#yet they (the fans) still keep falling for it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You put Steve’s bag on the couch. It’s a backup he keeps in his trunk since he spilled coffee on himself during the merger meeting. It was your idea and you’re happy you suggested, though you never expected any of this.

Just like you didn’t expect him to ever see your apartment. Especially not today. You quickly swipe up the used mug from the table and take it into the kitchen. You call through the open doorway as you rinse it out.

“Make yourself at home, sir,” you set the cup on the counter and cut the flow of the tap. “I’ll find you a blanket and a pillow.” You dry your hands then flit back into the front room. “I’m sorry, I can only offer up the couch--”

He’s stood before the bookcase in the corner, squeezed into the narrow space. The couch is against one wall, opposite is a shorter shelf with the television and a few bunny figurines below. You’re overly conscious of the cutesy decor as he stands out of place among the pink checkered rug and fluff couch throws.

That reminds you.

On cue, Mitzy emerges, yowling for her evening meal. It’s not quite time yet but she’s an opportunist at heart. The tortoiseshell curls around your ankles and you bend to pick her up. She’s a comfort amid the intrusion of your space. You may have invited him here but it isn’t entirely by choice.

“Cozy,” remarks as he turns to you. “Oh, hi, kitty.”

He nears and Mitzy tries to crawl around your neck. She’s not a fan of strangers. You catch her before she can claw you too much and set her down. She scurries off.

“Oh, sorry,” he frowns.

“It’s not you. She’s fussy. She comes out for food and that’s about it.” You shrug.

“Ah, right,” he sniffs. “I like the bunnies.”

“Um, yeah, those... I just thought they’re cute,” you bounce nervously, “I’ll go get that blanket.”

“Sure,” he rubs his neck and look aways bashfully. “I’m sorry I’m falling apart like this, Rosie.”

“Mr. Rogers, it’s okay. We all have moments.” You assure him. If only he knew how many you had.

“You are so nice. Too nice,” he hangs his head and turns away. His shoulders slant as if he’s trying to make himself small. He’s too big for that.

You leave him and go down to find your single spare quilt and pillow. The blanket you made at a crafting class with Missie and the pillow, you think Dizzie left it here. You’re not entirely sure. 

Thinking of the girls, you wish you could ask them for a bit of advice right then. Elfie would know what to do. Billie would tell you to send your boss to a hotel, you know it. She’s probably right. Izzie would surely know what to do.

You come back as Steve stands by the window. The outline of his figure almost startles you. You’ve never had a man in your space. Not this one. You had one long-term relationship and when he decided he liked the girls on Instagram better, he booted you to the curb. Young and stupid. Still got a bit of both of those.

“Are you hungry?” You ask. “I could make some pasta or something.” You put the blanket and pillow on the couch. “Or, I could leave you alone.”

He’s quiet as he stares out at the brick wall across from your apartment. “I’m not very hungry, sweetheart.” He sniffs and reaches to wipe his face. “Do you mind if I shower?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, go ahead. I’ll get a towel.”

You grab a fresh towel and leave it in the bathroom. You busy yourself with dinner before Steve finally takes the invitation. You're a bit relieved to have a bit of time to yourself. You feel like you're still at work.

You're just about done the alfredo by the time he reappears. He's only in a pair of gym shorts, a bit bashful as he keeps the towel around his neck. You peek up and quickly go back to grating parmesan.

"Smells good. I feel fresher," he sighs.

"Mmhm," you squeak.

"Sorry, I only had gym shorts to sleep in. Gonna save the suit for tomorrow."

"That's fine. Did you want a plate?" You offer and turn away.

You never really thought about Steve like that. Never wondered about the man behind the title or the tie. He's just your boss. Still, the vision of his thickly muscled arms and stomach cloys in your head.

You plate him up linguine with sauce and sprinkle over the parmesan. It's a simple meal for a simple budget. He thanks you and sits at the small round table you don't often use without company.

Your phone vibes. You're thankful for the distraction. It's a meme in the group chat. You can't wait for the night out.

You sit with Steve to eat. You try not to look at him.

"So, who were you texting? Not to be nosy."

"Oh, it's... my friends. We're going out this week. Haven't seen them in a while."

"Sounds fun," he tries to smile. You feel bad for him.

"Maybe Bucky will be free," you suggest. "Probably a good time to catch up."

"Yeah, if he wasn't so busy at work. New partner, I guess. They don't get along."

"No? That's too bad. He always nice to me," you twirl the thick noodles around your fork.

"You like him?" Steve asks.

"Well, he's friendly. Can't say that about everyone."

"Right," he nods and takes a bite. He lowers his lashes and wiggles his nose.

"And he's your friend so... he must be as nice as you."

He swallows and looks at you with a sigh, "you're too good to me, Rosie. I'm such a mess and--" he pauses, "and you're a great cook. This is delicious."

"Oh thanks. It's pretty easy to make," you assure him.

"Yeah? Maybe you can show me. I'll have to learn since..." he leans forward suddenly and catches his head in his hands. He shoulders heave and he sobs. "I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm just going through it-- It keeps sneaking up on me."

Your heart wrenches. You feel so bad. You're not sure what to do but then you think of your friends. What would you do if they were heartbroken?

You stand and gently touch his shoulder, "it's gonna take some time."

He sniffles then suddenly, he opens his arms and snags you in and embrace. He buries his face in your stomach and weeps. You stand, frozen, and look down at his golden hair. You cautiously bring your hand up to caress his head.

"It's okay, sir, shhhh," you coax him gently. Maybe if he cries it out, he'll get some good sleep.

[lokidjarin-7567]

Can you write a fanfic (only if you're comfortable of course) pairing kang dae-ho x f!reader, during the lights out. Basically they've developed a really strong connection since the beggining, and she's sleeping next to him while he's looking out for others (ok he's just basically watching you sleep). But you shift your position while sleeping and he sees sh scars on your wrist, and folds your sleeves and he sees multiple cuts and scars. You wake up from the motions and you see him with teary eyes and then you start to cry a lot, like having a panic attack and he comforts you and it's just a lot of fluff basically. (the reason from your cuts can be because you're deeply depressed and you're coping that way since you're 15 but at 21 you still do it)

But, if you don't feel comfortable writing about sh can you please write one also during the light out when dae-ho is on the look out and the reader is trying to sleep, but she's so scared of what's going to happen that she starts crying, he notices it, she has a panic attack and he pulls her to his lap comforting her (again really fluffy).

I'm almost one year clean so I was craving this kind of comfort, thank you <3

Your wish is my command 🫡 (sorry so cheesy)

Creature Comforts

Kang Dae-ho x reader

CW: mentions of self harm, please please do not read if you’re not comfortable with this!!, fluff and comfort

So happy to get this request - my first one!! Please send any in if you have them, I love writing them <3 And please message me if you’re having thoughts about SH or struggling with it at all, my DMs are always open 🩷

Masterlist | AO3

She looked so peaceful when she slept. She was curled up on the mattress beside where he was keeping guard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. It was mesmerising. Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, some straying into her face, strands lying delicately on her cheek. The lower half of her body was covered with a thin blanket, her top half cuddled into her jumper.

He had never seen her this calm. They had gotten close quickly in these games - the fear and horror acting as a catalyst for friendship - and he found himself getting protective over her fast. They’d first met after the first game, when Thanos and his lackey had approached her to join their little group, and he’d felt the inexplicable urge to tell him she was already spoken for. Surprisingly, she agreed with him quickly, saying she had already made her allies and hurried quickly away from that purple-haired joke. She thanked him wholeheartedly when they were out of earshot, confirming that there was something about him that made her uncomfortable so she appreciated being saved (her words, not his.) They had been inseparable since - sharing meals, sticking together in games, voting together, even bunking next to each other. When Gi-hun said that two people should always be keeping watch tonight, they didn’t even have to say they would take their shift together - it was just assumed.

But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the room, her hair like a halo, the sound of her breathing a symphony to his ears. Soothing. He could watch her for hours, totally enthralled and at peace. His hand moved to brush a piece of hair from her face, feeling the softness of the lock between his fingers, fingertips lingering just a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek. So he just sat beside her. He wasn’t tired yet; he could take her shift. Anything to protect her really. A few extra hours can be the difference between life and death here.

The rise and fall of her body suddenly changed rhythm, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She rolled over in her sleep to face him, and he held his breath, scared that the smallest shift might wake her. She settled back in quickly though, and he watched with a soft smile as her arms fell beside her body, head snuggling into the pillow.

He wanted to wake up like this every morning, hearing her gentle sighs and soft snores, to see the peace on her face before she woke. He had only known her a few days, but it felt like a lifetime when they spent every minute fearing for their life. He felt so unbelievably protective of her so fast. He didn’t think she was incapable of handling herself - she’d proven the opposite through this ordeal. But he didn’t want her to have to worry about that ever again. As soon as they were out of there, he would do anything to make sure she wasn’t scared ever again.

Her hair had fallen across her face again, and in the dim light, he worked carefully to move it, tucking it gently behind her ear. Then he noticed her blankets falling down a little, pooling around her waist, so he pulled it up to her shoulders. Then the cuff of her jacket was slipping, so he gently grabbed the fabric, moving to fix her sleeve, when he noticed something. There were a few scars there, barely noticeable in the dim light of the room, so he allowed his curiosity and protective nature get the better of him. Ever so cautiously, he slipped her sleeve down just a little, just enough to see the scars that littered her forearms. Some were newer than others, others long since healed, but they were unmistakable.

His heart hurt for her. Life in these games was hard enough, but he could only imagine what awaited her outside to have to…

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he addressed it, he might lose her trust. She might get embarrassed that he knew and withdraw. If he didn’t, and she somehow worked out that he knew, she would think he didn’t care.

It wasn’t something he understood completely - a few of his friends from the military struggled with self-harm, but he didn’t tend to ask them too many questions. They had PTSD, so maybe she had that too? Or something else that was making her hurt badly enough to… all he really knew was that she didn’t have any healthy avenues to alleviate her stress and emotion. He wanted to help, to hold her and tell her everything would always be okay around him, that she shouldn’t ever hurt herself again… but he knew that was condescending and naive. What he really needed to do was let her talk to him if he wanted, listen, and if there was anyway she wanted him to help, he would…

His plans were foiled though, as she woke slowly, eyes blinking open. He was lost in thought, fingers still hooked around her cuff, and he was frozen as her eyes widened, locking on her arms and where his skin was against her. She started to back away, shuffling quickly as she adjusted, fear taking over her features.

“What’re you…” she muttered quietly, pulling her sleeves back to her hands as tears started to form in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he blurted out quickly, face turning red. “You turned over and I saw something so I was curious, I didn’t mean to wake you I… I’m so sorry.” She had pulled her knees to her chest, shaking slightly. “Hey, listen to me, it’s ok, it’s all ok, I…” he slowed down when he realised she was crying, her whole body heaving with deep, pained breaths, her hands fisting the blankets around her. He muttered her name quietly, but she didn’t respond, her legs falling down as her breathing got more and more erratic.

Oh God, he’d ruined everything.

***

It had happened so quickly. One minute you were asleep, the next, you opened your eyes to see Dae-ho beside you. At first, you were happy just to see him, his face and demeanour and everything about him a comfort to you throughout this game. Then you noticed the way he was looking at you. A mixture of pain and confusion and worry was contorted across his face, and then you saw where he was looking.

Your sleeve must had rolled in your sleep, and he was looking at your now bare wrist, his fingers softly brushing against it. You snatched her arm away quickly, fear clouding your mind as you shuffled back.

He had seen.

Oh God, I’ve ruined everything.

There was no questioning that fact. He knew. One of your deepest secrets, one of the things you were most ashamed of. And now, the person you trusted most in here knew. What would he think? Would he view you differently? As weak? As insane? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here around people who wanted to live more than you?

All you had ever wanted was to be seen as normal. And however awful this place was, you finally had that. You had found someone who viewed you as an equal, an ally even. You weren’t the unstable girl who cut herself, or the friend no one could rely on due to unpredictable bouts of depression or anxiety, or the shitty daughter who kept to herself. You were helpful, normal even. But now?

You hadn’t noticed your breathing start to shallow until it was too late. Your vision started to go fuzzy, mind screaming that you’d let someone too close, that they would never see you the same and it was all your fault. Again.

You heard him call your name, but it felt far away, like you were trapped in a bubble and everything outside was muffled. You were paralysed with an inexplicable terror, tears streaming down your face.

Unsurprisingly, given where you were, it wasn’t the first time you’d had a panic attack in front of him. They’d been pretty consistent, after every game, during some, but now, somehow this was the worst. For some reason, someone truly knowing you was scarier than the prospect of looming death.

It took a while for your vision to come back into focus, and when it did, all you could see was his face.

“Hey, look at me, breathe, ok? Here…” he carefully placed his hand on yours, and when you didn’t pull away, picked it up and held it to his chest. “Follow my breaths, ok? In….” You did your best to follow along, stuttering slightly, but he smiled ever so softly even if you weren’t doing it perfectly. “Good, and out..” He repeated the motion a few times, and you followed until your breathing was steady enough to talk. “There we go.” He muttered gently, a hand straying to your face to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

“I’m so sorry, Dae-ho…” it was all you could choke out, already close to tears again, but he shushed you quickly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s none of my business, but I need you to know that I would never judge you… not for anything. Especially not for something that isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is, I…”

“It’s not. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. You’re doing your best and I’m here for you. As long as you know that, that’s all that matters.” You were crying again, his words a comfort you had never heard before. Not a moment after the first tear fell his arms were around you, pulling you tight to him and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t even speak to thank him, so you squeezed his arm instead, feeling him smile into the top of your head. You had never felt so much kindness before, so much understanding… and maybe it said something about the people around you, but you couldn’t think about that. Right now, all you could think about was the way he was holding you close, the way his breaths aligned with yours, and the way he made you feel like everything was actually going to be ok.

[callme-holly]

Idk if you’ve done this but Dallas Winston x Pastors Daughter ? 👀👀

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫]

a/n: I LOVED THIS OMG PLEASE MORE REQUESTS LIKE THIS. NO JOKE THIS IS MY NEW FAV FIC

Nobody has ever expected Dallas to end up with a girl like you, not at all. You were everything he wasn’t: you were sweet, gentle, and kind. You deserved someone more than a hoodlum from a bad background… And yet you never push him away, not even when he comes knocking at your window long after the sun has set, just like tonight.

He looks so incredibly out of place on your bed, his dirtied jeans and dark shirt a stark contrast to your soft, silken sheets. His blonde hair fans out across the pillow as he stretches back, and he looks almost angelic under the dim, honey-coloured glow of your lamp, which is impossible as Dallas Winston is anything but. 

He watches you carefully from across the room as you stand at your vanity, brushing out your curls as they fall around your face in a way that makes you look almost etheral. "Are you going to come join me, or what?" He grumbles, his gaze travelling down the length of your body, admiring the way your night gown  clings to your curves, the pure white of the fabric contrasting sweetly with everything else about you, still keeping that modest image about you.

“Just a moment,” you mutter, your eyes meeting his in the mirror, and he finds himself transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away. You look perfect, like something written by the angels and sent straight down from heaven,  all soft pink lips and   smooth skin. 

"There." You finally say once you've finished brushing out your hair, letting it fall down your back as you turn to walk towards him. He grins, shifting to make room for you, his arm winding around your waist as you settle on his chest, your hand smoothing over the side of his face.

"You know, you look fine. You don't have to spend so long putting yourself together."  His voice is rough and low in the quiet of the room, and he smells faintly of smoke and leather. You feel your heart flutter in your chest, like thousands of butterflies have been released, set free, and are now  flying in every direction.

"I've got church in the morning. I need to look  my best." Your fingers trail up the column of his neck, your eyes following the movement, and Dallas huffs a laugh, catching your wrist.

"Says who?"

"Says my father." You give him a knowing look, effectively cutting him off as he rolls his eyes, letting his head flop back once more.

"Oh please. If he knew true beauty, he'd let you go as you are now."  A smirk plays at his mouth, and his hands wander up your sides slowly before settling on your hips. He pulls you closer, your chest pressed flush against his, and your breath catches as his fingers trace the delicate shape of your hipbones. 

"Where's this coming from?" You ask suddenly, a lilt of teasing  in your voice. "What's gotten into you? You're never this sweet."

Dallas hums, pressing his lips to the side of your jaw, lingering for a moment as he speaks. "Just trying to charm my way into your perfect little household."  You laugh in spite of yourself, swatting his hand away before it continues exploring your body.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?"  

He shrugs, moving to kiss your neck. "Nope."  When he lifts his head again, Dallas gives you a smile, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. "Can I stay here tonight, or do you need to be at church early tomorrow?"  

You smile softly in return, your fingers combing through his hair absently. "You can stay. But you better be gone before my father wakes up. He'll go mad if he sees you." 

He nods, but his attention is elsewhere, drifting to the Bible on your bedside table. He reaches over and grabs it, mindful not to damage it, and you watch him with raised brows. 

"What're you doing?"

He doesn't answer you, merely opening to a random page and running his finger slowly along the words, something akin to wonder taking over his features. You've never seen him handle something with such care, and the last thing you'd ever expected was for him to show so much interest in your religion.

"You should come with us some time, you know..." you speak gently, not wanting to force anything onto him, knowing your attempts at inviting him to church are futile, and sure enough, he shakes his head, closing the book again and setting it back on your nightstand.

"Nah. Not my scene, angel." His tone is casual, and he lounges back once more, pulling you along with him. His hand trails up along your side,  tracing small circles on your skin, and you shudder beneath his touch. 

"It'd do you good, I think." You try,  giving him a hopeful look. He smiles, looking at you with that same expression he always wears whenever you're trying to convince him to join you , and you instantly know this conversation isn't going anywhere. 

He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away. "Not my style."  His tone is firm, and you nod reluctantly, knowing he's right. Dallas Winston does not belong in a church. 

You rest your head on his chest, letting out a soft sigh and tracing little patterns into the fabric of his shirt. Your eyes grow heavy, content settling over you like a wave lapping at the shore, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a state of pure bliss and ease.

"I could get used to this," you mumble, and Dallas hums in response, a sound of agreement that fills you with a small sense of hope.

Your family would never agree with  this arrangement: you and him, the pastor's daughter and a criminal. But even if  they didn't approve, he knew, deep down, you wouldn't ever give up on him. Because your angel eyes saw the good in many devils... 

[loveanddeepsecrets]

Aftercare after surgery 🦷

How the LADs men would care for you right after you get your wisdom teeth removed.

tags: sfw, fluff, gn! reader, Sylus, Rafayel, Caleb, Zayne, & Xavier x reader

word count: ≈1,045

Caleb

He'd be the most entertaining knowing how you bore easily. From card games, to video games, to tv marathons, the first few days of recovery fly by.

Insisted you get the procedure done in Skyhaven so you can recover at his place, it’s a lot roomier anyway

Is in stitches laughing on the ride home as you both joke around while you’re still high from the anesthesia

Bought a special recliner for you to sleep on the first night post op

Very attentive caretaker; routinely fluffing your pillows, changing your gauze, and refilling your glass of water 

Likes the challenge of cooking a “no solid foods” meal

Is absolutely teasing you over how swollen your cheeks are

Still makes a point to tell you how beautiful you are

Boy, can this man YAP 

He knows he can be quite chatty, but can’t resist annoying you a little when you can’t talk back. “…There was that one time I lost a bet with Gideon, but that’s a story for another day. I’ve been talkin’ your ear off for 10 minutes.” “mmph..” “What’s that? You wanna hear more about the bet?  Okayyy pipsqueek…”

Massages your temples when the pain meds wear off before you can take them again 

Ends up falling asleep next to you in the giant recliner during a Food Network marathon 

Rafayel

Raf’s probably the most smothering of the five since he admits he’s not the best at taking care of others and would be mortified if he had any part of your recovery not going well. He’s a lavish man after all, your comfort is important to him.

You resting anywhere other than his California king bed is out of the question!

Is incredibly gentle and soothing when changing out your gauze; lots of words of encouragement

Constantly checking in to make sure you’re comfortable 

Tries really hard not to laugh when he uses bags of frozen vegetables as cold compress on your cheeks. Says you look like a cute puffer fish 

Keeps forgetting you shouldn’t talk for the first 24 hours but then gets mad when you try answering him when he asks you something 

Is really excited for the next couple of days when you can eat more solid foods. He’s been meaning to make you a special fish soup he discovered on one of his exhibitions abroad 

Drew a tiny sketch of you as a sleeping puffer fish during your nap

Would literally fan you if you felt too hot 

Loses kitty cards on purpose 

Since he has you bedridden, he bought several magazines to take silly quizzes bc “That’s what they do in the movies, yeah?”

Zayne

Easily the most equipped to take care of you in this situation let’s be fr. He’s firm, yet gentle and your downtime is quick and painless.

Has you on a tight schedule: nap, rinse, gauze, meds, nap, rinse, eat, gauze, repeat

You don’t even bother trying to speak. He already had a white board and marker placed on your nightstand when you got home from surgery

Has you pick whatever drama you want to watch when you finally slept off the anesthesia 

Is even more lenient with the amount of sweets you can have since smoothies are the only “healthy” meal you can eat right after surgery 

Is really all cuddles outside of the strict routine of dressing your wounds/taking meds

Shadow puppet show (again 🥲)

Lots and lots of kisses! Checks, forehead, eyelids, nose; he just wants you to get better

Places his hands on your cheeks and uses his evol as a cold compress just this once

Secretly counting down the days til he can properly kiss you again 

Is still a workaholic and reviewing reports on his laptop, but takes your temporary silence as an opportunity to listen to some of your favourite music together. In a way, it’s like you’re still talking to him

Xavier

He's no medical professional by any means, but he's not as clueless as he lets on. When it comes to your safety and well being, he takes looking after you pretty seriously. Under his care, you get the most sleep you've gotten in your life.

Sets up the pull out couch so you won’t have to walk around as much

Still brought you flowers and a “Get well soon” card, despite the fact the he’s the one taking care of you 

Thinks you look especially cute with swollen cheeks and surrounded your sleeping form with plushies mid nap 

Is especially proud of himself for making you breakfast and dinner— it’s really hard to mess up instant oatmeal and mashed potatoes 

It takes everything within him not to poke your cheeks and say “chubby bunny”

Chooses to play collaborative 2-player games bc he knows you hate it when he lets you win

Gets in bed to join in on your (med induced) naps

Has you snuggle his waist as you two look through comic books

Follows along with your mushy diet because he’d feel so bad eating solid foods in front of you

Thought refrigerating a face mask would be a relaxing alternative to cold compress packs (and of course he tried one too)

Sylus

Full on princess treatment. Quite literally wouldn’t let you lift a finger. It’s as if you had hip replacement surgery.

Refuses to let you walk, even after the anesthesia wears off. He carries you to any and every room

He knows it’s a minor surgery, but it didn’t stop him from buying the fluffiest pillows, comfiest weighted blankets, plushiest robe, and smoothest silk eye mask 

Brushes/ plays with your hair while you sleep 

Despite your temporary dietary restrictions, you still eat like a Michelin inspector thanks to his private chef

Spoon feeds you 

Is the only LI aside from Caleb who can understand your muffled speech 

Programmed Mephisto to set reminders to take your meds and switch out you gauze

Tucks you in *every time* you decide to lay back in bed

Turned one of his rooms into a spa. Dark, yet calming from the soft lighting of candles, crystal singing bowls from a white noise machine, and aromatherapy 

Relishes in you earnestly needing his help

Bought out a full service salon for the next day to give you every service they offer

fic dividers by: saradika-graphics, adornedwithlight, strangergraphics, & natimiles-edits

Thanks for reading all the way through :) Any interaction is greatly appreciated!

[goldfades]

after some…recent events (damn u mavs) i NEEEDDD some luka 🙏🏾 maybe like a comfort or smut fic?

p.s you have kept me FEDDDD w ur wnba/nba fics ILY ILYYYY queen!! ❤️

i wasn't in a smutty mood so here's a hurt-to-comfort fic with luka <3 ily too nonnie!!! hope you enjoy.

The hotel room is too quiet. Too still.

Luka sits on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it’s personally wronged him. His hands are clasped together, fingers flexing every few seconds like he’s working through a hundred different thoughts and not landing on a single one. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows over his face, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint crease in his brow—the kind of details you wouldn’t normally notice when he’s laughing, talking, playing.

But he’s not doing any of that now.

You can still hear the echo of his phone vibrating on the nightstand from earlier. The world is spinning around him at full speed—headlines, analysts, fans dissecting every angle of the trade—but in here, in this dimly lit space that smells faintly of his cologne and something unshakably sad, it’s like time has stopped.

You step closer, carefully. Luka doesn’t look up, but you feel it when he notices you.

"You should be sleeping," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges.

"So should you," you counter, lowering yourself onto the mattress beside him. The bed dips under your weight, and for a second, neither of you speak. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s just... heavy.

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Crazy, huh?"

You watch him for a moment. The way his fingers tighten around each other. The way his shoulders rise and fall, the weight of the entire day pressing down on him. You could say a lot right now—some perfectly crafted reassurance, something wise and comforting—but instead, you just lean in, resting your shoulder lightly against his.

A small gesture. A quiet offering.

Luka doesn’t move for a few seconds. Then, almost hesitantly, he shifts, just enough that his arm brushes against yours, just enough that he’s no longer holding quite so much of himself alone.

At first, Luka doesn’t say anything. He just breathes—slow, measured, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that makes sense, but it keeps slipping through his fingers. His hands unclasp, pressing against his thighs, then clench again like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The tension in his shoulders is impossible to ignore, so rigid and locked up that you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s holding in.

You don’t push him. Not yet.

Instead, you just sit there, close enough that he can feel your warmth, close enough that if he wanted to lean into you, he could.

After a long moment, he exhales, and it’s the kind of sigh that doesn’t fix anything, just deflates him further. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks, barely more than a breath.

“I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

You don’t need to ask what he means. The trade. The blindsiding weight of it. The way everything he thought he knew shifted beneath his feet in an instant.

“I get it’s a business,” he continues, jaw tensing. “I knew that. I always knew that.”

His voice drops lower, rougher.

“But I didn’t think I was leaving.”

And there it is.

The rawest part of it all. Not the move itself, not the logistics, not even the media whirlwind that’s been dissecting every angle of his future before he’s even had time to catch his breath. It’s the fact that he wasn’t ready. That for all the control he has on the court—for all the ways he makes the impossible look effortless—he had no say in this.

You swallow, watching the way his fingers twitch against his knee, like they want to grip something, hold onto something solid. You hesitate for only a second before reaching out, letting your hand rest over his. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t react at first. But you feel it—the way his muscles are wound tight beneath your touch, like a wire stretched to its limit.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he murmurs, and this time, there’s something in his voice that makes your chest ache.

Goodbye.

It’s such a simple word, but it carries everything Luka isn’t saying. The years he’s spent in Dallas, the friendships, the routine, the city that had started to feel like home. He wasn’t just traded—he was uprooted. And now he’s supposed to pretend like it’s just part of the game. Smile for the cameras. Say all the right things.

But right now, in this room, there’s no script to follow.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him softly.

His brows draw together slightly, finally glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out what you mean.

“You don’t have to say goodbye, not yet. Not tonight.” You squeeze his hand, just lightly. “Just—be here. Just for now.”

Luka stares at you, like he’s waiting for the catch. Waiting for you to tell him to suck it up, to move on, to think about the future. But you don’t. You just meet his gaze, steady, unwavering, until he finally exhales, something in him loosening just a fraction.

His hand turns beneath yours, fingers wrapping around yours like he’s holding onto an anchor. His grip is warm, firm—not desperate, but grounding. Like he’s only just realizing he doesn’t have to hold all of this alone.

For the first time all night, his shoulders drop slightly.

And you stay like that, in the quiet, just breathing.

Not fixing. Not rushing. Just existing. Together.

Luka doesn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away first, like he’s testing the weight of the comfort you’re offering and deciding, for once, to accept it.

His fingers are warm against yours, slightly rough from years of handling a basketball, but there’s something uncertain about the way he’s holding on—like he’s not used to being the one who needs this. Luka is always the one keeping others steady, the one playing through injuries, the one flashing a grin even when his body is screaming for rest. But this? Sitting here, holding your hand, letting himself lean into something softer—this is different.

Slowly, hesitantly, he shifts. His body turns toward you, his knee brushing against yours. His breathing is steady but measured, like he’s still figuring out if he’s allowed to ask for more.

You don’t make him. You just open the door.

Without saying anything, you lift your arm slightly, just enough that it’s clear you’re not just sitting beside him—you’re offering. And for a second, you don’t know if he’ll take it.

But then Luka exhales, long and slow, and leans in.

His weight presses into your side, warm and solid, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like it belongs there. He’s not shaking, not crying, but there’s something heavy in the way he melts against you, like he’s been holding himself together with sheer force of will and finally, finally, he’s allowing himself to let go.

Your free hand comes up instinctively, resting against his back. You can feel the tension still coiled in his muscles, like he doesn’t quite know how to relax, even now. So you let your fingers move in slow, steady circles against the fabric of his hoodie, not rushing, not forcing. Just there. Just present.

Luka exhales again, this time through his nose, and you feel it—the way his body slowly starts to ease. The way his head shifts slightly, resting more fully against you.

“This is stupid,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. Just exhaustion.

“It’s not,” you say simply, your voice soft.

He huffs, but he doesn’t argue. If anything, he leans in a little more.

The room settles into something quieter. Something almost peaceful. Outside, the world is still moving, still spinning with headlines and speculation and expectations Luka isn’t ready to deal with. But in here, it’s just the two of you. Just warmth. Just the quiet weight of the moment.

And then, in a voice so low you almost don’t catch it, he murmurs, “Stay.”

The word is barely there, more breath than sound, but it lands like a tether, anchoring the space between you. You don’t answer right away—not because you’re unsure, but because you want him to feel it, to know that you’re not leaving.

Instead, you shift just slightly, adjusting so he’s more comfortable, your hand still moving in slow, steady motions against his back.

“I’m here,” you say, and that’s all he needs.

Luka exhales one more time, a little softer now, a little less heavy. And for the first time since the news broke, he lets his eyes close.

--

Los Angeles feels different.

It’s not just the time zone or the weather or the way the city hums with an energy that never quite fades. It’s the way everything is unfamiliar—the drive to the training facility, the locker room that still smells like someone else’s cologne, the weight of a jersey that doesn’t feel like his yet.

Two days ago, he was in Dallas. Now, he’s here.

And now, he’s supposed to be fine.

The press conference had gone as well as it could have. The reporters asked the same questions over and over—how does it feel to be a Laker? What does he think about playing with LeBron? What does he want to say to the fans in Dallas?

Luka answered all of them the way he was supposed to. He smiled in the right places, gave the right amount of gratitude, even threw in a joke or two to lighten the mood. But the second it was over, the second the cameras were off and he was back in the hallway leading to the parking garage, he felt it creeping in again.

That feeling.

That hollow, misplaced feeling, like he’s wearing someone else’s life.

You’re already waiting by the car when he steps outside, leaning casually against the passenger door like you have all the time in the world. And maybe you do. Maybe that’s why he exhales just a little when he sees you, some of the tightness in his chest loosening.

You don’t ask how it went. You don’t need to. He appreciates that.

Instead, you just nod toward the car. “You wanna get out of here?”

Luka huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The drive is quiet at first. The city moves around you in golden streaks of headlights and neon signs, the sky just beginning to settle into that deep LA dusk. Luka shifts in his seat, one elbow against the door, fingers resting against his lips like he’s lost in thought.

Then, finally—

“It still doesn’t feel real.”

His voice is softer than usual, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

You glance over but don’t say anything right away. Instead, you let the silence sit for a moment, let it breathe.

Then: “Because it isn’t. Not yet.”

Luka looks over at you, his gaze heavy but searching. “And if it never does?”

You tap your fingers against the steering wheel, considering. “Then you figure it out. Day by day. Until one day, it does.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches the city blur past, the weight of everything pressing down on him in a way you can feel, even from where you’re sitting.

And then, after a long moment, he nods. Just barely.

When you pull up to his new place—a sleek but unfamiliar house in the Hollywood Hills—Luka doesn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to you.

“You coming in?”

It’s not really a question. Not really an ask.

It’s more of a need. A quiet, unspoken need for something familiar.

You don’t hesitate.

The house is big but empty, boxes still stacked in the hallway, a duffel bag half-unpacked near the couch. Luka walks in and immediately shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before dropping onto the couch with a heavy exhale.

For a moment, you just watch him. The way he leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold some kind of answer he hasn’t figured out yet.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, you sit beside him, close enough that your knee brushes against his. Luka doesn’t react right away, but then—slowly, naturally—he shifts.

Not dramatically. Not obviously. But enough.

Enough that his shoulder presses into yours, enough that his body angles slightly toward you, enough that he lets out a breath he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

And just like that, it’s familiar again.

Not Dallas. Not the way things used to be.

But something.

Something solid. Something real.

And for now, that’s enough.

[brittie-frog]

Right here's what I hope happens since we're not getting a qsmp stream like Foolish and Tina said we would get this weekend.

- they reset the art in the museum on Monday doing a nepotism and putting Tina's art of Pomme in

- wait a few days for people to see it and those that don't know about it realise that it THE TinaKitten that drew it

- have a lore stream that's potentially just Tina (and Foolish) escaping because Bagera and Cellbit chose to stay while Tina and Foolish were running to the boat and wanted to escape

- Foolish and Leo reunion, Teaduo reunion

- Tina finally gets to meet Empanada and immediately hit it off then they go to the museum as a mini family

- Tina points out the Pomme drawing and how she got in because nepotism and Empanada asks her to draw her

- Tina immediately does it off stream and privately messages the admins to put it in the museum and then she'll post it on the next monday after they've seen it so it's not spoiled

- chat and Em both freak out at seeing Tina's adorable drawing and then all the other eggs keep asking Tina to draw them

[faithinlouisfuture]

.

[moviestarmartini]

visca barça at least we aren’t fascists💙❤️

come off anon and say this to my face so i can block you and keep my peace as i have been doing because i don’t like conflict.

i literally abstain of commenting on the disgusting things i’ve heard culers say about us because i simply dislike speaking ill of others and i’m able to respect completely whatever club you support, unlike whoever sent this. and this is probably the last instance i’ll do comments like this.

to have things like this dropped into my ask box when i’ve been nothing but respectful is insulting. this reason why i disliked football in the first place growing up and why im hesitant when barcelona fans follow me. if you follow me, unfollow and stop bothering me. and overall fuck off tremendously.

[vmpireslut]

nsfw. slight somno.

✮⋆˙caleb always considered himself a true gentleman, taking pride in his manners and his ability to navigate life's complexities. yet, there were times when his polished exterior would slip. like now. the way he gently cradled your body, treating you like a fragile doll, showering soft kisses on your bare skin as you slept, was irresistible to him. you felt so warm and inviting. your soft snores, which might have bothered anyone else, only made him smile.

dark hair spread across the pillow, a few strands brushing against his face, bringing a grin to his lips. he cherished these little quirks about you—the way you curled up into a cozy ball, the way your nose twitched in your dreams. to him, every little detail was another reason to fall in love with you all over again. even after a long night that lasted until dawn peeked through the sheer curtains, he still yearned for more of you. it was only six twenty-five, yet the thought of being wrapped in your warm cunt stirred him awake.

with his calloused hands, he tenderly spread your thighs, his chest pressing warmly against your back as he nestled beside you. he vowed not to disturb your slumber, but a soft, unexpected moan slipped from his lips as he nudged his tip at your entrance. “my god, you’re so perfect.” your sleeping face contorts as he feeds you inch by inch, a familiar wetness allowing him to glide in effortlessly. he lets his eyes fall shut, relishing the feeling of you squeezing his shaft as he bottoms out. instinctively your back arches slightly as he begins to thrust, body naturally reacting to the slow, deep strokes. caleb shudders, pressing sloppy, wet kisses behind your ear as he molds you.

your breath is soft, a barely audible hum filling the quiet room. he sucks in a breath, the sound sending a tingle sensation from the top of his spine to his groin, where he can feel his cock swelling. the dark haired man hand wraps around your throat, holding your chin up as his lips explore the sensitive flesh of your neck. his strokes beginning to speed up, and the slight change in angle makes you stir awake. “ngnh! caleb!?” it’s hard to articulate as your husband pounds into you, his left hand digging into your hip, pulling you back onto his cock, splitting you.

“fuck, m’sorry ah—look so pretty when you sleep. shit, she’s suckin me in!” his voice is a deep, a rumbling whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your cheek. the hand around your throat moves to the space between your breasts, keeping you pressed firmly against his body. the slick squelch of him pistoning into you filling the room like a melody, the bed shaking from his force.

he’s completely pussy drunk.

you can feel the way his muscles tense and flex with every thrust, his breathing labored. you love this side of him. it was a rare treat to see the normally composed, cool-headed man completely come undone. you feel his hand slide down from your breast, slender fingers splayed across your lower abdomen. “gah! feel me here?” his palm rests just below your navel, applying the smallest amount of pressure.

“y-yes, oh god!” it’s almost too much to take. caleb’s fat, pulsating cock stretching your walls, the mushroom tip nudging at your cervix. the lewd sounds of his dick gliding in and out of your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass echoing through the room. his hand on your belly caresses the place he’s currently invading, making your head spin.

you’re a heap, moans coming out as strangled cries. his name spills from your lips, over and over like a broken record. your legs shaking as the knot in your stomach tightens, the telltale signs of your orgasm fast approach. caleb notices, of course, he notices everything.

his pace slows as his fingers find their way to your clit. you jolt, ‘s’okay. just relax.” he hums, rubbing small, firm circles against the swollen bud. “oh my gosh,” you whine, bucking back against him. it’s hard to keep your eyes from rolling back, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. he groans, biting his lip. teeth sinking into his flesh as his hips pick up the pace again, pounding into you relentlessly. the hand at your clit is unwavering, pinching, flicking, rolling the button drawing out loud moans.

the knot in your belly snaps.

warmth washes over you as your orgasm wrecks your body. white light dancing in the corner of your vision, the intensity of the pleasure sending you reeling. caleb doesn’t stop, both hands now at your hips, pulling you back against him.

he’s close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, needy.

his voice is raspy, barely above a whisper as he mutters your name, followed by a long, drawn-out whine. the warmth of his cum fills you, thrusts slowing to a gentle rocking motion. after a moment, he pulls out, watching with an unbridled hunger as his seed drips from your abused pussy. the sun begins to rise, a faint yellow light streaming through the windows. caleb reaches over to the nightstand, picking up his phone. seven am. setting the phone back down he wraps his arms around you, fingers lightly dancing across your stomach. you find yourself leaning into his embrace, humming as he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“good morning love.”

[ckret2]

So a while ago some friends were talking about fans who claim the Same Coin theory is canon. And I made the mistake of saying:

Do you know who also has tons in common with Bill? Mabel. Yet nobody claims Bill reincarnated as Mabel. …wait now I want a "same coin but it's Mabel" AU. Funniest Bill reincarnation option. The all-seeing arsonist is making macaroni glitter art. The omnipotent tyrant is crying because a unicorn called her a bad person.

And then I overthought it for two months.

So—AU where after death, Bill's soul shoots 13 years into the past and reincarnates as Mabel. I'll call it ✨ Sparkly Coin AU ✨

Don't leave yet. Lemme show you why it works. Behold the eerie amount of parallels in their personalities, dialogue, behavior, mannerisms, tastes...

I could have kept going but my attention span ran out. All right, we all on board now? Convinced we could segue from one personality into the other? Great. Now here's why you should be interested: the juicy post-Weirdmageddon angst potential.

As long as a small fringe of the fandom still thinks Weirdmageddon is Mabel's fault, why not amp that up x100 and have some fun with it?

Is everyone sold now? Great. Let's get into the details. I've got 8 more pieces of art under the read more.

So the AU starts the instant Bill dies. Thanks to invoking his deal with the Axolotl—one way to absolve his crime, a different form, a different time—the Axolotl gives him a new shape and shoots him thirteen years into the past. Apparently, the Axolotl thought it would be very funny to stick Bill in the family that defeated him.

Which probably made for a jarring transition.

(It's fine, she's like 10 minutes old, she probably can't even tell who she's looking at. Not being able to tell who she was looking at is what got her into this situation ayyyy)

When Dipper & Mabel come back from Gravity Falls complaining about this triangular jerk Bill, their parents mention that Dipper's name was nearly Bill. See, after they knew they were going to have a boy, one night their mom dreamed about a visitor—some kind of magic pink salamander??—calling her child "BILL." Then at the next sonogram they found out they were having twins, the girl must've been hidden at a weird angle the first time, and they wanted matching names, so they thought, Bill and Bell. But they didn't really like Bell; but eventually they stumbled on Mabel, so to keep the names matching they switched from Bill to Mason. Isn't that the darnedest thing?

(Of course, Mabel and Dipper assume Bill harassed their parents to try to trick them into naming a kid after him. To be a jerk.)

When Bill meets Mabel, he's unaware that she's his future self—Bill's notably bad at doing things like, say, double-checking to see whether he's going to die anytime soon—but like... he can tell something's up.

Naturally, before visiting Gravity Falls, there were echoes of who Mabel used to be—but nothing anyone would be able to identify without context. All her Bill-ish quirks either smoothed out with time (see: how between second grade and fourth grade Mabel went from being the "freak" to the popular girl in class), or else they were accepted by her family as Mabel-ish quirks.

After they meet (and kill) Bill, they have the context to understand some of Mabel's behaviors... and unfortunately, some of Mabel's latent Bill-ness starts surfacing after she's been directly exposed to her prior incarnation.

The part of the Pines family familiar with Bill thinks the worst case scenario is that maybe Bill's survived and is slowly possessing Mabel; but far more likely, they think this is just some weird way of trying to subconsciously process last summer. Mabel doesn't think she's being weird, you guys are being weird, stop giving her weird looks. They get attacked by one triangle and now she can't wear yellow or pick up macrame as a hobby??

(It's not all red flags and uncomfortable triangle imagery, though. When Stan asks her what she'd like as a gift for some important event, she shyly admits that she thinks she's starting to outgrow her plastic gem jewelry and maybe she's old enough to get her first piece of real gold jewelry, if that's not too expensive? And Stan's never been so proud of her. Thirteen years old and already thinking about buying gold!)

But of course, the real fun starts when Mabel finds out.

That's the face of a girl who's just discovered that she tortured her great uncle. Now imagine running into the brother she possessed.

But I've already spent a million words and thirteen images on this post. If enough folks are interested in the AU maybe I'll expand on it later. Let me know what y'all think.

[lowkeyren]

reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

gepard aven sunday vers here!

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again. 

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang. 

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours. 

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now." 

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...”  yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes… 

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?” 

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!” 

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder. 

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends. 

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it. 

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

✧.*

masterlist gepard aven sunday vers here!

[meiieiri]

when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

…

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Monaco Experience | LN4

࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando, newly in a relationship, and Lando finally invites Y/N to Monaco to stay at his apartment.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ word count ━━━━━━━ 2.9k

࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The first thing Y/n noticed as she stirred awake was the warmth. There was a steady, comforting heat radiating against her back, and something heavy draped over her waist. It took her foggy brain a moment to piece together where she was—and who she was with. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the soft morning light filtering through the blinds. She shifted slightly, only to feel the arm around her tighten ever so slightly, pulling her closer.

Lando.

Her heart skipped a beat as the memories of last night came flooding back. The teasing, the flirtation, the way his lips had brushed against her hair before they both drifted off. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep in his arms, but now that she was here, she couldn’t bring herself to move. His chest rose and fell steadily behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her, his body fitting perfectly against hers like they were made to be this close.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her mouth. This is dangerous, she thought. Dangerous because she could get used to this far too easily. Dangerous because it felt so right, even though she’d spent so long convincing herself it wasn’t.

Carefully, she turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder. Lando was still asleep, his face relaxed, his dark lashes fanning out against his cheeks. He looked softer like this, younger, without the usual smirk or playful glint in his eyes. She studied the curve of his jaw, the faint stubble shadowing his skin, and felt a strange ache in her chest. How does he manage to look this good even when he’s sleeping?

As if sensing her gaze, Lando stirred, his arm tightening around her again as he let out a low, sleepy murmur. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

Y/n froze for a moment, then quickly turned her face back to the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t notice how closely she’d been watching him. “Morning,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, and then she felt him shift behind her, his hand sliding up her side until it rested just below her ribs. His palm was warm against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. “Sleep well?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was something else there—something deeper, more intimate.

She nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. You?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages,” he admitted, his lips brushing against the back of her neck as he spoke. She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Was he doing that on purpose? Or was it just an accident?

Either way, it was driving her crazy.

“You know,” she started, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady, “you don’t have to stay. If you need to go… or whatever.”

Lando chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through her body. “Are you trying to kick me out already?”

“No!” she said quickly, then winced at how desperate she sounded. “I just mean… I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything. I know you’re busy, and—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted gently, his hand moving to her hip and turning her to face him. She blinked up at him, her breath catching as their eyes met. His gaze was soft, almost tender, and it made her stomach flip. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Trust me.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. Trust him. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She wanted to trust him, more than anything, but letting someone in—letting herself be vulnerable—was terrifying. And yet, lying here in his arms, feeling the way he looked at her… it was getting harder and harder to keep those walls up.

“Okay,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

He smiled, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good.” He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself tilting her head up, her lips parting slightly in anticipation.

The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if they were both testing the waters. But then his hand slid into her hair, holding her gently as he deepened the kiss, and any thoughts of hesitation evaporated. She melted into him, her hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. It was intoxicating, the way he kissed her—like she was the only thing that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. “Wow,” she breathed, her voice shaky.

Lando grinned, his nose brushing against hers. “Wow indeed.”

She laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep inside her. “You’re such a dork.”

“Hey, I’m your dork,” he shot back, his tone teasing, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made her heart skip another beat.

“Is that so?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He nodded, his expression softening. “If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he might be joking. But all she saw was sincerity—and something else, something that made her chest ache in the best possible way. Slowly, she reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I think I could live with that,” she said quietly.

His smile widened, and then he was kissing her again, his hands roaming over her body as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. It was overwhelming, the way he made her feel—like she was falling and flying all at once.

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them panting, their foreheads resting together once more. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Lando murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She felt her face flush, her heart swelling at his words. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood before it got too serious.

He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to her lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good to know,” she replied, grinning up at him.

But before either of them could say anything else, his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, shattering the peaceful moment. Lando groaned, reluctantly pulling away to grab it. “Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. “It’s work. I have to take this.”

She nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in her chest. “Of course. Go ahead.”

He gave her an apologetic smile before answering the call, his voice dropping into a more professional tone. Y/n took the opportunity to slip out of bed, grabbing one of his discarded shirts from the floor and pulling it on. It hung loosely on her frame, the fabric still carrying his scent, and she couldn’t help but smile as she padded toward the kitchen.

As she started making coffee, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way his lips had tasted. What are you doing, Y/n? she scolded herself silently. You’re supposed to be keeping your distance.

But deep down, she knew it was too late for that. She was already in too deep, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Lando appeared a few minutes later, his phone tucked back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched her pour two cups of coffee. “Duty calls.”

She handed him a mug, their fingers brushing briefly as he took it. “No worries. I get it.”

He sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. “So… what now?”

She hesitated, her grip tightening on her own mug. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He set his cup down and stepped closer, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “Where do we go from here?”

Her breath caught, her mind racing as she tried to come up with an answer. But before she could respond, he was kissing her again, slow and sweet, and all rational thought went out the window.

When they finally pulled apart, she looked up at him, her heart pounding. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “But… I want to figure it out. With you.”

His smile was brighter than the morning sun streaming through her windows. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

--

Lando’s fingers traced lazily along the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes never leaving Y/n’s as they sat across from each other in her cozy London flat. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on her face, and he couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly beautiful she looked, even with her hair slightly tousled from sleep.

“So,” he began, his voice casual but laced with something more—something that made her stomach flutter. “I’ve been thinking… you’ve never been to Monaco, have you?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “Are you asking me to come visit you, Lando?”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his confidence radiating through every movement. “Maybe. What if I told you I wanted to show you around? Give you the full Monaco experience. You know, the beaches, the yachts, the glamour…” He paused, his grin turning mischievous. “And, of course, me.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“But you like it,” he countered, his tone dropping slightly, that teasing edge softening into something warmer, more sincere.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at her coffee, trying to hide the way his words made her heart race. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s a big trip. And we’ve only just—” She hesitated, gesturing vaguely between them. “This is still so new.”

Lando reached across the table, his hand covering hers, his touch firm yet gentle. “New doesn’t mean it’s not worth exploring. Come on, Y/n. Let me show you my world. Just for a weekend. What do you say?”

There was something about the way he said it—the earnestness in his voice, the way his thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles—that melted her reservations. She bit her lip, looking up at him, and found herself nodding before she could overthink it.

“Okay,” she said softly. “A weekend in Monaco.”

His face lit up, and he squeezed her hand. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

---

Three days later, Y/n stepped off the plane onto the tarmac of Nice Côte d’Azur Airport, squinting against the bright Mediterranean sun. She hadn’t even made it to baggage claim when she saw him, leaning casually against a sleek black car, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the F1 driver he was.

“Took you long enough,” he teased as she approached, pulling her into a tight hug. His scent—clean and masculine, with a hint of cologne—flooded her senses, and she felt a rush of warmth spread through her chest.

“Traffic on the M25,” she quipped, pulling back to look at him. “You wouldn’t believe how bad it gets.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He took her suitcase from her, loading it into the trunk before opening the passenger door with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips as she slid into the seat. The car smelled like him, and the leather was cool against her skin. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This was Monaco. And she was spending it with him.

The drive along the coast was breathtaking, the sea glistening under the afternoon sun. They chatted easily, the conversation flowing as naturally as it always did between them. But there was something different this time—a tension that simmered beneath the surface, unspoken yet palpable.

When they finally pulled up to his apartment building, Y/n couldn’t help but gasp. It was everything she imagined—modern, luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning views of the harbor.

“Welcome to Casa de Norris,” he said with a grin, grabbing her suitcase and leading her inside.

---

That evening, after a leisurely dinner at a seaside restaurant, they returned to his apartment. The city lights twinkled outside, and the air was warm, carrying the faint scent of salt and flowers. Lando poured them each a glass of wine, and they settled on the couch, the soft hum of music playing in the background.

Y/n sipped her wine, feeling the alcohol warming her veins. She glanced over at Lando, who was watching her with that same intense gaze that always seemed to see straight through her.

“What?” she asked, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

He shook his head slowly, setting his glass down. “Nothing. I just… I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

Her cheeks heated, and she looked down at her wine glass. “It’s hard not to be happy here. It’s… magical.”

“It’s not the place,” he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “It’s you.”

Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, her heart pounding. There was something in his eyes—something serious, vulnerable—that made her stomach flip.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Tell me what you want, Y/n,” he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek. “Right now. Tell me.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. But then, in that moment, all she could think about was how much she wanted him—how much she’d always wanted him.

“You,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want you.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, filled with pent-up longing. She melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that left her dizzy.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing heavily, she looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes.”

Without another word, he stood, pulling her to her feet and leading her toward the bedroom. The room was bathed in soft light, the bed impossibly large and inviting. He turned to her, his hands coming to rest on her waist as he kissed her again, tasting of wine and need.

Slowly, deliberately, he undressed her, his movements careful, reverent, as though she were something precious. When he pulled back to look at her, his gaze dark and hungry, she felt a shiver run down her spine.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. “So fucking beautiful.”

She reached for him then, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until it fell open, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Her fingers splayed over his skin, and he groaned, low and deep, pressing her back onto the bed.

As he kissed his way down her body, his lips trailing fire, she arched into him, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Every touch, every caress, was electric, lighting her up from the inside out. His lips were everywhere, leaving a trail of fire across her skin. He started at her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear, eliciting a soft moan from her. His hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts as his mouth moved lower, teasing her nipples with his tongue until she was arching into him, desperate for more.

“Lando,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to worship her body with his mouth. He didn’t stop, his kisses growing hungrier as he moved down her stomach, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, his breath hot against her most sensitive skin.

“You taste so good,” he murmured before his tongue flicked out, teasing her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he worked her with his mouth, his fingers slipping inside her to match the rhythm of his tongue. The pleasure built quickly, coiling tight in her belly, and she was on the edge, so close to shattering—

But then he stopped, pulling away just as she was about to fall over the edge. She whimpered, her body trembling with need, but he didn’t give her time to protest. In one swift motion, he positioned himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her entrance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. Her eyes met his, dark and intense, as he thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, each stroke driving her closer to the edge again.

He kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans as their bodies moved together, the tension building until it was unbearable. And when she finally came, her body convulsing around him, he followed her over the edge, his release spilling deep inside her. They clung to each other, their breaths mingling, as the world outside faded away.

[thecoochiefairy]

sucky sucky. satoru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10K words. blackpregnantfem!character, satoru gojo, pharmacists!satoru, sub!satoru, dom!satoru, nasty sex, shower/tub sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, face sitting, condomless sex, size kink, daddy kink, creampie, squirting, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this for that one anon who wanted satoru, cause i wanted him too. love you pookie. hehe.

showering w/ satoru. ride me, baby. sitting on his face.

DAWN WAS YOUR FAVORITE TIME OF THE DAY. The sun hadn’t risen just yet, the sounds of your box fan humming through your pitch black bedroom always brought you comfort, and it was almost as if the entire world was still asleep. Your feet sunk into your bunny slippers, your soft steps pad along the white marble floor of the condo you resided in with your husband—who was currently sound asleep, able to knock out in a natural disaster as you crept out of bed. 

You decided to not turn on any lights as you came down the hallway, letting the dim screen of your phone guide you as you went towards his office close to the living room. Your hand lightly planted along the swell of your belly, taking deep breaths as you tried to focus on making it to his baby blue IMAC, needing to do more research. You were desperate at this point. 

You were nine months pregnant, the full term having been a wonderful experience as you waited for your bun to come out of the oven—the only issue was, you were almost a week after your due date, and you were now miserable. Your entire body felt heavy as your baby sat directly on your bladder, causing you to have shortness of breath at times, making you waddle essentially all the time. Regardless, you had the support you needed. Even if you were an emotional wreck. 

You keep the door cracked as you push the light switch halfway up, allowing the room to be dim as you make your way over to the desktop, clicking your french tipped fingers along the mouse to ignite the screen. Your heart shaped Cartier wedding ring glimmers along your finger—it always reminds you of the price, how you cried for Satoru to return it for something cheaper, and he felt that you deserved nothing but the best. 

You didn’t mean to wake him up, but you did anyway. You sigh lightly as you can hear his heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, his tall and broad frame unable to sneak around even if he tried. 

“Baby, please come to bed.”

You turn your head, pulling back the flyaway of your curls as they’re hidden under your baby pink bonnet to protect your hair. Your edges swirl to perfection along your forehead, glasses tipping at your nose. 

You softly ask, “Did I wake you up?”

 “I woke up when you left. Your absence was too loud." 

He rubs his eye with his big fists, his body leaning up against the door frame. His voice was low and husky with sleep. His hair is white as snow, his bangs covering his eyes as he rubs at his face, shirtless as his basketball shorts fall right below his defined and veiny V-line. The minimal tattoos along his body and arms are visible with the light from the computer, but considering how small they were you’d almost miss them.

You turn yourself towards him as you apologize, “I know you have work in a couple of hours. You should go back to sleep.”

"It is four in the morning, baby. I’m good. C’mere.”

He stretches his arms out, his veins popping along each one as he motions for you to come over to him. You knew he had work tomorrow, but the way he said it made it feel like you were crazy for even staying up this early. Your eyes glance at his biceps as he stretches, his toned body and defined abs on full display.

“I’m just doing some research. Google says raspberry leaf tea can sometimes induce labor, I might need to grab some tomorrow,” you hum more to yourself, your eyes flickering up as he walks towards you, seeing the amusement within his icy eyes.

"I might just have to block that Google shit entirely, you find more things to research and it sends you into a complete spiral.“  

You sigh, turning to him as you chew on your lip, wanting to hold back your pout.

“Baby…” you sigh, almost in an exhausted manner, hearing as that makes him chuckle at your disappointment of his words.

"Don’t make that face at me. You know I’m right.”

He knows you're trying to help the process, and you're tired of sleeping on your side, being swollen and achy. He leans down as he presses a kiss onto your jaw. Your hormones are all out of whack as you even try not to get emotional at his words, knowing he meant no harm.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” you lightly defend, hating when he was dismissive. You then click off safari along the computer as you attempt to stand, pressing your hand along the desk as you groan lightly—you just wanted to stand without struggling.

"Hey, let me help you, baby.”

He stands behind you, placing his hand on your lower back to steady your stance, but hesitates as you push his hand away.

“I can do it myself, Satoru…” 

Fucking hell, there it was. The tears forming in your vision. You didn’t know why you were about to cry. You wipe your eyes as you hold your belly, taking a deep breath as you sniffle, “I’m not helpless.”

"I know you’re not, pretty girl. Let me just help you, okay? You can walk yourself back to bed.” 

You were always prideful and resilient, but right now—you were a hot mess, the pregnancy hormones making you teary eyed often these days.

He knew how to handle you. It just depended on your emotions, and he was there to respond in any way he needed to. Like now, it was best not to make you become defensive—because you were—instead giving you an ultimatum, to make you still feel in control of yourself. You lean your hand along his stomach as you use your other hand to wipe your eyes, “Baby girl’s sitting on my bladder again.”

He places a hand along your belly, his palm firm as it sits atop of your own. 

"Do you need to pee, baby? You’re always feeling like that.” 

His voice was so tender as he spoke, he knew you were sensitive right now, so he had to be gentle with you.

You shake your head, “Just wanna lay down.” 

He nods, understanding as he makes sure your legs are sturdy before he helps you walk down the hallway, taking your hand to let him guide you. His big palm practically engulfs yours, but the warmth of his hand instantly gives you some comfort as you take slow and wobbly steps towards your bedroom. 

You successfully make it towards the soft white comforter set, golden swan headboard curving under the lights of the room as you sit yourself on your side of the mattress. You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you then say, “I wasn’t crying.”

He lets a low chuckle escape from his lips as he stands in front of you. Taking your face in between his hands that makes you look up at him, his soft thumbs graze along your skin, wiping away your tears. 

"Oh, you weren’t? An intruder cutting onions in my house?”  

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin. It was your favorite fragrance, a mixture of sandalwood and musk. 

You release a soft sigh, gently pushing his hands down as you say, “You’re unserious as hell,” rolling your eyes. You then ask, “Are you sure your employees will be okay if you have to leave work tomorrow?” 

You had a doctor's appointment to determine whether or not they could just pop your water bag, or give it a couple of days to let the baby come herself. Your husband was a Pharmacists CEO—which seemed fairly easy within the name—but it was so much more into his job, keeping him at work for hours at a constant.

"They’ll be good, baby. I think you forget that I have a team working for me, I don’t hire any dumbass staff. If anything they’re excited to play on the clock while I’m not around.”

You absentmindedly lock your fingers around the pendant of your necklace, nodding as your other hand rubs along his flexing forearm. 

You then remind him, “You need to sleep, Satoru. Otherwise you’ll be the dumbass on your team, walking around like a zombie on the clock.”

"I’ve been dealing with sleepless nights for almost a year now because of someone,” He leans down, “Gimme’ your mouth. I’m missing you like hell.”

Your eyes scan across the dangerous glint of his, always a mischief somewhere in them. Your lash extensions flutter as you say, “Kay,” almost a little too girlishly, raising your mouth up to his. 

He could be a completely different person when things became a little feisty between you two, feeling his mouth wrap around your lips, hungrily sucking your tongue inside to reel you closer. It makes your cheeks warm.

It felt like years since he held your mouth to his own, the taste of you making him grunt as he took his time with it. He knew he’d have to be cautious to not get carried away, you were heavily pregnant, and the last thing he wanted to do is hurt you. 

He sucks on your bottom lip as his hand moves down to your ass, squeezing and massaging his fingers into the plush skin under his hand.

The feeling makes your breath lightly hitch through your nose, and a throb comes between your legs. You pull your mouth back, pressing your forehead against his as you softly say, “I’m tired, ’toru,” using that as an excuse as you felt yourself becoming incredibly horny, not wanting to continue further than that.

He knew your signs of exhaustion when they came, so he wasn't surprised when you pulled back from his lips, but a part of him didn't want to stop. The sight of your pouty expression makes him release a low groan. Your swollen face, your long eyelashes, your pretty lips. The pregnancy absolutely made you sexier. 

He reluctantly pulls away from your face, "C’mon, imma’ try to get some rest before I’m cussing out my employees for no reason.”

Somewhere in you feels bad. You know he’s been holding back for months, considering your libido has been incredibly low since you became pregnant. But for whatever reason with you close to giving birth, your lower body was on fire, needing him in ways you couldn’t imagine yourself acting. It was egregious. Maybe you should’ve googled something on that.

When the next day came, you were being dropped off by the chauffeur at your doctor's office. The walls inside were pink, your smile soft as you greeted silently at other pregnant women. You sat in the waiting room as your hands were along your belly, watching the smaller children play with the toys provided by the office, imagining yourself to have a playful baby of your own. It’d already been Satoru’s third time calling you today, making sure you arrived safely to your appointment while he was at work. And he said you were worrisome. 

When it was your turn to be called back, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You were so close to the due date, and still, the baby hasn’t shown an indication of coming out the oven. 

You were greeted by your OB, a middle-aged woman who was friendly enough, but you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. After getting your weight checked, you sat on the examination bed as she began looking over your swollen belly.

“How are you feeling?” she questions, cream colored skin being complimented by her red lipstick, onyx hair clipped perfectly into a bob.

“I’m okay,” you say softly, giving a smile to her, “I’m just feeling a little heavy. It’s been a bit of a struggle to walk at times, she won’t get off of my bladder,” you give a light laugh, “I just wanted to see if I was okay to get induced today? I’m just—I feel ready, doctor.”

The doctor nods as she looks over your information sheet on her clipboard, listening to you as you spoke with her. After a short pause, she answers, “Well, you’re full term, your water could break at any moment. However, I suggest waiting a few more days before we try the induction process, your body will go naturally when it’s ready.”   

She moves the stethoscope along your belly, listening to your baby’s heart rate. But not what you wanted to hear. It makes you sigh, “May I ask why there would be a difference between induction, and if the baby came on her own tonight?”

“The induction process can be a little more painful for you, honey. The contractions are more intense as we try to force your body to go into labor,” she moves away as she takes off her stethoscope, placing it back onto her neck as she pauses, “I would try some natural techniques that can induce labor, but, there’s no guarantee.“

“That makes sense,” you nod more to yourself, “I was up doing some research last night. Didn’t find much considering my husband ordered me back to bed. Are there any at home suggestions you’d give me as far as going into labor?”

The doctor gives a chuckle as she writes something on her clipboard, “I see. Your husband is a smart man, he knows what’s best for you right now. How about you try walking more? It helps bring the baby lower into the birth canal, maybe that will help your body’s natural contractions begin?” She looks back at you, “Sex is also a very healthy way of triggering a natural induction. A lot of my momma’s have some quite interesting stories,” she pats your leg lightly, same sweet smile against her face.

You’re a grown woman, but an older woman suggesting sex with your husband is something that makes your throat go dry. It even makes you blush a bit. You blink, pulling down the baby tee you wear that desperately wants to release your breast from the confinement of the material, your nipples extremely sensitive.

“Uh…sex can trigger my labor?” You repeat.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. It can help release oxytocin and prostaglandins, which can stimulate your body’s natural contractions. I’m sure your husband will be very happy to hear that,” she gives you a little smirk before adding, “It's a very effective way to start labor, a nice release for both momma and poppa.”

“Is it safe, even with my baby girl being so close to my cervix?” You have a thousand questions—definitely should've been a little quieter as you snuck into the office last night. Maybe you would’ve known this by now.

The doctor laughs, seemingly surprised by your question, but answers it anyway, “It’s absolutely okay. Baby girl won’t be harmed. A lot of my patients have sex throughout their pregnancies, it’s completely normal,” she moves back and takes her seat on her office chair, “Just be careful, but don’t be too careful. It might just do the job for you.”

At that moment, your head turns as a knock comes to the door. When it opens, it reveals Satoru—who’s not dressed within his lab coat and button up. He wears a black long sleeve, matching sweatpants accompanied with his blue New Balance 9060 sneakers, shades on his eyes as his vision strained from the sun at times. His top is practically suffocating his large frame, it’s like he has to crouch down to make everyone else comfortable. You see he holds your pale pink Nike duffle, your birth bag slung over his shoulder in preparation for anything. It almost makes you giggle. 

“You’re here,” you say, a warm smile coming to your face, not expecting him to be since you didn’t call him to come.

He loved this. He loved how you were absolutely radiating right now, all round and pretty, carrying his baby. He moves closer, bending over as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before greeting, “Hey, my pretty baby. I had a free hour in a half so I thought I’d come check up on my girl. She’ good?” he questions the doctor.

The doctor nods, placing her clipboard back into its holder, “Everything looks great. Your wife is full term and healthy, and your baby girl is ready to meet you both,” she gives a kind smile before giving a quick wave, “I’m going to have the nurse bring some pamphlets, it’s got some more information in there, just to help out. Do you have any other questions?”

You shake your head, “You’ve been amazing this entire journey, doctor. I just wanna say thank you—you’ll be one of the first people I come visit with my little muffin.”

You don’t know why you’re about to cry, but it’s a radiance of happiness you feel as you rub your eyes, so glad to have a good physician in this situation. You ignore Satoru’s, “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” rubbing your back immediately as he sees your vision glossing over.

The doctor gives a light laugh, clearly used to this type of behavior from her patients. “No problem, honey,” patting your knee once again, “How about you let papa take you out for a nice big lunch, hm? I have another patient coming in, I’ll see you soon. Congratulations.”

She leaves you both within the room, your fingers padding your eyes lightly, giggling at yourself as you greet him, “Hi, how’s work been so far?”

He’s still rubbing soothing circles along your back, finding it cute the way you were being overly emotional right now. 

His lips press to your temple, “Busy as hell. You’ hungry?”

You nod your head, taking his hand as you step off of the table as you hold your belly, a light gasp coming to your mouth as you begin waddling towards the door, thankfully not seeing the way Satoru holds back his laugh as you ramble on, “Baby! I saw this cute little restaurant not too far away when the chauffeur dropped me off, it had chicken tenders, Mexican food, burgers, all kinda stuff!…”

It’s not like your legs just stopped working, but he knows the added weight was probably hard to get used to. He chuckles as you speak, following after you as he opens the door for you both, letting you walk out first as he says, “That’s perfect, baby.”

It was in fact cuter on the inside. Small circular tables, thinly designed chairs, brown architecture and green plants hanging all around the ceiling as calming music played throughout the building. The bustle of people walking past brought a sense of comfort to you, your eyes trailing to the roses that sat decoratively along the table.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” You blink, giving a polite smile to the waiter that places tall glasses of lemon water along the table, giving you time to glance over the menu.

He could honestly care less about a restaurant’s interior. If they had the best burgers in the world, he was there, but the way you were glazed over at the interior, made the whole situation a little sweeter. 

He reaches across to hold your hand, giving a light squeeze to your fingers as he answers, “It’s pretty as fuck, baby, just like you.”

“Don’t be tryna distract me, boy. Why’d you leave work? I never called you,” you remind him, “Pregnancy doesn’t make me all ditzy and shit.”

He knew that question was coming, even if you were happy that he showed up. 

He shrugs, his thumb stroking your skin, “I was worried. You’ seen my big ass carrying that labor bag, I wanted to be there in case they induced you. Is that a crime?” he questions, “Plus, I needed a break from my annoying ass employees.”

“Oh, now they’re your annoying ass employees. You spoke so highly of them last night, what’d they do today to piss you off, Mr. Pharmacist?” You tease, accepting the fries they placed down in front of you that you ordered, taking one in your mouth, your stomach grumbling at the salty potatoes entering your system.

He reaches over to steal a fry—ignoring the way your hand smacks his—“One of them spilled a whole bottle of medication that’s hard as fuck to get again. Another one put some wrong information on a medical document. My third worker was late, and had no explanation why. So yeah, call me pissy. Don’t care.”

“Stuff happens, Satoru. Now imagine if your workers were irrational about you just ducking off the clock because you wanna have lunch with me? That isn’t fair to them,” you point out.

He pauses, listening to you as he gives a nod, chewing through the fry he had in his mouth. Satoru knew you had a point, and he respected the way you always made him realize those points. So he simply replies with, “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, baby.”

“I know I am,” you agree. You give an excited clap as they place down your nachos, craving Mexican food like no other. They also give Satoru his gourmet burger and fries, the man refusing to eat anything else at times. He was the pickiest person on the planet. 

You shake your head, “You and your beef. You’d be perfect as a pregnant woman, with excessive amounts of protein.”

“Shitt, to be able to take off work, wear whatever I want and crash out on somebody if they comment on my eating habits? Somebody call the government and start making pills to get men pregnant. Quickly.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’d enjoy the luxury of having the doctor tell you they don’t want to force your induction, and you have to wait several more days to see if you’ll naturally go into labor.”

He leans back into his seat, placing his arms over his chest as he stares at you, “Damn, maybe you’re right. Being a woman is stressful—no offense.” He pauses, his own eyes glancing at the way you looked a little disappointed from the doctor’s words, not getting what you wanted. He leans forward, his hand reaching over the table to take one of yours, “Hey. She knows what she’s talking about. Baby girl will come when she’s ready. You’ll be a great momma, y’know that right?”

“Maybe she’s hiding in there cause she thinks imma’ be a bad momma,” you sigh, kneeling yourself on your elbow against the table, “You’ think babies can feel anxiety?”

He listens to you express your concerns, his jaw clenching. He knew you were nervous. You were carrying the product of you and him for months, you wanted everything to go perfectly. Satoru wanted that for you. But he also wanted you to stop being so hard on yourself, so he says, “Nah, baby, I don’t think she can feel your anxiety. She’s probably too busy listening to how amazing her momma’s heartbeat is, probably a lullaby to her.”

You exhale lightly, feeling a bit better at his words. On the other hand, you find yourself…gazing at your husband. His dark shades along his strident face, alabaster hair and muscular frame wanting to explode through his top. He made the table almost look small, and your mind flashes to memories of you…creating your bundle of joy, an entirely different Satoru in those times. You pull your fingers away as you put another nacho into your mouth, giving a weak smile, feeling the blush on your cheeks as you say, “You’re so sweet.”

He catches the way you stare at him. Your feline eyes blink slowly, your dark curls filling the roundness of your flushed cheeks.

He leans a little closer, his tone lowering as he says, “I’m sweet, huh?”

You didn’t have to wonder whether or not Satoru looked at you in the way you were currently staring, because it was a constant gaze in those arctic pupils. There was a time he’d fuck you anywhere. You could always feel his eyes on you, especially today as you wore an all white baby tee and yoga pants set, brown sandals complimenting your pedicure, the gold along the strap of your sandals matching the dermals on your lower back. The set clung itself to your frame, never ashamed of your body even within the pregnancy. Your child bearing hips, full ass, nipples protruding through your top. You were stunning.

You always feigned an innocence, giggly like a schoolgirl when he flirted as if he weren’t your husband. Your eyes glance up to him, “You’ wanna know what the doctor said?”

His eyes were practically glued to every part of you. He took notice of the pedicure with the little white flowers against your feet, the way your shirt hugged your frame perfectly, and how he could see your pretty brown skin through the white fabric. His grin meets your face, ignoring the way you tilt his chin up to keep his eyes on yours, “Tell me.”

“She suggested that sex might be a way of inducing my labor,” you rub your fingers along his ear, a habit of yours when you talked to him in close radius.

The way that those words slipped from your mouth, the tone of your voice, it had his mind in overdrive. 

He feels your fingers against his earlobe, and he almost loses himself at the touch, his jaw clenching, “How you’ feel about that?”

“Like I need to go home and confirm that on some physicians website. I mean, that sounds terrifying! What if you bump my baby girl's head? Is that too impossible to think about?” You scrunch up your nose.

He holds back his laugh as you seem so concerned about hurting the baby that way. He knows it’s an irrational fear, but it’s adorable nonetheless, his hand coming up to rub your cheek as he says, “Baby, you do realize she’s protected in your womb, right?”

You sigh lightly, “Mhm. I just wish she’d sit up more, she makes me feel like I have to pee every millisecond. Like now. And you need to get back to work,” you remind him.

He glances at his Chopard watch, knowing he had to leave. He loved spending time with you, but he did need to get back to work. He felt awful, but that’s what it was like owning a massive corporation— you didn’t always have a life outside work.

“I’ll probably be back a little late. You’ gonna miss me?”

You roll your eyes, accepting the pecks he presses along your mouth as you say in between them, “I always miss you, Daddy,” giggling as he raises an eyebrow at the nickname. 

He could feel himself losing restraint. You stand as you wrap your arms along his neck, Satoru lowering himself so you don't have to stand on your toes. He grunts as he smacks your ass, pressing a kiss to your jaw, not wanting to pull away. But he had to. So instead he gives a sigh, watching the chauffeur pull up to drop you off at home as he waved, “Later, baby.”

The rest of the day was mostly you laying in bed, rewatching American Horror Story and also pushing yourself to read another chapter of a book you’d been interested in. You also pushed yourself to do your usual routines of being a housewife, feeding your large black husky that didn’t do much besides holler and follow you around, or even tend to your garden outside. 

You thought about the doctor's words, and although you were a bit fearful of them, maybe a relaxing night between you and your husband wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe it wasn’t about your concerns for the baby, maybe you were just nervous of having intimate time with him, considering it’d been a month without it. So, you had a plan. 

You waited until you heard your husky barking loudly at the door as it unlocked, meaning Satoru was home. You could hear his deep voice chastising the dog for her noises, dropping his keys along the counter like he always did. You lightly pad your feet along the cold floor, clutching the fluffy pink towel wrapped around your bare body as you peek around the corner at him.

He had dealt with so much work bullshit, and all he wanted was to take a hot shower and lay with you in bed. But the sight of you, dark curls pulled out of your face, natural freckles sprucing against your nose and cheeks, the pink contrasting with your brown skin, he was glaring at you.

“Was work that bad?” You poke fun, holding the towel at the top to keep it from falling.

He shakes his head, his eyes still glued to you. You looked so sexy, and he hadn’t touched you in weeks. He wanted you. He craved you. His eyes trail down your frame, taking notice of the curves along your legs, and he gives a grunt.

With a few quick strides, he’s standing in front of you, his large hands taking hold of your face as he answers, “Work was hellish, baby.”

“Mmm, I��m sorry,” you say, pressing a kiss against his palm, “Wanna come shower with me? I’ll scrub your back like you love.”

He exhales, almost sounding like a sigh of relief. A shower after his stressful ass day, and his wife? He didn’t argue the offer. The way you stood in front of him, your hands clutching the fluffy material against the curves of your body, it made his fingers itch. He needed you. He needed to touch you. 

“Yeah? You’ being all nice to me and shit, but I’m not complaining.”

You take his hand as you pull him down the hall, making your way towards the double doors of the bathroom. Satoru notices a pop of red along the floor, focusing his eyes in as he then realizes it’s a rose petal. When the door fully opens, candles sit all around the mesmerizing black clawfoot tub with golden feet, already filled with water that looks surprisingly warm. Not just red rose petals—but pink ones, lilies, sunflowers, colorful flowers overall floating atop of the water, swimming prettily.

You turn towards him, beginning to remove his watch as your warm face comes down, “I just thought maybe a relaxing night between us would be nice. You’ um…You’ like it? I used a lot of flowers from my garden so…I hope you do,” you nervously smile, pulling your hair behind your ear.

His eyes scanned the room. He could smell the sweet aroma of flowers, and the way the room was dimmed had his shoulders relaxing almost immediately. His eyes trailed the petals on the floor, realizing just how much effort you put into this.

“Baby, you shouldn’t have gone to this trouble. I should be doing shit like this for you.”

“It’s okay, I know you would have if you weren’t at work,” you place your palm against his cheek, “It wasn’t so bad, Storm helped me carry most of the stuff I needed anyways,” you refer to the dog, “She slobbered on the stems, but I cut them anyway.”

He chuckles at the way you talk, knowing your dog was like your first child . He reaches over and pinches your cheek, “You and that husky of ours have a whole ass bond. But I appreciate this, baby, really. Is the water still warm? Need me to refill it for you?”

You shake your head, “Just need you to follow me in.” 

You raise on your toes, giving him a soft, tender kiss. As you come back down, you turn away, removing the towel from around you as you stride over to the tub, arching your bare body as you make your way in. 

You sink beneath the water as you ask, “You’ coming?”

He was practically mesmerized as you made your way to the tub. The way the candles illuminated along your skin, the water moving as you slid in, he was almost at a loss of words. But he couldn’t just stand there like an idiot. 

He smacks his lips, “You think I’m not?” making you giggle at the way he yanks his tie off, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes watch as his clothes drop to the floor, scanning the curve of his abs, how perfectly sculpted he was. Veins ran through his arms and fingers, flexing up and all the way down to his v-line that harshly dipped into the monster that sat between his legs. It made your eyes pull away a bit, seeing as he was already coming into the tub with you.

He knew he had your attention. The way you stared as he undressed, the way he caught your eyes taking notice of his body, he was confident. A little cocky, per usual. Especially when you looked away, almost as if you couldn’t look at him. He slips into the water across from you, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips as he pulls you onto his lap.

“Is it warm enough?” You question, wrapping your arms along his neck, adjusting yourself on top of him.

As you straddle him, his hands move along your thighs, holding onto you tightly. He’s already nodding as he answers, “Feels good, baby.”  

He brings you closer, burying his face in between your neck and collarbone, inhaling your scent deeply. He loved how you smelled. He loved everything about you. You take the pink sponge you had within the water, your other fingers gripping the nape of his hair along the back of his neck as you tilt his head, dipping the sponge deeper before squeezing it above him. You watch as his light hair darkens, pulling back out of his face to reveal him fully. 

“It’s getting close to that time of renewing our vows,” you remind softly.

Your touch felt good. He enjoyed it. The way you took care of him, the way your fingers worked through his white locks. He closes his eyes at the feeling, leaning a bit more into your touch. When you mention renewing your vows, his eyes flutter open, gazing directly into yours. 

He gives a grin, “Baby, I’d marry you thousands of times over and over again. I don’t give a fuck where we do it, you’re just indecisive.”

You sigh, “I know. I just want it to be as perfect as the first time…” you think to yourself, eyes lighting up as you suggest, “What about Singapore? Maybe only our parents and friends, make it small, explore the country, yeah?”

He lets you speak, knowing just how perfect you wanted everything to be. But honestly? Satoru didn’t care. The first wedding was nice, but you were the only thing that he truly cared about. He just enjoyed listening to you.

When you suggest Singapore for the renewal, he chuckles a little, “You know my parents will argue with that. They’ll want to host it somewhere fancy like Rome or something.”

“And Singapore isn’t?” You blink, “God, you really were raised bougie as fuck. My parents thought the Statue Of Liberty was the nicest thing they’d ever seen.”

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh a little at how you put it, knowing you weren’t entirely wrong. But he shakes his head, “Singapore is extravagant, but it’ll be like talking to a damn brick wall, trying to persuade them to even consider Singapore. They’ll probably suggest some damn castle in Europe.”

“It’s unfortunate for them that it’s our wedding, hm?” You tilt your head, “Your controlling ass parents gon’ have to suck it up. Cause I can be a bridezilla,” you roll your eyes, ignoring his chuckle against your lips as he kisses them.

“You’re their princess. They’ll put up with your crazy ass and plan the wedding where you want it. Me on the other hand? I don’t give a fuck if it’s in the middle of some street, as long as you walk down the aisle and say you still love me.”

You giggle as he tickles your neck with his lips, pulling yourself back and you’re inches away from his face. You sigh, “I love you.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, “You’ having a stroke or something?”

You roll your eyes, “I mean it.”

He grins at your eye roll, knowing you were playful. But when you tell him you mean it, his blue eyes shift into a softer, more serious expression.

 He brings his hands up, holding your face gently as you continue, “I just…appreciate you for being so patient with me. You love me, even if I cry because the sky’s blue.”

Your sincerity makes him want to melt. He didn’t care how many bags of potato chips he had to buy you, how many stuffed animals you wanted, or how many times you changed the sheets because your pregnancy hormones had you paranoid that the bed smelled weird. He could deal with it. He would deal with it. You were having his baby, carrying the most precious thing he’s ever had. He’d deal with you forever.

Satoru leans upwards, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. He pulls back, gazing at you as he says, “I’d go to the fuckin’ ends of the world for you.”

When he clutches you back against his mouth, it makes your heartbeat in your ears. You feel his nails dig into the skin of your hips, almost as if he’s trying to be soft with you. Key word—trying. You lightly pull your mouth back, breath hitching as he quickly wraps his fingers along the back of your neck, holding you close, your lips centimeters apart. 

“Satoru…”

The way you breathe his name, it almost made him lose his mind right there. The way your body pressed against his, the way you sat in his lap, it made it damn near impossible to hold back. He wanted you so bad. He’d wanted you the moment he walked through the door. He needed to make you his again.

“I’m hungry,” he grunts along your mouth, your eyes fluttering as you blink, his light ones deep within your vision. 

“Oh, um—“ you inhale, “Do you wanna stop? Want me to make you something?”

“Yeah. Open your fuckin’ legs.”

Your light gasp is swallowed by his mouth, his head twisting to the side, mouth overlapping as his tongue envelopes yours. Your shoulders fall, trying to get a grip along him as your body sinks lower within the warm water—the heat of the tub, the heat within your kiss, you feel fuzzy.

He pulls your mouth from his, clutching the side of your face as he questions, “Good, baby?” to which you nod your head, running your tongue over your bruised lips. He nods with a grunt at the confirmation, and it’s quick—you nearly lose your breath as he pulls you up by your hips, your small frame being bent along the rim of the tub, Satoru scooting your thighs above his face as he puts himself beneath you. 

“Hold the edge of the tub. Arch your back,” he orders, and you grip your hands against the black marble, lifting your hips high, his large palms cuffing you by the skin of your ass. You hesitate as you try to look beneath yourself, nearly wanting to roll your eyes as your belly is in the way of seeing his face.

You stand on your toes beneath the water, legs lightly shuddering as you say, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby…”

You grip the edge, biting your lip as you feel him spank your ass, rubbing the skin to soothe the sting it gives. 

“Pussy is fuckin’ pretty, baby. Can I taste you?”

You let one of your hands gently reach down, pushing your weight onto his palms as you clutch a lock of his hair. You nod your head as you exhale shakily, “…Yes, please.”

He grunts, his tongue flattening as he drags it up the entirety of you, the rush of pleasure unexpected as you immediately tense. You can feel the vibration of his chuckle at your reaction, holding you tighter as his warm breath fans against your slick folds. He spreads you farther, his tongue darting out, licking another slow stripe up your slit before circling your clit with the tip. 

It’s his moan that makes your lashes flutter, it’s like a candy he’d been rewarded with. You whimper as he spanks you again, “Fuck, baby. You taste like heaven,” he’s already stuffing his face in between your legs, pulling you down as he’s lapping at your clit like an animal, making the flesh even more wet from the arousal that’s collecting on your pussy.

“O—oh shit,” you gasp lightly, clutching his hair tighter, your legs shuddering more than before. His tongue swirls around your sensitive nub, soft and throbbing as it rubs against his lips, being tugged at each time he sucks in between his mouth. His jaw nudges at the opening of your walls, your legs beginning to tighten on each side of his face.

“Baby, you're dripping,” he groans in between licks, his voice muffled against your pussy, “Oh my god, shit is so fuckin’ sexy. Give me more.”

“Baby—w—wait,” you pull at his hair harder, your arousal beginning to spread in all parts of your mind, knowing he was desperately trying to pull that side of you that didn’t normally appear. 

He raises one of his hands as he orders, “Come hold it. Not gonna let you run from my mouth, so imma’ ask nicely for now.” 

You nearly pout, taking one of your hands as you reach back and intertwine your fingers together, Satoru placing it back against the skin of your ass, fully holding you in place, eating you out just how he wanted to. 

Your moans fill the air as he continues to devour your pussy, sucking and licking with reckless abandon. He buries his face deeper, inhaling your scent deeply as he laps at your juices, drinking in every drop he can get.

"Mmmmph...need you to ride my face baby," he moans, that pleading voice beginning to get to you. He always knew how to knock your walls down. His hands grip your hips tightly as he begins motioning them in a thrusting motion, pulling you harder against his mouth to make you grind on him, whimpering to you,  “C’mon, baby. C'mon, cmon. please.”

With each beg, his tongue begins to reach for your squelching opening, probing at your inner walls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your head kneels back as you arch, moaning as you pull yourself towards him, whimpering with him as you quietly ask, “Put your tongue in me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you like that?” 

“Y—yeah, ‘toru,” you whine softly, digging your nails within your own skin, the same hand that’s trapped under his.

He parts his mouth wider, giving your clit a good suck before he slides his face down, exhaling heavily as he sticks his tongue out, sliding you down on it, feeling as it curls within your walls to touch against your most sensitive spot. The both of you moan out, your eyes turning to the mirror of the bathroom as you see yourself—arched against his mouth, hair sprawled over your face as you angle yourself perfectly to grind on his tongue.

You’re becoming hornier by the second, taking your hand from under his that was trapped as you go back to holding his hair. Your giggle is sultry as you move your hips forward, circling them down onto his mouth as you whimper, “Want me to fuck down on your mouth baby? Tell me.”

“Yeah, baby. Need you to drench my fuckin’ mouth,” he groans deeply, shaking his head side to side, spanking you at your words. This is just what he wanted from you. 

He continues to feast on your pussy, his tongue delving deeper inside you, exploring every inch. Your moans echo through the bathroom, spurring him on as he laps at your juices, savoring your unique flavor.

"Fuck,”  he gasps, “You’ taste so. Fuckin’. Good…” he’s thrusting his tongue in and out of you with each word, mimicking the act of penetration. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, causing your legs to tremble and your grip on his hair to tighten.

"You like that, baby?" he pants, his breath hot against your core, “Like when I tongue-fuck this pretty little pussy?"

Your response is a desperate whine, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his tongue. Your velvety walls clench around the invader, creaming as he savors your taste. He's relentless, spearing in and out, stretching you open more and more. 

"Take what you need from me, baby. This is your fuckin’ mouth, make it yours.” 

His nose presses into your clit, rubbing it with each powerful thrust of his tongue. He starts moving it in and out slowly, but your hips are grinding chaotically, also savoring your tightness and relishing the feel of your inner muscles clenching around him. His hands are back to gripping your ass firmly, keeping you in position as he eats you out aggressively. 

“Gonna make you cum so hard on my tongue, baby. Milk it for me..."

Your juices coat his chin and neck as he devours you, slurping and sucking greedily. He can't get enough of your taste, your scent even filling his senses. Your hair is flying all over your face and down your back, your head falling back as you’re moaning pathetically, dipping your hips down, almost like you’re dancing atop of him. 

He’s going, “Mhmmm, mhmmm, yeah. Like that. Yes. Moan louder. Shit, baby..." he murmurs against your slick folds, "Love seeing you lose control like this."

He doubles his efforts, tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive bud before wrapping his lips around it and suckling hard. The vibrations from his moans send shivers down your spine as he works to push you closer to the edge. His strong hands grip your ass even tighter, spreading your cheeks wide to access your dripping entrance better.

You can only see the side of his face from the mirror, your craving for him is beginning to heighten, and now, you’re hungry. You pull yourself back from his mouth, looking at him through the mirror as you sultrily talk, “You want me to cum all in your mouth, baby? Beg.”

He looks up at you with lust-filled eyes, the brightest irises you’d ever seen somehow darkening. 

“P—please, baby,” he begs, his voice low and needy, "I want to taste you when you're flooded. Keep going, give it to me. Fill my mouth with your cum, let me drink you down."

You begin grinding slowly against his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he moans. You tell him with a shake to your head, “You can do better than that, Daddy. C’mon…wanna hear you mean it, ‘toru. Wanna cum all over your face baby,” you whimper, toying with him, “C’mon baby, beg me, please…” you reach down, beginning to rub your clit, “Don’t wanna cum all alone…” 

His eyes snap open, blazing with a hunger so intense it makes your breath hitch. He pulls back slightly, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with raw desperation.

"F—Fuck, baby, please," he rasps, his voice thick with desire, "Let me make you cum. Let me cover my face in you. I need it, need to feel you coming apart on my tongue, in my mouth. Please, baby, let go for me..."

“So greedy, baby boy…” you nod your head, placing your clit back on his mouth, breathless as you pull his jaw down, “Put your tongue back in me, make me cum so I can sink down on your dick after.”

He lets out a guttural moan against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shivers through you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, fucking you with it as he suckles your clit.

The both of you moan together, back to grinding on his mouth, your whines long and high-pitched as you feel your lower body jolting, orgasm coming in harsh waves as you cum within his mouth. Your moan gasps into a giggle as he spanks you in repetitions, tugging you back down to be on his lap. Some of the water had begun to drain, and you could see the hard strain of his tip, a bright pink, painful between his legs as it dripped pre-cum.

You pull him into a kiss, sloppily running your tongue against his mouth, lips parted wide as you ask between making out with him, “Want me to sink on it, baby?”

He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks up at you with wild, desperate eyes. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, "Yes, fuck yes... put that shit in, it’s so fuckin’ hard for you…”

He places a gentle palm along your swollen belly, to which you pull away and place on the back of your neck as you quietly assure him, “I’m okay.” 

He grunts as he kisses your forehead—he was always concerned. You reach down as you run your hand along his tip, slapping it in between your clit and opening as you stick your tongue out, “Kiss me, baby,” whimpering, begging,  “Gimme’ your mouth.”

He leans in, capturing your lips, returning the nasty kiss you’d given him earlier, dominating your mouth that has your neck fall back a bit. He clutches your neck closer, keeping your lips together as his tip spreads your pussy open, sinking your hips lower, dropping down onto his rigid length. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you completely, stretching you in a delicious pain around his fat girth. 

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving as he looks down at where you’re joined, watching intently as he gives you a slow thrust upwards as he gasps, "Shit, baby... so tight... fuck."

You wrap your arms around him, hiding your face within his neck as you dig your fingers in his hair, voice tiny, high-pitched as you cry softly against him, pouting into his ear, “Ughn, Satoru….”

He holds you close, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other grips your hip tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he listens to your whimpers. 

“That’s it baby—agh,” he whimpers himself, bouncing you down onto his dick, always close to splitting you in half, “Just relax baby—mmph,” he’s moaning pitifully with you, listening to the sounds of your skin clap together, tears brimming your eyes as you clutch him tighter. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure through both of you. He groans, low and guttural, as he buries his face in your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "Fuck, baby... you feel so good... so fuckin’ perfect..." he growls, his breath hot against your ear.

He continues to pound into you relentlessly, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last. Your cries and whimpers fill the air, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. He can feel your walls clenching around him, trying to milk his dick for all it's worth.

"Ah, fuck yeah... that's it, baby," he pants, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency, the water from the tub splashing high each time. "Take it all, every inch... hnngh."

As he picks up speed, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your moans and his grunts.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he rasps, his voice strained with lust. "Gonna make a fuckin’ mess?”

You dig your face farther into his neck, your cheeks warm, tears dripping from your eyes as you groan lowly, “Agh—gh—fuck,” you sniffle, “Deeper, go d—deeper…”

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers sinking into your flesh as he responds to your plea. He takes both palms back to your ass, spreading the skin to open you up more, pulling you up until you’re barely along his tip, dropping you back down, skin burning as it sticks together from the creaming you’re spouting out. It makes you gasp, clawing at him as you place your fingers within your mouth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. But it also makes you extremely wet.

You bring your face up, placing your hands along his hard stomach as you begin picking up your own hips, slamming them down against him. You see as that makes his head tilt back against the edge, holding you tighter as he helps you fuck him, his moan dragging out, pausing through each drop of your hips. His adam’s apple bobs severely, hair pulled out from his face, dark pink lips bruised as he grits his teeth.

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles flexing beneath your palms as he meets each of your downward thrusts with an upward grind of his hips. The angle changes, allowing him to hit that sweet spot inside you with unerring precision, stretching you wide and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Fuuuck, baby..." he growls, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "Ride me just like that... Take what you need..."

His hands slide down to grasp your thighs, thumbs digging into the sensitive skin as he guides your movements, encouraging you to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so completely filled and owned by him. The water churns around you, a frothy mix of sweat and soap, as you both surrender to the intensity of your passion.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You question, your small and cute voice making his tip jump inside of you. You look him directly in his eyes, placing your hands on your breasts as you rub your sensitive nipples, bouncing up and down against him.

“They’re so sensitive…” you whimper, “Wanna touch them? Might make me cum…”

“Let me suck on them, pretty. Know that’ll make you cum.”

He comes forward, but you push him back, wrapping your fingers along his throat, squeezing as you begin swirling your hips on top of him, “I missed when you begged me, where’s my needy boy? I miss him,” you whine, palming your nipples harder, feeling as his abdomen tightens.

He lets out a choked gasp as you tighten your grip on his throat, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Right h—here baby," he rasps, his voice muffled slightly by your fingers. 

"Need you so bad... Want to feel you cum on my dick…” His hips buck up sharply, driving himself deeper inside you as he strains against your hold, desperate for more friction, more pressure. "Don't stop, don't ever stop…” he begs, his body trembling with the force of his impending climax.

“Don’t want me to stop, baby?” You’re lifting your hips slowly, dropping them down harshly, the loud sound echoing in the bathroom, your giggle evil, moaning messily as you feel yourself beginning to cum on his tip.

“N—no, baby—Don't stop—“ his deep voice cracks with desperation as he feels your walls clenching around him. 

“Ooooh, yes, baby,” your own voice is failing the control you want to give, your walls tight as they suck him in deeply. The sensation of your orgasm soaking his dick is too much to bear, and with a grunt, he buries his face between your breasts, his teeth grazing the tender flesh as he surrenders to his own release.

He listens to you first, holding you close as you let out a breath, not expecting it to turn into a sob, squirting heavily, the gush of it all drenched in between his continuous thrusts as you gasp, “I’m cumming, I’m cummingg.“

You can’t help but want to see his vulnerable side one last time as you talk to him, “Cum in me, pretty boy. Cum in me, Daddy. Please.” 

He groans, his hips jerking erratically as he plunges deeper, chasing his climax. Your words, the desperate plea in your voice—it all shatters what little restraint he has left. He softly cries out, slamming into you one final time, his dick pulsing as he warms your insides with his cum.

As the aftershocks subside, he collapses onto you, his weight a comforting press against your skin. His breath hitches as he tries to regain composure, but the tremors running through him betray his vulnerability.

 "Baby..." he whispers, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "That was... fuck, I needed that."

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your hip, a soothing caress meant to comfort both of you.

You don’t want to ruin the moment, lifting your face up as you give him a soft peck, leaning your head on his neck as you say, “Love you, ‘toru.” 

He holds you close, just enjoying the peaceful moment together. He whispers against the skin of your neck, “I love you too, baby. So much.” 

He doesn’t bother moving, even though the water has started to turn lukewarm. He wants to stay right here with you, holding you close. But eventually, he lifts his head, looking down at you as he asks, “You ready to get out before we prune up?”

Your face is warm again, nodding along his skin as you say, “Gotta pee,” as usual.

The moment the words leave your lips, he can’t help but laugh a little. He gives a chuckle, “Of course you fuckin’  do.”

You slept more often than usual in these last few months, but this had to have been the heaviest you’d slept of all. You were trapped under Satoru’s heavy arm, who snored unfortunately close in your ear. But it was somehow soothing. The love you shared for this man was like no other. 

But when you wake up within the middle of the night, you feel yourself beginning to cramp, and it’s more irritating than anything. You’re too tired to get up and take your medicine, trying to force yourself back into sleep. But the cramps become more intense, and it makes you whimper lightly from the pain, holding your belly with your palm. You decide it was time to get up, lifting Satoru’s arm as you slowly slip out of bed.

“You’ alright, baby?” His deep voice calls, still half asleep.

“Just gonna go pee,” you tell him, pressing your feet into your slippers, ignoring your dog that lightly whines, nudging your body in support as you fully stand.

Even as he was half-asleep, he was still paying attention. When you told him you had to go pee, he grumbled a little, rolling onto his back. He felt cold without you in his arms, and he wanted you back immediately.

You take a deep breath as the cramps run through your entire body, worsening with each step. You frown as you clutch the material of your oversized shirt, just wanting to make it to the bathroom. But as you take another step, you feel a heavy pressure in between your legs, and you look down to see as fluid rushes down your legs, dripping onto the floor. Your heart could’ve stopped. 

You’d been to several classes, read pamphlets, researched—even Google couldn’t stop you from your reaction when you weren’t supposed to panic. 

Your body trembles as you scream, “Gojo!” 

He grunts, “Jesus, baby. I know you’re fond of screaming my name but—“

He turns, seeing the fear within your eyes, looking down to see the fluid sliding down your legs. He thought he was a man that wasn’t afraid of anything, but this was more than what nightmares were made of. 

“Oh shit.”

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[loveesiren]

𝖡𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾

Thanos x American!reader

a/n: hi my babies! so this is my first thanos (choi su-bong) fic i'm posting. however, i kind of wrote this as an aftermath of a little series i've been working on of them in the games. so, once i am done hating it and editing it, i will posit it! but i hope you guys enjoy this cute lil fluff. i suck at writing fluff tbh but i tried! xx also, t.o.p is my gwiyomiii, my honeyyyy, my angel babyyyyyyyyy! i'm so inlove with him so feel free to send requests!

synopsis: nightmares of the games still haunt Thanos a year later, but luckily Y/n will never leave his side.

warnings: language, fluff, very brief mention of sex if you squint

wc: 1.1k+

You couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had wrapped itself around your mind ever since surviving the games last year, a constant shadow in your otherwise bright new life. You had so much to be grateful for—making it out alive, the money that had saved you in more ways than one, and, of course, Su-Bong. Though, to this day, you still called him T. Your T.

Never in a million years would you have imagined living in a sleek penthouse in downtown Seoul with a man you fell in love with while playing deadly children’s games. Yet here you were, in a world that once seemed as unreachable as a dream: Thanos’ World. And you loved it.

The games had changed Thanos in ways you never thought possible. He quit the drugs, buried his oversized ego, and spent six months holed up in his apartment with only you for company. It was a metamorphosis you never expected but cherished deeply. When he finally emerged from that cocoon of self-reflection, he returned to music—his first true love. But this time, it wasn’t about sex, drugs, and wealth. His lyrics delved into the rawness of his childhood, the pain of his struggles, the weight of his dreams—and you. Always you. You were his muse.

Being with the Thanos, however, was far from simple. Going out with him was an ordeal, a gamble. Fans flocked to him wherever he went, now more than ever, since he’d announced his new album. He once thrived on the chaos, basking in the adoration of women throwing themselves at him and men idolizing him. He was a star, and he reveled in the glow. But now? Now the attention suffocated him. He avoided crowded places as much as he could, especially when you were by his side.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show you off—God, he did. But the fear gnawed at him. What if something happened to you? What if someone hurt you? You’d already faced your fair share of vitriol when the media leaked that Thanos was dating some American girl. “American bitch,” they’d called you, throwing their venom your way in tabloids and comment sections. But the hate didn’t break you. If anything, it hardened your resolve.

You refused to let him hide away forever. When his anxiety tried to keep him tethered to the penthouse, you were the one who dragged him out into the world. You reminded him of what life outside these walls could offer, even if it wasn’t always kind. And slowly, piece by piece, you were helping him reclaim it.

You glanced over at Thanos, his peaceful face softened by sleep, his arm draped lazily over your bare thighs. Carefully, you lifted his arm and slipped out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. Padding toward the kitchen, you glanced at the clock: 2:30 a.m. Another sleepless night. You sighed, the weight of endless insomnia pressing down on you.

You set the kettle to boil, deciding tea wouldn’t cut it tonight. The staleness of the room felt suffocating. What you needed was air. Before stepping out to the balcony, you peeked into the bedroom again, reassured by the steady rise and fall of Thanos’ chest.

The view of Seoul stretched before you as you stepped outside. The city pulsed with quiet energy, its lights casting a warm glow against the dark sky. The faint scent of cherry blossoms drifted through the breeze, mingling with the night air and brushing your hair across your face. This view, this life—it was something you’d never take for granted.

Pulling out your phone, you typed a quick message to Se-mi.

y/n: You up?

Minutes passed before your phone buzzed with a reply.

Se-mi: Yeah. Can’t sleep?

y/n: The insomnia is never-ending.

Se-mi: I miss when we all lived together.

Your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Memories of those first fragile weeks after escaping the games flooded your mind. The four of you—Thanos, Se-mi, Min-su, and you—crammed into your tiny apartment, clinging to each other for sanity. For weeks, you barely left the safety of those walls. Eventually, Thanos invited everyone to move in with him, but Se-mi and Min-su had decided it was time to go back to their families. The games had taught them how precious life was. That, and your shared space wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy—especially with how loud things could get between you and Thanos when you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother.

y/n: I miss it too. I miss you. Shopping tomorrow?

Se-mi: You know I hate shopping.

y/n: But you love me, and T gave me his black card.

Se-mi: Spoiled brat.

y/n: See you tomorrow 🥰

Se-mi: Can’t wait ✌🏼

You smiled at her response, warmth spreading through you at the thought of reconnecting with your best friend. But the moment of peace was shattered by a sound from inside—faint whimpers carried through the air. Your heart clenched. Setting your tea down, you hurried back to the bedroom.

“T?” you called softly as you stepped inside.

No response. Only the faint cries that sent chills down your spine. You rushed to the bedside table and flicked on the lamp. Thanos was thrashing slightly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands grasping desperately at the empty space where you should have been.

“Fuck! NO!” he suddenly screamed, his voice hoarse with panic.

“T!” you gasped, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into your arms. “T, baby…” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hand found your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist as though clinging to reality. He fought against the demons clawing at him, his breaths ragged and uneven. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused at first, until they locked onto yours. His lip quivered as shame filled his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, brushing your thumb tenderly across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shirt. His shame was palpable, but you held him tightly, cradling him as though the weight of his nightmares could be eased by your embrace.

“Another nightmare?” you asked softly. He nodded wordlessly, slipping his hand into yours. He hated these moments. Hated the way his past still haunted him, dragging you into his darkness. But you didn’t mind. You’d made a decision long ago: this man was worth every struggle, every sleepless night. Some may say a few days isn’t enough time to know who is your person, but when your life is on the line, time has a way of fast-tracking love.

“M’sorry…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, T,” you reassured him, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. “You know I’ll always be right here.”

“Promise?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

You kissed his forehead, tightening your arms around him. “Promise,” you said, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

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