing him to grip you hard to ground you firmly against him, he was still trying. 

“Stop-” he said calmly, pinning your flapping arms down with one thick forearm, “cut it out, I'm not going to hurt you,” his tone sounded considerably calmer as if trying to convey that feeling to you, even so, you shook your head and peeked up from around his thick neck. “What’s going on? Why are we soaking together?!” You stressed out.

“Not soaking, I'm helping you bathe,” Keigo said as serious as he could. “You desperately needed to relax or it´ll hurt—” suddenly halted his speech again and this time you could glimpse worry shine on his orbs, “you are a stubborn one, but I finally managed to-…... play the right notes.” He intoned, lowly. “Next one will go smoother—”

“—Next what?!”

You stayed there, in stunned silence waiting for him to fill the gaps. If you were understanding correctly, he had undressed you one more time without your permission, and then got into the bathtub with you to help you wash while you were unconscious and somehow hoped you wouldn't go into hysterics.

“KEIGO! Answer me.” You blasted, but the only thing the winged man could concentrate on was the way his name rolled off your tongue, SO fucking devastating, so addictive. Maybe he´ll stay quiet more often to force you to call for him again. 

“Hawks! Dammit!”

Well, his silence didn’t sew fruits. He sighed, and kissing the crown of your hair, said, burdensomely. “You really need to stop overreacting each time I touch you, baby bird.” You tried to pry his hands away, but he was just so much stronger than you. 

“Then stop fucking touching me without my permission, asshole!”

Keigo silently embraced you, stubbornly holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you could calm your breathing into the crook of his neck.  It was warm and soft and damp with soapy water. You breathe him in, out of your control and clutch him tight with your palm and feeling your heartbeat gradually start to slow down, you manage to ask again more calmly.

“What will go smoother next time, Haw-...Keigo?” You force yourself to say his name, just to feel his heartbeat race against your back.

“Cum—” he said shyly through half-lidded eyes, “cumming has calming properties, especially for you-” he said quietly after a moment. “It’ll help more than the bath itself. I promise.”

He waited like a statue for your reply, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never came. Slowly peeking down, found you staring intently at him, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he eventually gasped when you still didn’t say anything. “You were not supposed to notice, you were only supposed to wake up happier and more relaxed...” he continued, “actually…. well, you can tell-...feel that your body is healed,” Hawks released your arms from his grasp to demurely run his hands along your sides, “I was able to deduce your Quirk, baby bird, and I think I found a way to use it that you didn’t know about—" 

The emotion in his voice was palpable, and it was only when you felt his large hand slide between your folds that you came out of shock.

“W-Wait! What do you think you are doing-…?” 

Your hand held his trying to stop him but despite your efforts his fingers continued to caress you, expertly massaging your clit.  His thumb seemed to have a mind of its own, circling over your bundle of nerves at just the right speed, precise pressure, exact movements.  

“No—…Please-eee!”  you wailed, and in no time that broken wail turned into sultry moans.  

The bastard was playing the right notes by heart, you were so close, your body began to contort, hands scratching at his neck while searching for support. His lips glued to your ear, praising you, devotedly.  

“Go on, let it happen, baby bird, let me make you cum on my fingers —… GOD! You look so sexy like this…. writhing around in the water on top of my body while you let me masturbate you…. I ask for nothing more in this life, just that you allow me to be this close forever~” kisses bathed your ear and the side of your head, until the intense orgasm he was slowly building exploded and with it your sanity.

A loud moan erupted from your throat like explosive lava from a volcano, and Hawks kept going, helping you ride the waves of pleasure, his breath ragged as he watched your hip lazily follow the movement of his fingers.  Your body already recognized it as its owner, why not you?  He hated that, but he loved how easy he could play you.  

Finally, your body stopped moving, and sprawled on top of his front. Your breathing slowly became harmonious again, sleepy eyes, hot water, Hawks hugging you against him enviously, his arms circling your waist and your head resting on his shoulder.  

“I told you, I already know how to turn on your quirk…” you did an effort to glance up at him, question shinning in your orbs and he hurried to explain, “—the orgasm is an emergency button for you, it tells your body to release the energy and heal you-even if you are knocked out or weak, you’re as good as new, my sweet girl,” his words caressed your brain, “you are more than ready to return the favor to your lovely and devoted mate, who took so much trouble to find out the right cords—don’t you agree?”

“Return-return the… favor?” you mumbled, still disoriented. 

“Yep.” He clicked his tongue, and you felt his length split your thighs apart, smearing against your swollen folds. “If you are going to have my chicks, we need to keep this womb properly fed.” Keigo explained happily, his index finger tracing your bellybutton under the water, the tip of his cock bumping your entrance insistently. “Just relax for me, I’ll do the rest—”

You knew you couldn’t stop him, so you thought fast, and even though you didn’t want to… If this would help you avoid being raped again, it was worth a try.  

Closing your thighs, you caught his erection in between the hot, wet skin, and started a clumsy swing with your hips, massaging his hard cock between the supple flesh, your fingers caressing the tip each time it peeked out. You knew your moves were awkward to say the least, but your effort seemed to be greatly appreciated by the Pro hero who moaned hoarsely.

“My, my, you’re so naughty~…I ADORE you so much! Yes! You are my beginning and my end, the moon to my stars.... I am so happy to have found you, my baby bird- I will protect you from everything, from everyone... for as long as I am breathing........” his embrace was so possessive that your body seemed buried in his, you could feel every tense and swollen muscle, the thickness of his strong thighs, the power of his powerful arms... he seemed to be made of polished steel and coated in cotton candy and neediness.

“I want to cum inside—…. yeah? My mate doesn’t mind, does she?” He asked, bluntly breaching your pussy just a tad while waiting for an encouragement that will never come. You needed to distract him more, and before he could adjust the position of his hips, you kissed him. 

The very act captivated him. You had not kissed him like this before, even your first kiss was merely a tangle of tongues -nothing too passionate- but this… this was what internally craved. He always stole your lips, but you had never done it so intentionally and that mesmerized him, making him a slave to your desires. 

His lips danced to a soft and tender rhythm, Keigo letting you guide, your thighs masturbating him while your lips did the rest. His heart was pounding so hard it was easy to mistake it for the sound emanating from the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

This time you did hear it, and your heart almost missed a beat when next you heard your mother's sweet voice on the other side.

“Sweetie is that you?” she asked, carefully. 

Your mouth left Keigo’s who chased your lips stubbornly, and hearing your mother calling again halted his attack to snort under his breath, followed by a chuckle, as he playfully repeated.  “Sweetie, how cute~” 

Your palm slapped over his mouth to shut him up, and your gazes collided, his playful, yours irritated, this day couldn’t get any worse.  “Yes-Yes, mom, it’s me-e”

“Oh! Good, I’m so glad you are here—but why are you showering?” you could easily distinguish the wariness in your mother’s voice. 

“Eh-h.... UA’s dorm bathroom is out of order-…” you felt Keigo moving under you, the interruption had stopped all your ministrations, and his urgency was growing, “-so I came here-e... so I could take a bath and…” big hands cupped your breast, forcing you to swallow a loud moan, “and… besides-s, I already wanted to visit you~” you managed to stop one of his hands while your other was stuck on top of his mouth, you could feel his lips curling under it. “I took this chance. I hope it’s not a bother.”  You barely managed to finish the sentence, your hips going back to work in pump Keigo’s fat erection to keep him steady, and in control. That deaf grumble coming out of his chest told you it was working. 

"Of course not, Sweetie, we love that you're here," God!  Your mom sounded so happy and innocent that you really felt bad about the wicked acts you were participating in. 

"I'm going to start making dinner, tell me what would you like me to make? Yakisoba? Curry rice? Or maybe, Miso Chicken?” 

Keigo bite at your fingers lightly and surprise made you withdraw your hand, and without hesitation, his lips pressed against your ear.  “I want Miso chicken, it’s my favorite~” Keigo whispered, encouraged and your eyebrows knitted together in concern, and for some unknown reason for you, felt the need to air a sudden doubt, “—do you eat chicken?” 

The winged hero smiled brightly-even his eyes did, and you felt your heart miss a beat, your daze quickly cut by his answer. 

“It’s my favoriteeeeee~” he sing-sang, and your hand struggled to shut him up. Keigo was faster and was no doubt, enjoying every second of it.  “Come on, tell my mother-in-law to prepare that, or if you want, I’ll tell her—” your hand finally managed to muffle him, even so, he kept chuckling under it.

“Miso Chicken! I love when you make it.” You hurried to say, and your mom cutely giggle from the other side, “Then Miso it is-….do you fancy some special dessert?” Oh god!  You really loved how doting your mom was but right now, it was the last thing you needed. “Maybe you want Daifuki, cake, dango, yokan, cookies—" 

“A-Anything is fine, t-thank you.”  

The words came out tight thanks to Keigo licking the fingers covering his mouth, and in a swift motion hauled your hand up, letting your hand tangle among his wet mane to have sinful access to lasciviously devour your neck, taking his time to do things at his pace. Managing that his erection throbbed against your folds producing a deliriously pleasant rubbing, while his hands massaged the parts of your body he could reach, from your perked nipples to the side of your legs, taking him as far as to pull your calves and squeeze them between his fingers. His mouth focused on your neck, and his hips making a rhythmical swing that was taking both, hand in hand, towards a devastating orgasm. You felt already so sensitive, it was taking a toll on you to stay coherent.

“—Sweetie I was wondering…” 

“Mom!” you squeak louder than intended, “I’ll be out in a—”

But you couldn’t finish the sentence since you felt Keigo´s teeth dig into the muscle that connects your neck with your shoulder, followed by a low and menacing growl.

“Don’t talk back to your mother, baby bird…” He scolded lowly, all playfulness forgotten, “…If you insist on misbehaving, I will have to punish you.” The firmness with which he glared at you spoke of how serious he was being, and gulping hard, you sweetened your next reply. 

“Mommy, I’m almost done, as soon as I get out, I’ll go help you with dinner.”  

Keigo nodded, approvingly. A big enough smile twisting his lips and making him look immensely proud. He kissed the place where his teeth mark was shaping in your delicate skin and rewarded you further by holding gentler. “That’s my sweet and obedient mate.” He praised only for your ears, very pleased, pumping his thickness harder, this time it was you who had to bite down a groan. 

“Ok, sweetie, there’s no need, you take as long as you need, enjoy your bathe.” 

You no longer responded to this as your lip was trapped between your teeth, and you reduced yourself to listening to your mother walking downstairs. Once you heard that there was no one around, you let out the thick and glorious moan. Keigo chuckled, you were responding him very well, he was already close, just like you. 

“Cross your legs, baby bird- you´ll see how good it feels... go on, love- do it.” Keigo requested and you obeyed, the friction became undeniably more precise, his cock caressing your clit with each thrust, your eyes rolled back, and you felt a sharper brush of pleasure flood your body. Trembling on top of Keigo’s thighs he continued to ride you.

You felt something warm fall on your chest, and the rest splash into the water. Keigo moaned hoarsely against your hair, his breathing ragged and his heart racing as he came undone. Once both finished, your bodies relaxed, engrossed in each other, as you enjoyed the hot water and muscle relaxation.  

“Fuck, baby bird, your mom’s interruption turned me on more than it should have, I came a lot.”  Keigo said this while his fingers smeared the semen that had fallen on your chest, like a cream over your wet tits.  “I really like the way you look right now, give me a moment and I think I can go balls deep inside you, you know.... finish you off, properly.”

Keigo laughed a little, too pleased with how everything was developing. You on the other hand were on high alert, yet again.

He had just come, perhaps that wasn’t enough to calm him down, you didn’t want to have him inside you, not again, not ever.  Dammit!  If only there was a way to turn off his rut ​​instinct.  

BRING. ME. BACK.  

Your eyes widened at the blurry memory, Hawks had been with you before all this, Hawks had kissed you in a certain way and said these exact words.

Ignoring Keigo’s intrepid hands manipulating your body, the strong hero flipped you over until you were straddling his erect member, geez!  How could he be erect again?!  

“Calm down, I’ll take it from here-...”  His thick cock bumped against your swollen folds, bullying the entrance, your eyes squinted doing your best to remember the way Hawks teach you to bring him back.

“Here we go, smooth and easy, baby bird, don’t hold back—your mommy won’t hear us, I promise.”  The tip was already inside, but your effort paid off and you soon pulled Keigo’s face towards you. 

The Pro Hero let you, hanging his head stifling his short, outburst of arousal. And soon found that was being pulled down, hauled into the crook of your neck until his face was in front of yours and without saying a single word. 

You kissed him. Peppered the tip of his nose, next his left cheek, to follow with the right and finally the forehead. Sweet and chaste kisses that plunged him into a buried memory of his past, digging up Hawks from his hormonal brain.

You pulled away from his crotch, and not knowing if had worked, used your hand to try and finish him off before he could react sexually aggressive once more.

You pumped his shaft shyly through half-lidded eyes and growing bolder, worked him harder. You don’t know why, but it felt different this time… this time you had control over HIM, and it felt delicious, erotic, forbidden…to hold all power, all control of the Pro Hero number two inside your delicate grip.

You watched his mouth fall open, golden brows furrowing, heart hammering at a worrying pace, saw all the muscles on his body tense against you before the Hero number two spilled himself among your fevered fingers with a sharp gasp, chest heavily heaving. He shuddered with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with beads of sweat and soapy water. 

Keigo must have been near the edge, super sensitive already, because it didn’t take you long to make him come. The semen floated through the water among the bubbles and suddenly you heard the voice you were looking forward to.

“Fuck, I´m SO sorry, kid.”

“Hawks...?” you murmured, not knowing who would answer… the Hero or the horny animal.

“It´s ME... and I'm not going away again, you are safe.” Hawks said, running his knuckles soothingly down the line of your jaw. “—I did all this?” 

His gaze followed the semen that floated in the water, golden orbs falling on your fingers smeared with his pearly essence, and without waiting for an answer, he submerged your hand in the water, cleaning each digit profusely among his strong fingers. 

“The commission is going to be pissed.” He said to himself, attention fixed on cleaning the remains of his semen from you. 

Feeling his back against the porcelain of the tub, Hawks realized something. "Where are my feathers?" he asked, a hint of alarm in his tone and you just shook your head, unable to answer.

"Fuck..." he muttered, a crooked embarrassed grin twisting his lips before finish. "I think we might have a problem."

COMING SOON PART 8....

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@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e

[shiny-jr]

Get you a guy with thighs bigger than yours.

- Warning: Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: König.

- Summary: Thick thighs do not save lives.

- Note: This came about because I was just talking crazy in the dms with a mutual. I originally wasn't going to ever let this see the light of day, but then I decided, why the hell not? If I get smacked with delayed embarrassment, I'll just delete. Yeah, I know this isn't what I usually write and post, but oh well. Anyways, after this, we will be back to our regular scheduled content shortly. Oh, and sorry for minor mistakes, I wrote this like at midnight.

. . .

You decided to put a movie on. Just for a distraction. After about an hour into the movie, the leather couch got a bit uncomfortable since it stuck to your skin. So you slunk down to the floor, bringing a pillow or two down with you to use in case extra comfort was needed. The movie was beginning to lose your attention, but you still watched the screen attentively as if you were still focused on the film's plot.

What ended up catching your attention, was the slight shifting couch. Well, slight probably wasn't the correct word, as the movement was anything but light. It was safe to assume the shifting was from a guy who was well over 200 Ibs and a few inches short of 7 ft, although you didn't know the exact numbers because you never wanted to ask König outright.

It was easier to hear the movement, as the large figure scoot a few inches over. Instead of sitting beside you like he was a few seconds earlier, he had not so discreetly moved to take your vacant spot and sit directly behind you. He tried to stay quiet, he really did, but it wasn't so easy for him given his size. At the very least, he treaded carefully, not bumping your back once with his legs or accidentally knocking the back of your skull with his kneecaps.

You didn't move, but your eyes slowly glanced downward, where you could see the tip of his boots. Custom made, as most department stores didn't carry anything in his size. Most articles of clothing he had were custom-made or bought in special stores, save for that odd black diy mask he often wore over his head like a hood to hide himself from the world. Too afraid to lean back and accidentally make contact and disturb this fragile peace, you remain still despite the slight ache in your lower back that make you want to lean back and stretch. But you don't. All you could do was try to revert your attention back to the movie and not think any unholy thoughts, that is, until you heard more movement.

To not bump his knees against you, Konig spread his legs a bit and leaned down. The edges of his homemade cloth mask brushed against your back as you stiffened up, and you could make out the shape of his head beside yours as he whispered, "Do you, uh, want some...?"

Yes. "What???"

"Popcorn? Do you want some popcorn...??"

Oh.

After deciding whether or not you'd accept his offer, silence ensued, only fueled by the movie playing on the television. You weren't gonna lie, you have no idea what the hell was going on in the story anymore. A solid minute passed when he spoke again, sounding just as unsure as the first time. He spoke, as if whatever thoughts he had on his mind earlier where left to simmer for long enough.

"Scheiße. Sorry, should I have not moved here...? You can still lean back if you want?"

"Oh, okay... I, um, I'll do that."

Your back was starting to ache a little from sitting up without support, so, feeling just as awkward as he was feeling, you leaned your back against the couch. Instantly, as soon as you did that, your peripheral vision was covered by his knees and part of his legs. The movie was pretty much pointless now, as you were currently wondering whether you should thank whatever gods existed or curse them for the fact that König did not have shorts on. Even without shorts and with specially fitted cargo pants, they could not conceal the insane bulk of his legs. Especially his thighs. Good lord. The two pillows you brought down before from the couch were essentially useless now because on each side of your head were his limbs that rivaled the best of My Pillow.

Think of something else, anything else, is what you tried to tell yourself.

That idea would go out the window as soon as you felt something in your hair. Carefully twisting a few strands, you felt some thick and calloused fingers gently try and feel the texture of your hair. But it lasted only for a brief second, as he immediately pulled his hands away and murmured a tiny bit louder from his whisper earlier, "Ah, sorry, I should've asked first. I should not have done that. I am sorry––"

"It's okay, I... don't mind." You shrugged it off, and much to your surprise and contentment, he continued.

The first few seconds had a bit more hesitancy, but as time ticked by, seconds turned to minutes, his boldness increased. It started with his large hands carefully feeling the texture of your hair, then it became slow brush strokes as his thick fingers ever-so-carefully untangled knots in your stands of hair. Until eventually it escalated, and he gathered the courage to do something so bold as to scratch your skull. He could easily take your entire face in one hand and crush your skull, but he didn't. There was no sign of any such roughness. Instead, his fingers and nails continued to comb through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. At first when he did this, he paused, and waited for any objections or signals of a negative reaction, but after no such thing, he continued and seemed pleased.

It was after about five-minutes and heavy mental debating in your mind that you decided to suck it up and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? Honestly, you didn't even expect to make it this far.

So, after taking in a breath, you let your head fall to the side. It wasn't like those romantic scenes where you watch the character lean their head against a love interest's shoulder. Oh no, you were skipping that part, your ear landed right on his thigh. Which was probably due to the cushion you placed underneath you on the floor that elevated you a few extra inches, or else you might've missed. In that moment, right as the side of your head landed on its intended target, you felt him freeze. His fingers stopping, nails still on your scalp. A second passed, then two, then three, like time froze.

You were almost tempted to pry yourself off and apologize, but you really didn't want to. But you had to ask. "Is this alright...?"

"J-Ja... I mean, yes..."

Your eyes widened, and you were sure you had on some goofy kinda grin but at least you weren't facing him so he couldn't tell. Once you heard his response, your shoulders slumped, relieved of tension you didn't even know you were carrying.

Even with your head against his thigh that wasn't plush but was still definitely comfortable, you realize you were no better than a man as you resisted the urge to just reach out and squeeze his other thigh that had gotten closer without you even realizing it. You had to dig your nails into your knee to prevent yourself from acting on impulse.

It was definitely almost pure muscle from what you could tell with your head on one of them. Firm but somehow still soft. Thick thighs, in fact, do not save lives, because these thighs have ended who knows how many between them in finishing moves on the battlefield. Lucky bastards. Trying your luck agian, you place a shaky hand on his other thigh, but he didn't react. A good sign? Possibly?

Forget goth gfs and thick plush thighs, apparently giant anxious austrian soldiers with thighs as thick as tree trunks and strong enough to obliterate skulls like melons were the new fad.

Movie totally forgotten, your vision was entirely covered when König leaned down a bit from his spot on the couch and you tilted your head to look up and meet his gaze. The masked man stared at you, his blue eyes peering down at you through the two small slits cut into his mask for his eyes to see. His mask partially dangled, but not fully, so not revealing himself to you. When your gaze traveled away, abruptly his thighs got closer, squishing your cheeks and the sides of your face but not enough to hurt. Just a bit of pressure to get you to look up again.

Oh god.

There was literally no space between your face and his legs anymore, and your arms instinctively went to the outer side of his thighs to try and pry them apart a bit. You didn't try much, maybe because you enjoyed it or because you didn't exactly have strength strong enough to rival his, so all you could do was clutch the pockets of his cargo pants that were just above his knees, your nails digging in softly just to get a quick feel.

Once he saw he had your attention again after he applied a bit of pressure, he cocked his head to the side and continued to look down at you through half-lidded eyes darkened by the shadow of his hood. Then he spoke, but this time with no apprehension in his quiet tone.

"You do know I've ruined others that were in a similar position to what you are in right now?"

[dollwrites]

ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʜᴀᴛsᴜᴍɪ sᴇɴ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, suggested age gap ( reader is early twenties & sen refers to himself as daddy once ), size kink ( suggested petite!reader ), body worship ( cock ), this is borderline softcore. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3 pls ignore the unedited pic, i’ll update it as soon as i can!

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act thirteen [ body worship ( cock ) ]

Sen loves the look on your face when he takes his cock out for the first time, even if it’s mostly obstructed by your position on his lap. the way your eyes widen as your gaze devours the girthy extremity. the way your lips, still swollen from all of his fierce kisses, part but not a sound comes out. rendered speechless, but wanton.

damn, he thinks, cock shock looks good on my baby girl.

lounging back against the couch, his thick thighs spread wide, he allows a lazy smirk to tickle his lips and draw them upwards. “Don’t let your eyes get bigger than your stomach, little girl.” he warns in a soft, cooing rumble. his big, powerful hands cup the flare of your hips, rubbing upwards against your waist before careening downward. he applies very little pressure, but it’s enough to push your clothed core flush against the wide trunk of his cock. he allows you to perch right on the base, as if you were riding a pony. of course, it’s no secret that just making out with Sen had drenched your core, and the damp patch of cotton rubs against the solid sex. “You need a little practice before you can take it.”

what’s worse than the embarrassment of having him point out the fact that you weren’t ready to take something that big was that you knew he was right. but god, you wanted to. one of your hands gently caresses the thick, heavily veined muscle, silky strokes of your fingertips against the warmth of his hard-on. you want to know what it feels like to be fucked by him; the sensation of the engorged, pink tip you were enamored with plundering your most delicate regions. you shift your weight, leaning forward, and you press more of your weight down against the base. Sen lets out a soft hum, as if amused by your test of his dexterity, his fingers curled tightly around your waist. they’re nearly interlaced. you were like a toy in his arms, whilst you stared down at the herculean tool between his legs.

“Will you help me?” you ask, unable to tear your stare away from his dick. it has a subtle throb, and seems to twitch when you speak, as if the shyness in your voice was enough to make his loins stir with desire. arousal blooms within you at the thought— did he get hard whenever you so much as spoke to him? it brought up several questions: was it only your voice? or did he get hard whenever he could smell you? whenever you were close enough for him to smell your sweet perfume? “P—practice, I mean…?”

Sen chuckles, sitting up higher, his palms pressing against your skin to hold you firmly in place, and he leans forward, his massive chest pressing against your back. the tips of his long, unruly hair— undone from the usual ponytail, tickles your shoulder as they kiss your bare skin, and he nuzzles his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling. “Sure I will, baby girl. In good time, I’ll make sure you can take every fucking inch. For right now, though…” his voice is a husky whisper that trails off, one of his hands grabbing your free one, guiding it to the neglected side of his cock, “why don’t you just play with it a little? Get used to handling me, baby.”

your breath is heavy, your hands are shaking and you’re not entirely sure why. at first, you admire the sheer girth, taking a mental picture of your fist looking almost too small as you try to grasp it. the tips of your fingers don’t meet your thumb, and the one you’d been using to tease the head slides down, instead, to hold him with both hands. with both of your hands securing a grip at the base, the length is painfully apparent. in this position, with you sat on Sen’s lap, his cock ( if pressed against the side of one of your legs ) could almost reach your knee. you have to swallow around a hard lump forming in your throat the more you fondled him, growing more and more anxious to see just what kind of decimation he could leave your pussy in. “Y—you’re so… big.” you whisper in bemusement, but Sen is grunting softly when you give a little squeeze. “I— I can’t even wrap my hand around it!”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” he starts to slip back into his relaxed state. “There’s no rush, don’t overwhelm yourself.” he encourages, tilting his head back. the ghost of his smirk is still present on his lips, but his eyes are closing as your curious fingers begin to trace the throbbing veins. “Feel me out, baby girl.” he exhales heavily through his nose, and you attempt a clumsy, stroking motion. it’s not the most graceful, and difficult from this position looming over him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Those soft, sweet hands of yours—“ Sen has to stifle a rumbling purr, allowing his hips to buck forward. you sway on his lap, biting down on your lip, but the delicate fingertips on both hands race towards the tip, thumbs massaging the tender underside of the tip in circles, teasing his resolve.

“Fuck.” he hisses behind his teeth, before letting out a breathless laugh. it’s hoarse and almost sounds… desperate? “You like playing with me, baby girl?” his grip on your wrist isn’t tight, but he guides your hand, his fingers pressing yours against his slit, and you let out a soft, happy whimper as pearls of warm, precum bead up between them, leaving a sticky sheen against them. you can’t help but nod, but the words ( even the most simple of affirmations ) escape you in this moment, you’re too dazzled by the display laid out before you. you press the soft pads of your pointer and middle fingers against the slit and stroke it slowly, until Sen is growling with hardly-subdued delight. his free hand creeps up the length of your back, fingers tangling in your tresses to pull your head back towards him.

as much as you want to keep watching on in awe, admiring every inch of his cock, you obey his silent command, falling back against his chest, the crown of your head rubbing against his clavicle. craning your neck, you tilt your head up, lips parting as you’re about to speak, but the heat and pressure of his lips consuming yours crashes any train of thought you’d had. his tongue is in your mouth in seconds, dominating yours in a ferocious dance, and his nostrils flare with snorting breaths. “Mm, mhm…” his chin tucks into the kiss, a subtle nod as he hums in approval at the way you strum his slit, kissing you hard for a few more seconds before breaking it. his lips still smear over yours, breath hot and washing in tidal waves over your mouth. Sen’s eyes are heavily lidded, thoroughly enjoying your touches. “There you go, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna teach you how to worship his cock.”

[leaentries]

shield | nico hischier

summary: nico is very protective of his girl, so when someone hurts her, he takes it personally.

warnings: protective nico, physical harassment, swearing, slight violent themes

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: another 3am nico fic 🕺 this one’s a lil bit heavier than most of my nico fics, but don’t worry! i have some new spicy things coming up!

the captain’s girl masterlist

The bar was jammed. Sweaty bodies pressed into every corner of the bricked building, the heat almost unbearable. A door in the back, propped open was your only solace, serving nicely with the winter air wafting in. Although, despite the sticky air and stench of beer, you couldn’t be happier.

You stood by Nico’s side, practically glued to him, not that he would complain. Nico loved the feeling of your body against his, it brought him comfort knowing you were safely tucked away from the world. He was over the moon, still riding the high of tonight’s win. It was a solid win too. Nico got out with a 3-point night, his ego soaring.

Now, you would never admit this sober, but you loved when he got cocky. The way his body demeanor would change and he would have a special swagger in his step. The sexy smirk that never seemed to leave his face every time his gleaming eyes would settle down to yours. It was almost embarrassing the grasp this man had on you, but you loved every second of it. 

His dark shirt clung tightly to his sweaty body, the heat around you two making a visible impression. 

You sat next to him at a table with some of the team, celebrating their win. Seeing the wide smile on Nico’s face made you want to take everything bad in the world and toss it away. That way Nico could smile forever. 

His arm rested on your thigh, corded with thick veins, squeezed slightly, just as reassurance. You squeezed his hand back. 

“You know, I still can’t believe that Merc just left like that! I was in the middle of talking too. What an ass.”

You looked over to where Jack’s voice echoed. His annoyed face set on where Dawson was talking to some girl near the bar. You felt a chuckle rise in your throat, causing you to shove your face into Nico’s arm in an attempt to smother it. 

Nico looked down at you with amused eyes, “What’s so funny, schatzi?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head, “Nothing much, Neeks. Just Jacky.” 

Nico glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who was still complaining to his, very bored, little brother. He nodded his head slowly in understanding. When he turned back to the table, he noticed your tired eyes. 

“You tired, pretty? You’ve been awfully quiet.” 

This was true, but only because you enjoyed watching Nico so much. To you, that was more entertaining than talking. 

“Yep, I’m all good!” You gave him a big smile. Nico searched your eyes for any insincerity but failed to find any. Accepting your answer, he turned back to Holtz, engaging in a spirited conversation about certain plays during the game. 

After half an hour or so, your drink had finally run out, your empty cup now urging to be filled. You nudged Nico’s arm, gaining his attention. 

“I’m gonna go get a refill,” You shook your empty cup, proving your point. 

His brows furrowed, “Want me to come with you?” His eyes flickered to the large number of people, “It’s a bit crowded over by the bar.” 

You smiled at his concern, but denied his request, “No thank you, baby. I’ll be fine.” 

He hesitantly agreed, placing a kiss on your temple and a quick, “Be careful,” as you left. 

Shimmying your way through the dense population proved to be a lot harder than you originally anticipated, getting bumped back and forth violently. By the time you had reached the bar, you could have sworn you had whiplash.

Quickly flagging down a bartender, you ordered your drink and secured a spot to wait. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the obvious male gazes from every direction. You could only hope that one didn’t have the balls to approach you, but alas, luck wasn’t on your side tonight. 

A lean man, of about 5’8, approached you, clearly too inebriated to be thinking correctly. His scruff was patchy and gross, the tell-tail signs of a failed attempt at growing a beard. His red shirt loosely hung on his body, beer wetting the sides of it. At least, you hoped it was beer. He stumbled into the slot beside you, almost on top of you. 

“Hey, sexy. What’s your name?” His voice was grating, not a sultry tone to be heard. You found yourself repulsed by his presence, now desperately wishing Nico had come with you.

“None of your business, but thanks for asking.” You gave him a snide smile, hoping he would take the very obvious hint that you weren’t interested. 

“Whoa, attitude, missy. I just asked your name.”

“And I don’t care.” You rolled your eyes, the strange man not making an effort to leave.

“Damn, if you’re this feisty all the time, I know a much better way to put that mouth to use.”  

Fear pitted deep in your stomach at the dark look on the man’s face. Needing toi escape, you tried to make a move to leave, but he blocked your way, now caging you to the bar top. Your breath picked up in a panic, frantically searching for someone to help. It was far too loud to call for anyone and everyone around you was already preoccupied with their own conversations. 

Deciding to fight back, you lifted your arm to slap the man who was rapidly approaching you. His hand came up to grip your arm harshly, drawing a hiss from your lips as pain spiked through your wrist. Tears sprung in your eyes as you tried your hardest to free yourself from the man’s body. You felt helpless as your voice died in your throat, shutting your eyes tightly.

You prepared yourself for the worst until you felt the man’s weight abruptly leave. Your eyes shot open, seeing a blur of the man get thrown to the ground. The familiar figure of your boyfriend towered over the cowering stranger. 

Nico reached down, gripping the man’s collar, dragging him to his feet, and slamming him against the nearest wall. 

“What the fuck, do you think you’re doing?” Nico’s eyes were ablaze with fury, a hard look resting on his once-happy face. 

“I-I don’t know man,” The stranger was gasping, obviously terrified of the much larger man holding him to the wall, “I was just trying to get some pussy, like every other guy in the bar.” His meek words only fueled Nico’s anger. 

“Don’t you ever fucking touch my woman like that again. Don’t ever touch any woman like that. You’re a fucking pussy.” Nico’s voice was laced with disgust as he spat at the man. Holtz and Jack rushed over, attempting to pull Nico away. He dropped the guy, worry for you now seeping into his clouded mind. 

Nico was by your side within seconds, pulling your shaking form into his arms. He tucked you under his chin, tightly holding you, “It’s okay, schatzi,” He brought up a hand to cradle your head, “You’re okay. I’m here now, Nico’s here.” 

You let out a slight sob, your arms recoiling into your body as you gingerly held your bruising wrist. Nico pulled away, eyes desperately raking your body to determine the cause of your pain. Once his eyes settled on your wrist, he held out his hand, silently asking to inspect the damage.

Nico felt a new wave of anger take over his body, now practically shaking as he tried his hardest to not go beat the shit out of the guy. The man had hurt you. Hurt his girl. If it were up to Nico, that guy wouldn’t be breathing right now, but fortunately for the stranger, murder is illegal. Nico carefully guided your body to the exit, not bothering to bid goodbyes. 

Only once the two of you hit the cold parking lot and the adrenaline started to wear off, did you fully begin to comprehend the severity of what had happened. A fresh batch of tears formed in your eyes,  sobs rapidly pouring from your lips. Your body shook with the pure force of the cries that pierced their way through Nico’s chest.

He immediately pulled you tightly into his body, making sure to be mindful of your wrist. Nico felt his own tears well up in his eyes at your pain. He hated that he couldn’t help you, but he hated even more that he was in the building when it happened and didn’t get to you soon enough.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Nico sniffed, “It’s all my fault this happened.” 

You shook your head against his chest, slightly pulling away to look into his deeply saddened eyes, “No, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.” 

“I knew I should have gone with you. If I was there then he wouldn’t have hurt you.” He looked away biting his lip as he tried not to cry. His broken voice stabbed your heart. It was gut-wrenching to see Nico blame himself for what that man did. 

“Stop, Nico. It was not your fault,” You held his face gently, forcing him to meet your eyes, “Please, stop blaming yourself. I chose to go by myself, that’s not on you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you were too quick, “Don’t say anything else. Please, for me? Stop.” 

He nodded slowly as tears silently slid down his cheeks. Nico reached up, carefully cradling your wrist that was near his face, leaning to place a sweet kiss on the black and blue splotches.

 “Let me get you home, schatzi. Wanna take care of you.” 

[yeyinde]

“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy

➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.

➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers. 

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name. 

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team. 

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender. 

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum. 

"Steady now, Sergeant." 

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic. 

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't. 

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now." 

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat. 

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more. 

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness. 

He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy. 

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?" 

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks. 

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely. 

"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse. 

"Price—ah, fuck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it." 

Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—" 

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy. 

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember. 

You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids. 

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil. 

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes. 

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button. 

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole. 

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you. 

"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit— 

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?" 

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth. 

But he won't. Not yet. 

His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?" 

You whine. "Please, need your cock—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks. 

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him. 

The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root. 

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure. 

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more. 

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you. 

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze. 

The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release. 

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up. 

He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw. 

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb. 

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin. 

"That was—"

He's cut off. 

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar. 

Times up. 

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss. 

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud. 

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers. 

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man. 

If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss. 

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps. 

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh. 

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch. 

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check." 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair. 

Price turns with a sharp nod. 

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

[pedge-page]

Joel Miller x F!Reader - Piss Kink #4

if you're feeling bold, can be read with more Piss kink #1, #2, #3, or alone.

Summary: Joel entices you home with a uniquely fun hommade toy that he's been edging himself with.

Warnings: pisskink! , pill-filled condom, sending nudes ish, nipple play, sub!Joel returns!, male masturbation, mirror masturbation, assisted masturbation, overstimulation, degrading lanauge towards Joel, this one is all about Joel

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Work fucking sucks when you’re horny as shit.

While you rot away at a desk 5 days a week, from 9-5 with limited days off, you get a bit envious of Joel’s flexible schedule where he can pick his own contracts, his own projects, and work his own hours at his own fee.

Must be nice to be a solid brick wall of meat.

And he doesn’t make it any better. Having your phone buzz off at your desk literally every 5 seconds with pictures of his scruffy head waking up at 9:57am, his homemade sausage links and pancakes, his feet propped up on the coffee table while sipping away your coffee in your mug that you forgot because you were running late!

You: Fuck off, lazy ass

Joel: come home and I’ll fuck your ass all day :P

You: do you have any real plans today other than being a little shit?

There’s 15 minutes of silence from his end. Enough that you’re pretty far into a project you couldn’t get off the ground, until there’s a new chime vibrating from your phone. 

Joel: video attachment

You bite your lips, hovering over the file icon. This could be just another “Joel enjoying his day off” …

or a “Joel enjoying his day off.”

Not risking it, you run to the bathroom and lock yourself in the stall.

The video plays, and you can make out Joel’s big fat blurry fingers blocking half the camera as he angles the phone on the sink vanity, facing himself in the mirror focus sense. He backs away, and unzips his jeans. His cock is only half hard, but that doesn’t deter him from pumping it lazily in his hand, digging in the drawer off camera looking for something.

It’s not until he’s ripping off a condom with his teeth that you’re very intrigued. 

“Got a present for ya when you come home,” he smirks into the camera.

He rolls the plastic over his much harder cock now, pulling it tight all the way to the base, stretching it over his thick length.

Joel’s not one to use condoms, so this is—new.

He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling as he pumps his dick with short jerks. His thumb teases over the clear covered tip. there’s some sweet little noises you know you’re missing because the mic doesn’t pick it up, but by the way his brows furrow, his lips part with eyes closed, you know he’s feeling dirty and good.

He lets out a strong groan, and the condom starts inflating quickly as he relives his urine. “FUck—fuck , shit, it’s filling up fast.”

You hold in a gasp because fuck yeah he’s right. The condom expands rapidly as yellow liquid quickly pools in the empty nub at the top before over coming the underside.

“Mmm—ah—ah-ahh-yeahfuck baby—its’ warm. Warm like you,” he grunts, smiling. He tilts his head back and moans, thrusting his hips a bit more like he wants to fuck it. 

He breathes shallowly when it’s over. The condom now tightly packed with warm golden piss around his aching length like a thick balloon, not much larger than a short zucchini but still impressively bulging.

He jerks over himself a little bit, watching the liquid bounce with such inertia it takes a moment to even out. It should be disgusting, really, watching him play with himself with his own piss like a pocket pussy, were it not for the tight clench of your thighs and throb between your legs.

“Reminds me of ya tummy when I filled ya full of it the other day.”

He starts to pull his jeans back up, careful to tuck the full package into his crock area before zipping it up cautiously. Two little hops and everything falls into place. He groans as he manages the button over his waist.

He pats his new bulge before winking into the camera and the video ends.

You don’t even realize you were biting your finger nails while sitting on the toilet seat in the stall. Your skirt bunches up over your legs as you spread them. Fuck, you can’t touch yourself at work!

Just as you’re about to write an extremely lengthly curse off to Joel, another image attachment comes in:

Joel lying on the couch with the camera facing down towards his feet, the evident bulge still packed tight in his head with his girth hand gripping at it through his jeans.

Joel: Warm n tight, just like your sweet little cunt :) 

Another video comes in, and there’s barely any intuition in you left to ignore it as you’re hitting play so quickly.

He’s positioned the phone in front of him again at the couch, folding laundry causally with his legs spread wide. The bulge in his pants, however, is much bigger. Each uncomfortable  shift only elicits a whimper from him, grinding into his palm to adjust the position but only turning him on more. He leans back and unbuttons the pants. The zipper practically falls away on its own to give room to the massive piss filled condom, shaped like a droopy sack, it’s been desperately trying to hold together.

He sighs in relief, jiggling the balloon. It’s now the length of a fat cucumber, sagging to the cushion from the weight. 

“Shit. This is a fuckin’ strong ass condom, baby. Feels like I’m bout to burst everywhere.”

He continues to smack it, jerk it, play with it like a silicon boob and not like it’s his own urine filling a condom and drawing his poor dick, still hard as a rock and an angry shade of red infused with the yellow tint of the sloshing liquid. His leg bounces, both of you hypnotized at the way the latex ripple with each wave.

“Can’t wait for you to come home and see how big it’s gonna get in your hand.” He cups his balls underneath while fisting his warm and wet pocket pussy. It jiggles obscenely in his hand, his hips thrusting into it until his tummy tense and he stills. You can just barely see the little air bubble at the top get smaller as he relieves himself more. His eyes roll back, feeling the warmth surround his meat like living inside your cunt. 

The video ends, and a second image is waiting for you:

Joel standing with his top belt button undone but the zipper struggling to stay up, holding his fat bulge that now has taken over to drooping down his thighs.

Joel: Fucking Christ baby, you see how fucking tight this is? 

You don’t open the last video attachment, as you’re already packing your computer away and telling your manager you’re not feeling well, zipping to your car and speeding home.

-

Joel’s cock is in a constant state of pain and pleasure all day. For one, his piss is keeping everything so fucking warm, unlike anything he’s felt regularly wrapped around his cock, stuffed in his pants. But on the other hand, his dick has been trapped inside a warm wet fluid substance for over two hours non stop hard, and he’s ready to cum geysers.

He considers whether waiting all day for you to come home for his “present” is going to be worth it when he hears keys being entered into the front entrance.

He’s standing right there the moment you open the door. He can tell you rushed with the state of your wrinkled shirt half untucked, messy hair and even more evident—the ferocious look in your eyes. 

You wrap your arms around him and hug him close. He lets out a tiny sigh, feeling your middle press against his crotch tightly. To your delight, it’s still there, all packed tight and warm, crammed so stiffly it could burst with any more pressure. Your hand roughly grabs at the squishy bulge in his jeans and Joel stutters a gasp, then a little moan with his eyes closed in bliss. You can just barely hear the quiet rush of liquid filling into the condom even more.

“Did you just piss some more?” You ask, your hand rubbings soothing circles over the bulge.

He nods, lips parted sinfully with dazed eyes now that you’re here and in charge.

“You’re a naughty boy, sending that shit at work. Making me come home early to take care of this,” you whisper sensually in your honey silk voice that has his veins shivering from excitement and trouble. 

“Nnmgg—mmmm, I wanted you here. And you want its too,” he snickers.

You tug the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a harsh kiss. He groans into your month, pulling you closer and grinding himself into your secure body like a horny teen. His body melts in to your touch, more needy to have you here than you were to have him.

Your tongue holds his hostage while you busy your fingers and unbutton his jeans. The piss filled condom spills out of there like it was desperate to breathe. 

Joel lets out a pathetic sigh of relief. You continue to palm him while he pants into your mouth, all the pent of pressure finally having room to escape, but still trapping his thick cock. It’s fucking heavy, the weight of his hot urine filling the bag over and over again, latex stretched so tight. “It’s.. s-so heavy—bout to burst,” he rasps, eyes shut into your shoulder as you hold it for him. 

You smirk against his lips, continuing your torture in your hand while he shivers.

You reach below the moist cucumber sack and roll his balls in your hand, tugging gently to get him to follow you.

He obeys beautifully. Leaping after you as you massage him, trailing so close that he’s wafting your hair product, twitching in your palm.

“Sit,” you command, pointing to the floor in the bedroom, directly in front of your floor length mirror.

He sinks to the group, staring at his reflection. So pretty and small beneath you. You slide right behind him, hands slowly tracing along his inner thighs, making him involuntarily man spread. 

You grasp the urine condom and start tugging, jerking it in your hand as you pinch his nipples under his shirt with your free hand. 

“You look like a fucking pervert and a whore.”

He whimpers and melts into your touch. Tense in his cock and chest but relaxed everywhere else. Despite the mass of the man in front of you, practically blocking your view of his beautiful twitching body, you perch over his arm to watch. 

His eyes keep drifting back, pleasure consuming him after edging all day. But he keeps snapping forward to look at how you’re tearing him apart.

“Only fucking disgusting boys do this type of shit, Joel. Is that what you are?”

He nods vigorously, hips cantering forward.

The sloshing of liquid grows louder as you pump over the slimy sack faster. His shirt rides up, his soft belly flexing with each painful breath he forces going in and out. 

“Can you fill this up some more? While I’l jerking you off? Don’t cum yet. Want more of your foul liquid to fill this thing. It’s so fucking big, Joel. see how much we can pack into here before it explodes!” You laugh.

He grits his teeth, and you still your movement. With a few assisted tugs wrapped around your own hand, he’s moaning out pornographically, and you can see through the latex the extra stream of gold forced out of the tip of his dick and expanding the hot condom. It’s big enough now that you need Joel to help wrap his other hand around it. The two of you jacking him off together.

“Such a fucking good boy, Miller. My piss hungry boy.”

If you weren’t so fucking turned on by your whimpering mess of a boyfriend you’d be cringing so hard. But Joel just somehow always manages to bring that side out of you.

“Arrgghhhhh--aahhh—oh—ohh—ohf—oh fuck! Fuck it baby, yeah—YEAH—unfff I’m—I’m gonna—“ he’s blabbering incoherently, nodding and shaking his head, overstimulated and yet so close to getting what his whole body is begging for. The condom bounces along as the two of you fall out of rhythm, smashing against his pelvis and balls, his tip stretching across the clear seal before being drowned in a vacuum of piss. 

You accidentally pinch the condom as you pull it close to him again. Coupled with being filled to its limit, the entire thing snaps in a giant explosion of the piss damn breaking, ursting all over Joel’s torso and thighs and the floor.

The impact of it all has his hips thrusting forward, his jaw dropping open in a surprised gasp when he cums into the free air—ropes of it shooting so far onto the mirror. You don’t stop, despite the wet mess all over him and tattered condom shred still clinging between your digits, jerking his wet cock to completion and tilting his hips up so that his creamy spend shoots on his pouty lower lip.

He licks away the salty tang of his orgasm,  breathing down from his high. You  both observe him in the mirror: clothes drenched from chest to knee, splatters of of his spend adorning him and the mirror like overly-excited icing on a tres-leches soaked cake. 

He’s shaking from the aftershock. So overly whipped and leaning further back against you for support. You hold his cock, now finally able to breathe, as you kiss along his jaw and neck. “You’re so gross, I fucking love it,” you tease, nipping at his ear.

He smiles with you, sighing up to the ceiling with blissful sedation. 

He stays pliant in your arms, head resting against your breasts. It’s quiet, minus the love sucks you’re dressing all over his face with your lipstick.

He opens his eyes. “How about a hug after such a loooooong day at work, baby?”

You stop kissing him and lean away, shaking your head. 

“No? Are you sure? I think you need it,” he hums, a devious look in his eyes as he starts to turn on you. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You warn. You immediately scramble to your feet and try to run out the door, but Joel’s caught up in no time, bear hugging you from behind.

“Awwwww, isn’t this soooo nice, baby?”

“Gross, gross, gross!” You laugh, wiggling unsuccessfully as you feel his urine seeping from his clothes to your beautiful white blouse and ironed skirt. You shiver at the warm, disgusting feeling of it all.

“Fucking nasty perverted piss boy.”

He giggles into your hair as you admin defeat, swaying with him in a tight embrace.

“With my fucking nasty perverted piss girl.”

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