#Love to share without borders. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 8 months ago

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SHARING IS S★X CARING？’ s. geto ﹠ s. gojo

☆ sum. your boyfriend and his best friend are inseparable. they’ve shared everything; clothes, foods, money, games... you.

warning. non-sorcerer! au, smoke joint, shared-girlfriend, lube, anal, sēx toy, cūm-play, choking, petnames, cūnnilingus, squirting, creampied, unprotected sēx, fingērings, dōuble-penetration, oral ( m & f receiving ).

the first time you met suguru geto, he was with satoru gojo, and from that moment, it was clear that they were two halves of something dark and unbreakable. they weren’t just best friends; they were a single, inseparable force, bound together by something deeper and messier than loyalty. it was like an obsession, a need that bordered on suffocating. you could see it in the way they moved, like shadows mirroring each other, two predators perfectly synced, with eyes that dared anyone to come between them.

you thought that, maybe, as you got closer to geto, you’d become a part of that bond. you’d be something he could keep just for himself. but no—if geto was there, gojo would be, too, lurking like a phantom, a constant, mocking reminder that you’d never have all of geto. every private moment was contaminated by gojo’s presence, his eyes watching you both like he was daring you to try to shut him out. even when you craved a moment alone with geto, there was always a text, a knock at the door, or the sound of gojo’s voice somewhere close, a shadow neither of you could shake.

when you and geto finally started dating, you thought, foolishly, that it might change things. that somehow gojo would let him go, just a little. but instead, it was like he tightened his grip, pressing himself deeper into the space between you. every date, every whisper, every tender moment was never just yours and geto’s—it was shared, distorted by gojo’s smirking presence. even the way they looked at each other felt invasive, as though they had a silent language you couldn’t decode, one that excluded you completely.

it was toxic, twisted. they shared everything. their obsession ran so deep they blurred the boundaries between them, as if each were only half a person without the other. clothes? gojo would wear geto’s hoodies, his scent still lingering, just to make sure you knew he was part of every piece of geto’s life. food? if you made lunch for geto, gojo would sit down and eat it too, grinning as though daring you to say anything. money, games—it was like they fed off each other, this endless loop of dependence, this twisted codependency that they wore proudly.

and the worst part? they shared you, too. oh, they never said it out loud, but you could feel it in the way gojo looked at you, in the way he’d touch your shoulder a little too casually, leaning in with that mocking smile that dared you to protest. when you’d be alone with geto, just the two of you, you’d feel gojo’s shadow creeping in, like he was watching from somewhere, his presence twisting the intimacy into something poisoned. even in the way geto held you, there was a feeling that he was holding something back, something reserved only for gojo.

and sometimes, it felt like they were playing with you, like you were a toy they could toss back and forth. gojo would flirt, sometimes in front of geto, pushing boundaries just enough to make you question if it was all a game between them. they thrived off your discomfort, your jealousy. you’d catch the way they’d glance at each other when you reacted, a knowing, shared smile that reminded you of how close they were, how little you really meant in comparison.

it was sickening, this twisted love triangle where you were always the outsider. you knew you’d never be enough, not when they were so tangled up in each other, not when they held this dark, toxic bond over you like a noose. they didn’t need you; you were just another thing to share, another piece of amusement in their endless, consuming obsession with each other. and no matter how much you wanted to escape, you found yourself sinking deeper, drawn to the toxicity, addicted to the way they could pull you in and push you out, like they owned every part of you without ever letting you truly belong.

over time, you stopped fighting it—the reality that satoru gojo would always be woven into your relationship with suguru geto. resisting it felt pointless, like struggling against a tide that only grew stronger the more you tried to pull away. so instead, you started to let go, letting yourself sink into this twisted, shared intimacy they’d built around you, a dark bond that the three of you played into with a silent, unspoken understanding.

it started out innocently enough. one evening, the three of you were sprawled out on the couch in geto’s apartment, and on a whim, you let yourself settle onto gojo’s lap instead of your boyfriend’s. you felt gojo’s hand fall naturally to your waist, his touch a little too possessive, his fingers pressing against your skin with an assurance that told you he’d been waiting for this. there was a quiet thrill in it, a reckless satisfaction in the way gojo’s lips curved into a smirk when he felt you relax against him.

you stole a glance at geto, expecting something—jealousy, annoyance, maybe even anger. but instead, he simply looked back at you with an amused gleam in his eyes, a joint held lazily between his fingers as he took a slow drag, watching the two of you with a dark, knowing smile. he looked...pleased, as if this was all part of some game he and gojo had orchestrated, and you were playing into their hands exactly as they’d intended.

and you found yourself sinking deeper, almost against your own will. you’d started slipping on gojo’s clothes when you stayed over, oversized shirts that hung low on your shoulders, sleeves falling past your wrists, the fabric smelling faintly of his cologne, a scent that clung to your skin long after you took it off. and every time you caught geto’s gaze on you, that same amused smirk on his lips, you felt something tighten in your chest, a mix of surrender and thrill as his silent approval sank deeper into your bones.

the lines blurred more and more. when you’d reach for geto’s hand, gojo’s fingers would trace along your arm, his touch just a little too intimate, a little too possessive, his hands wandering over your skin in a way that left no room for boundaries. and geto never stopped him. he would watch, almost transfixed, his eyes dark and smoldering, a smirk curling up at the edges of his lips as he watched gojo’s hand slide down your arm, settling on your thigh, as if you were a part of something they both owned.

you felt trapped, yet strangely exhilarated, like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous and addictive, a line between control and surrender that blurred every time you were with them. this wasn’t love—not the way most people understood it. it was twisted, possessive, a toxic bond that fed off your willingness to fall deeper into their world, letting go of any illusion that this could be anything but theirs to shape, control, and consume.

you lay stretched across geto's bed, sheets tangled around your bare body, the coolness against your heated skin a stark contrast to the warmth that still lingered between you. the room felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and intimacy, and though the AC droned quietly, the air still seemed charged, electric.

your eyes trailed over geto as he moved across the room, his every step exuding that slow, effortless confidence that had always pulled you in. his skin glistened under the dim light, long black hair tumbling down his shoulders, framing his toned, sculpted body as he reached for the drawer, seemingly unfazed by his own nakedness. there was something about him—calm, composed, yet unnervingly intense, his gaze almost predatory, as if he knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

you hadn’t meant to ask, but the question fell from your lips anyway, barely above a whisper, hesitant yet laced with a strange anticipation. “baby, when will satoru come?”

he paused, glancing back at you with a small, dark smile that sent a jolt through you, an unspoken threat wrapped in that unreadable look. his eyes roamed over your exposed body, his gaze possessive, almost as if he was savoring your vulnerability, the way you lay waiting, asking for another man, even as you lay tangled in his sheets.

“he’ll be here soon, doll,” he replied, voice smooth but carrying an edge that made your pulse quicken. there was something chilling in his tone, as if he enjoyed the way you looked to gojo’s arrival, enjoyed that your desire for them was something they held, something they could control and twist as they pleased. you felt the weight of it—the way you had slipped into their world, no longer your own person, but a part of their twisted game, something they could pass between themselves, a secret thrill they both indulged in.

his words left a dark impression, a reminder that your place here was more than just between them—it was within the cage they had set up, one where you’d come to accept that neither of them would ever really let you go.

you hum softly, acknowledging his answer without another word, and let the silence settle around you both, an almost tangible tension filling the room. there was an ease in that quiet, twisted as it was—an acceptance of the strange rhythm you'd all fallen into.

you watched as geto moved towards the bed, his steps unhurried but deliberate. he tossed a pack of condoms onto the nightstand with a casual, careless thud, then reached into the drawer, pulling out a joint as if this were just another evening between the three of you. he lit it without a second glance, inhaling deeply, that calm intensity radiating off him.

just then, the door creaked open, and gojo’s voice filled the room, a mocking lilt in his words that was all too familiar. “it smells like sex in here,” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. his eyes scanned the scene, taking in geto’s bare form standing by the bed, and he let out a low whistle, a playful grin spreading across his face.

geto rolled his eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke, but there was a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of something darkly amused as he watched his best friend stride in without hesitation.

gojo’s sharp blue eyes found yours, and in that instant, the atmosphere shifted, charged with a new intensity. he looked at you with that familiar, arrogant gleam, his gaze trailing over you, unashamed and piercing, like he was assessing exactly what he was about to walk into. there was a possessiveness in his gaze, a twisted understanding between the three of you that none of you needed to say out loud—this was just the way things were, a silent pact wrapped in tension, indulgence, and the thrill of pushing boundaries that none of you cared to pull back from.

you looked over at him, watching the way he stepped inside without hesitation, his eyes glinting with that same twisted amusement as he took in the scene, as if he were right at home in this dark, tangled intimacy. he closed the door behind him, his gaze drifting between you and geto, a satisfied smirk on his face that promised more than just another night together—it was a reminder of the possessive, toxic hold the two of them shared over you, a shared addiction you were all too willing to sink into. “finished your class?” you ask as he waltz closer to bed, throwing his bag mindlessly to the floor.

gojo’s smile grew wider at your question, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it aside, his body moving with a careless, fluid grace that was as intimidating as it was captivating.

“you know how it is, doll,” he said, his voice a low, husky taunt. “just few more exams and i’m free for weeks,” he paused, his gaze flickering down, his eyes tracing the lines of your body just the way geto’s did, a hunger you found hard to resist.

“but now,” he continued, his smirk growing darker, “i’m all yours,” he finished for himself, his words a wicked promise as he finally climbed onto the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight. his gaze was fixed on yours, as if he were savoring the fact that for now, you were entirely at his mercy, a twisted game he and geto had both learned to play all too well.

you hummed softly, a quiet acknowledgment as you shifted, adjusting yourself to rest your head on geto’s bare, toned thighs. he had settled comfortably on the bed, back pressed against the headboard, completely unbothered by his lack of clothes, the cool confidence in his gaze unwavering as he looked down at you with a possessive sort of satisfaction. it was as if he reveled in the fact that both you and gojo seemed right where he wanted.

reaching up, you plucked the joint from his fingers, taking a slow drag as the haze filled your lungs, adding to the already charged atmosphere of the room. your other hand drifted upward, fingers tracing the edge of gojo’s collar, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as your eyes locked with his. there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, a dark spark that told you he knew exactly what game the three of you were playing.

gojo’s eyes flickered with a familiar, playful amusement at your gesture, his gaze locked with yours as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow kiss. the joint passed from your fingers to his, a silent dance between your bodies. he took a leisurely drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that hung in the air before fading away, his hand sliding down to your throat, a gentle yet firm touch that had a dark thrill pooling inside you.

“you already started without me, huh?” he murmured, his voice a teasing reproach as his lips trailed from your mouth down to your neck, every touch a promise of more to come. “or is dollie here too impatient to wait?” he added, a slight hint of arrogant confidence in his tone, as if he knew exactly how intoxicating this game between the three of you was, and how helpless you were to resist. each word sent chills down your spine, his touch a potent mix of pleasure and danger, a dark thril only a man like gojo could provide.

you smirked, a playful glint in your eyes as you took the joint from gojo’s fingers, holding his gaze with a teasing challenge. inhaling deeply, you let the smoke settle before exhaling slowly, every move deliberate, as if to show him you were just as unbothered as he pretended to be.

“maybe i wanted to spend some time alone with my boyfriend,” you murmured, your tone laced with mischief as your fingers traced an idle pattern on geto’s thigh. “before a certain intruder decided to barge in and ruin our peace.” the words dripped with sarcasm, but there was no denying the thrill that sparked in your veins, knowing exactly how gojo would react to your challenge.

gojo raised a brow, his trademark smirk deepening as he leaned closer, undeterred by your taunt. his fingers trailed over your covered-with-hickeys-collarbone, brushing against your skin with a touch that was both mocking and possessive, as if to remind you that this game was one you willingly walked into.

beside you, geto chuckled, a dark, approving sound as he took the joint back from you, his hand steady as he brought it to his lips. his eyes glinted with amusement, enjoying the twisted banter between you and gojo, like he relished watching the two of you push and pull in this dangerous, addictive dance. the lines between you all had long since blurred, and in that moment, it was clear that none of you had any intention of stopping.

gojo’s hand slid down, teasingly tracing the edge of the thin sheet around your chest, a playful smile playing on his lips as he met your gaze. “spoil your peace, huh?” he taunted, his voice low and teasing. “doll, you make it sound like i’ve done nothing but ruin your life.”

a mock pout formed on his lips, his fingers still toying with the sheet, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “or,” he paused, his thumb suddenly brushing against your cleavage, hovering just upper your bare breast, “maybe you enjoy the chaos a little more than you’re letting on.”

his free hand toyed with your chin, tilting your face up to his with an affectionate touch, his eyes locked with yours with an almost predatory look—a glimmer of darker desire, as if he was savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingers.

“after all,” he murmured, his voice a low husky note, “your body certainly seems to respond quite well to my... intrusions.” he paused, and a sharp edge crept into his tone, his fingers lightly squeezing your throat. “maybe i should remind you that you’re the one who keeps coming back for more.”

a sly grin tugged at the corners of your lips, your eyes never leaving gojo’s as he teased you. you knew this game all too well—the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the subtle taunts in his words, the way he constantly pushed boundaries just because he could. it was as intoxicating as it was infuriating, an addictive mix of pleasure and pain that only he seemed to be able to provide.

his touch was a subtle dance between light and heavy, his fingers teasing at the sheet covering your body as he spoke, the fabric brushing against your sensitive skin with every flicker of his wrist.

“i’m coming back for my lovely boyfriend, over here,” you said, eyes momentarily flickering to your boyfriend before going back to gojo. “for your information,” you added.

a dark gleam flashed in gojo’s eyes, a smirk playing on his lips in response to your challenge. “well, doll,” he murmured, his fingers tightening possessively around your throat, “i wouldn’t want to disappoint your boyfriend by depriving you of him.” his lips brushed against yours, a slow, taunting kiss that carried a promise of darker desires and a twisted addiction that went far beyond mere lust.

his touch never relented, his fingers tracing the curves of your body, teasingly brushing against your sensitive spots, as he pressed himself against you, a silent reminder of his control in this moment, of the power he held with a single stroke or word. he broke the kiss with a playful nip at your bottom lip, his lips lingering close to yours in a taunting reminder of what had been.

geto snorted, rolling his eyes at gojo’s words, an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watched his best friend’s possessive display. bringing the joint to his lips, he took a slow, deliberate drag, his gaze never leaving the two of you, clearly entertained by the spectacle unfolding before him.

“you wish, satoru,” he murmured, a trace of mockery lacing his tone. his eyes glinted with a lazy confidence as he looked at gojo, as though he found the whole display a touch amusing, like he was the only one in on some private joke. he exhaled a cloud of smoke, letting it drift between you all, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“don’t flatter yourself too much, you are here, touching her because i let you,” he added, his voice low and almost taunting. with an unhurried ease, he leaned back, fingers tapping against his knee as he watched gojo’s grip on you. there was a quiet satisfaction in his gaze, like he was reveling in this twisted push and pull between the three of you, his best friend’s possessive game only fueling his amusement.

gojo shot geto a challenging glance, his grip on your throat tightening in response. “oh please,” he scoffed, a dangerous smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, “as if you have a choice, suguru. we both know she’s as much mine as yours,” his voice dropped, a dark edge in his tone as he leaned closer to you, as if sharing a secret.

“and besides, we both know you love...watching me make her fall apart.” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your cheek, a teasing brush that sent shivers down your spine.

your breath hitched, a soft, almost involuntary whimper slipping from your lips as gojo’s grip tightened around your throat, just enough to send a heady rush through your veins. you felt his words settle like a dark promise, the teasing graze of his lips against your cheek sparking a thrill and a twisted ache. but even as the sensation built, you noticed geto’s gaze on you, his eyes flicking from your flushed face to gojo, a silent warning embedded in his expression.

“not too tight, satoru,” geto’s voice cut in, low and edged with a possessive restraint, his words firm. the relaxed smirk was gone now, replaced with a flash of something darker, a reminder that his tolerance had its limits. he didn’t mind sharing you, letting gojo push and tease, but only within a boundary he alone dictated. there was a quiet jealousy simmering under his calm exterior—a need to protect what was originally his, even if he indulged in this dangerous game.

the tension in the room thickened as gojo met geto’s warning with a mischievous glint in his eyes, though he relented, loosening his grip just enough. his fingers softened against your throat, his smirk deepening as he brushed his thumb along your skin in a lingering, possessive touch, savoring the shiver he knew it caused. you could feel the silent power struggle between them—both claiming parts of you in their own ways, both determined not to let go.

“aww, what’s wrong, suguru?” gojo murmured, his tone teasing as he pulled back, his eyes fixed on geto’s, almost daring him to react. he could feel your breathing quicken beneath his touch, the quiet hitch in your throat sending a thrill through his veins.

he shifted, his other hand trailing down, tracing the curve of your jaw with almost casual possessiveness. “we both know she likes it when i’m a little... rough.” his voice was a deep, seductive purr, a challenge and a promise all at once.

and through it all, you remained caught in the middle of their twisted game, a pawn in their power struggle and a willing participant in their twisted desires. you could feel the heat from their touches, the possessive gazes that seemed to strip you bare and claim you at the same time.

“just a little bit tighter,” you heard yourself saying, the words leaving your lips before your brain could register their full meaning. they were both surprised, their eyes flashing with lust and dominance at your bold request. “i know i can take it,” you added, your voice husky and filled with a deep...

a dark gleam sparkled in gojo's eyes, a pleased grin spreading across his face at your bold words. “well, well, well,” he murmured, his tone amused and dangerous all at once, “if our little doll wants to play a bit rougher, who am i to deny her?” he paused, his grip tightening a bit more around your throat as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours.

“as long as suguru doesn’t mind sharing the fun, of course.” he teased, his gaze flickering to geto, challenging him to intervene.

a low, daring whisper left your lips, your words laced with a challenge of your own. “he won’t,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, yet filled with conviction. you tightened your hold on gojo, your legs slipping around his waist, pulling him even closer until there was barely any space left between you. a sly smile teased your lips as you watched that dangerous gleam in his eyes flare even brighter at your response.

with a deliberate slowness, you leaned in, your mouth brushing his, igniting a kiss that was as much a taunt as it was an invitation. the thrill of pushing the limits coursed through you, fueling the tension sparking between the three of you. you knew geto was watching, his silent, unyielding gaze never wavering. and yet, despite his possessiveness, he allowed it, that quiet permission hovering in the air, heightening every brush and press of gojo’s lips on yours.

your fingers tangled in gojo’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, each movement charged with a dark thrill. you knew this was exactly the kind of game they thrived on, the thrill of shared control, each boundary tested and savored.

a low, amused chuckle escaped gojo’s lips as you teased him, the feel of your legs around him sending a jolt of desire through him. “seems like somebody’s feeling awfully confident,” he murmured, his voice a soft taunt as he broke the kiss, leaving you yearning for more. he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze wicked and intense, yet with a soft edge that softened his arrogance.

he leaned back, his hands falling from your body, letting go for a moment, but only for a moment, as he reached for something on the night stand.

geto’s eyes remained fixed on the scene unfolding before him, his expression unreadable behind the haze of smoke curling from his lips. the joint dangled forgotten between his fingers as he watched, transfixed, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. his free hand slid down his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle before dipping lower, toward the growing arousal on his cock that already start to harden.

the room was heavy with tension, the air thick with the scent of sex and weed.

but the absence of gojo’s touch was short-lived, as his hand soon returned, a familiar bottle of lube held between his fingers. he smirked, his gaze locked with yours, as he flipped the lid open with a soft click, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. “let’s see how confident you really are, doll,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he moved closer to you, his lips finding your ear.

you frowned, a hint of annoyance in your gaze as you looked up at gojo, catching his smirk as he held the bottle. “i told you i don’t like using lube,” you murmured, a defiant edge in your voice. there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he simply shrugged, as if undeterred by your words.

you felt geto’s warm hand rest gently on your head, his fingers threading softly through your hair in a silent reassurance. glancing up, you caught his calm gaze, that subtle smirk on his lips as he watched you, his quiet approval a steady contrast to gojo’s boldness. for a moment, you felt an odd balance between them—the steady, grounded touch of geto and the daring, relentless energy of gojo, already in the process of stripping down. your gaze shifted back to gojo, who seemed unfazed about your disapproval.

“tough luck, doll,” gojo said with a casual grin, his tone light and teasing, as if he wasn’t bothered by your disapproval at all. his eyes sparkled with lust and a touch of playfulness, his fingers moving to his belt to unfasten it, teasingly slow, almost as if making a show of it.

meanwhile, geto’s steady touch continued to provide you a silent assurance, his fingers soothing your hair with a gentle caress. he seemed relaxed yet amused at this unexpected turn of events, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he watched you and gojo.

gojo’s pants and underwear quickly followed, slipping off his fit frame and leaving him bare before you. he stepped forward, a cocky twist of his hips emphasizing his confidence as he came between your spread legs, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing manner.

you frowned, unable to hide your irritation as you shot gojo a pointed look. “you’re so cocky it’s annoying,” you quipped, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. despite your words, you found yourself instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. the moment your lips met, it was electric—his teasing grin melting into something deeper, more primal, as he responded eagerly to your kiss.

gojo’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer against him, deepening the kiss with an intensity that set your pulse racing. despite your earlier protest, you felt a thrill coursing through you, the way he melted against you, how his body felt—so confident, so alive. it was intoxicating, that dance between annoyance and desire, and you couldn't help but lose yourself in it as the world around you faded away.

gojo’s hand moved in a swift, fluid motion, yanking the thin sheet away from your body, leaving your bare skin exposed to both his gaze and geto’s steady presence beside you. his blue eyes roamed over you, a mixture of admiration and possession flickering in their depths, as if he were taking in every inch of you, committing it to memory.

beside him, geto’s dark gaze was equally intense, filled with a quieter yet unmistakable pride as he watched you. there was something almost predatory in the way the two of them looked at you, as if they were both savoring the sight, each in their own distinct way. gojo’s hand reached out, brushing along your shoulder, then down, slow and deliberate, his fingertips grazing your skin with an expert familiarity that made your heart race.

“there she is,” gojo murmured, his voice a blend of tease and awe, his hand lingering on you as his gaze flicked briefly to geto, a silent acknowledgment between them. it was a moment that hung in the air, charged and heavy, a silent understanding of the unusual bond the three of you shared.

gojo’s breath hitched as he watched you pull him closer, his cock hardening against your thigh as he ground himself against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure through him. his hand trailed down your side, fingertips dancing along your curves, teasing and exploring every inch of your body. “fuck... you’re so goddamn hot,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

geto sat back, watching the scene unfold with rapt attention, his own arousal evident in the air. his hand moved slowly, stroking himself painfully slow as he took in the erotic display before him. “that’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and encouraging. “show him what he’s been missing.”

gojo grinned wickedly, his hand slipping between your thighs, his fingers teasing your entrance, finding you wet and ready.

geto’s eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold before him, a hint of jealousy flickering across his features as gojo’s hands explored your body with such intimate familiarity. yet, beneath that flash of emotion, there was a sense of pride, a satisfaction in seeing you, his girlfriend respond so openly to gojo’s touches, his best friend.

his grip tightened ever so slightly on your hair, a silent reminder of his presence, his claim over you. his other hand trailed down his torso, fingers brushing lightly over his nipples before dipping lower, wrapping around his semi-hard shaft. he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, matching the languid pace of gojo’s movements above you.

geto’s breathing grew heavier as he watched, the haze of marijuana smoke curling around him adding to the surreal atmosphere before he let go of your hair, afraid he might get the ashes to your beautiful skin.

your breath caught as gojo’s fingers brushed against your entrance, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. you could feel the heat emanating from his body, his hardness pressing insistently against you, and it only fueled the fire within.

“please...” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. the plea was instinctive, a desperate need for more, for him to fill you, to claim you completely.

gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with triumph and lust. “so impatient,” he purred. gojo’s smirk widened, eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of triumph and lust. “so impatient,” he purred, his tone a mocking whisper that sent a chill down your spine. with a slow, almost taunting motion, he flipped open the cap of the lube bottle, his gaze never leaving yours as he squeezed a small amount onto his fingers.

the cool sensation of it touched your skin, a stark contrast against the heat between the three of you. his fingers worked the slick liquid over your pussy, every movement purposeful, as if he were savoring the way your body responded to his touch. his smirk deepened, reveling in the power he held in this moment.

“i thought you didn’t like using lube,” gojo teased, a wicked glint in his eye as he rubbed the slippery substance over your sensitive flesh. his fingers circled your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into his touch.

geto groaned appreciatively at the sight, his hand working slowly over his own straining erection before letting go. “she loves it, man,” he rumbled. “she just likes to pretend she doesn’t.”

gojo chuckled lowly, inserting one finger into your tight heat, marveling at how easily it slid inside thanks to the generous coating of lubricant. he pumped it in and out slowly, steadily building the tension coiling within you. “you’re dripping for me, angel,” he breathed. “don’t lie to yourself.”

geto observed quietly, puffing leisurely on his joint as he watched gojo work you open with his fingers. he admired the view of your cunt presented enticingly in front of him. geto’s eyes raked over your form greedily, devouring the sight of your voluptuous figure writhing under gojo’s ministrations. a part of him wanted to reach out and touch, to add his fingers alongside gojo’s in stretching you wide, but he stop himself, letting his best friend having his way with his girlfriend.

you gasped sharply as gojo’s finger pushed deeper inside you, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. the stretch burned deliciously, stoking the flames of your desire higher. “ah! f-fuck...” you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more of that sweet friction.

geto’s heated gaze followed the line of your body, drinking in every twitch and shudder. he leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “look at you, taking him so well,” he praised huskily, “such a good girl for us.”

the filthy words sent a fresh gush of arousal trickling down your thighs. you could feel how soaked you were getting, your juices mingling obscenely with the lube gojo kept pumping into you before he suddenly stopped and pulled away just a beat to open the drawer by the bed. gojo retrieved the vibrator, its sleek shape glinting in the dim light.

“shhh...” gojo whispered, his finger still buried deep inside you the heartbeat he felt your body tense., feeling your walls quiver around him. “just relax, baby.” he withdrew his digit with agonizing slowness, eliciting a needy whine from you. the toy buzzed to life, its vibrations sending tingles up your spine. gojo pressed it firmly against your swollen clit, holding it there while you thrashed beneath him, lost in a sea of pleasure.

“that’s it,” he purred, watching your face contort in ecstasy. “let it take you.”

geto’s eyes drank in the debauched picture you made, your chest heaving and your thighs trembling as the toy worked its magic. he licked his lips hungrily, transfixed by the way your body responded to their ministrations.

gojo’s grin turned positively feral as he switched on the vibrator to next level, the buzzing filling the air, more intense. “let’s see how long you can last,” he challenged darkly, running the toy teasingly over your sensitive folds without directly touching where you needed it most.

geto inhaled deeply, savoring the rich taste of cannabis mixed with your sweet scent. “you’re playing with fire, bro, you’re about to ruin my girlfriend,” he drawled amusedly, noting the strained tension in your muscles as you tried not to beg shamelessly. he could tell gojo was thoroughly enjoying torturing you with need, pushing your boundaries. he can’t help but smirk while he takes another drag, filling his lung with smoke.

his eyes were glued to the erotic show, gojo now sliding two thick digits knuckle-deep inside your soaked cunt while the toy worked relentless circles around your swollen clit. “god damn, baby.”

the dual sensations of gojo's fingers plunging into your depths and the vibrator's relentless stimulation drove you to the brink of madness. your mind went blank, consumed entirely by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. all coherent thought fled, replaced by a primal urge to chase the peak of ecstasy looming just out of reach.

“please... oh fuck, please!” you begged, your voice cracking with desperation. the words spilled from your lips unbidden, a wanton plea for release. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the pressure built, threatening to shatter you utterly.

geto’s low chuckle vibrated through you after he takes another drag, a dark promise of things to come. “she’s close,” he observed, his gaze locked on the way your body tensed and quivered. “i wonder how long we can keep her teetering on the edge.”

“oh, i don't know,” gojo replied with a wicked grin, his fingers curling inside you as he felt your inner walls clenching around them. “maybe until she screams,” he added, his voice dropping an octave lower, filled with dark intent.the vibrations of the toy intensified, becoming almost too much to bear. gojo watched, mesmerized, as you arched your back and threw your head back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. your nails dug into the sheets, the fabric tearing slightly under the force of your grip.

“fuck, look at her,” geto growled, his free hand reaching out to cup your bouncing breast, giving it a rough squeeze. “she’s a goddamn mess.” with a swift twist of his wrist, gojo removed the vibrator, denying you the relief you craved.

you let out a choked sob as the vibrator was abruptly taken away, leaving you empty and aching. your body trembled violently, overwhelmed by the sudden absence of stimulation. tears streamed freely down your face, blurring your vision. “no, please... satoru,” you whimpered brokenly, your hips lifting off the bed in a futile attempt to seek friction. “i need… i need…”

gojo tutted softly, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “ah ah ah, not yet, angel. you don’t get to cum until i say so.” his fingers continued their torturous dance inside you, stretching you wider than ever before. the wet squelch of your arousal filled the room, obscene and lewd. geto hummed approvingly, pinching your nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger.

gojo grinned wolfishly, relishing the power he held over you. your pleas only spurred him on, driving him to push you further. he scissored his fingers apart, spreading you impossibly wide as he pumped them in and out of your dripping core.

“beg harder, sweetheart,” he purred sadistically, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. “convince him of how badly you need it.” geto chuckled darkly, trailing his fingertips down your sweat-slicked stomach before dipping between your legs to collect some of your essence. he brought his coated fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a groan of appreciation.

“delicious,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “almost as sweet as the sounds of you pleading for our cocks.”

desperate, you writhed beneath them, your body a living flame of need. each thrust of gojo's fingers sent jolts of electric pleasure racing up your spine, making you keen with longing. “please, satoru!” you cried, your voice raw with emotion. “need to cum, want it— ohh, god!” your words tumbled out in a frantic rush, each one a desperate plea for release. tears streaked your flushed cheeks as you stared up at gojo, your eyes wild and pleading.

geto’s dirty talk only fueled the fire within you, your pussy clenching greedily around gojo's invading digits. the sight of him sucking your juices from his fingers, the hungry gleam in his eye, made you shudder with anticipation.

ignoring your plea, gojo turns his attention to your boyfriend. he takes his fingers out of your cunt to hold both of your knees, spread them apart. his hips sway slowly, making a way for hardened cock to make contact with your dripping fold, coating his flesh with your essence.

“let me fuck her raw,” gojo said to geto, confidently, his blue eyes form like a twin blue flames. geto might shared you with him, but he also have limits, a bound gojo couldn’t cross, one of them is; fucking you raw and cum inside you. you are his girlfriend after all, and even so, he can get jealous and possessive no matter how nonchalant and unbothered he is about the shared dynamic.

gojo grinned at geto’s concern, seemingly oblivious to the unease it caused. he knew the limits he had set, and he had no intention of crossing them, at least with someone as precious as his best friend’s girlfriend. “i’ll be gentle,” gojo promised— lie, his voice soothing as he rubbed your inner thigh reassuringly. his cock twitched against your slick folds, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip.

geto’s eyes narrowed at gojo’s bold request, a flicker of jealousy passing through his expression despite his usual nonchalance. he took a long drag from his joint, holding the smoke in his lungs as he considered the proposition.

after exhaling slowly, he fixed gojo with a stern look, his voice low and measured. “now, satoru, you know the rules. no bareback, not with her.” his hand slid possessively over your cheek down to your neck and shoulder, a subtle reminder of your relationship.

gojo smirked at geto’s words, unfazed by the warning tone. he leaned in closer, his breath hot against geto's ear as he whispered conspiratorially, “come on, suguru. where’s your sense of adventure? live a little.”

geto rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. “you’re insatiable, you know that?” he accused playfully, even as his own desire stirred at the thought of watching gojo take you bare.

gojo just grinned, undeterred. he trailed his fingers along your knees. “i know what i want,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “and right now, i want to feel her tight little cunt wrapped around my cock, no barriers between us.” he punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate grind of his erection against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness. the sensation was exquisite, and he could tell by the sharp intake of breath from geto that he wasn't the only one affected.

overwhelmed by the intense sensations, you moaned loudly, your body arching off the bed as gojo’s thick cockhead pressed insistently against your sensitive entrance. the feeling of his hot skin, slick with your arousal, sent shivers down your spine.

“satoru..” you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his. “stop talking and fuck me already,” your words were barely coherent, spoken through gritted teeth as you struggled to breathe through the pleasure-pain of being stretched so wide.

geto’s touch on your skin only heightened your awareness, making every nerve ending sing with need. you felt his eyes on you, burning with a mix of lust and possessiveness, and it only fueled your desire to submit to gojo’s advances.

gojo chuckled darkly at your demand, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless. his tongue delved deep, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as he intended to claim your body.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing with hunger. “as you wish, angel,” he purred, his voice a sinful promise. with agonizing slowness, he began to sink into your welcoming heat, inch by delicious inch— earning a glare from geto for fucking his girlfriend raw.

your gasp turned into a throaty moan as he filled you completely, his girth stretching you beyond anything you’d ever experienced. geto’s hands roamed over your trembling form, tweaking your nipples and caressing your curves as if memorizing every dip and swell.

“look at you,” geto growled appreciatively, his gaze locked on the erotic sight of you impaled on gojo's thick cock. “so fucking perfect, taking him like that.” his fingers found your clit, rubbing firm circles over the swollen nub.

gojo groaned, his hips stilling for a moment as he savored the feel of your tight heat enveloping him. then, with a primal grunt, he began to move— long, deep strokes that dragged across your sensitive walls and made you see stars.

each thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. geto matched his rhythm, his fingers pumping your clit in time with gojo’s relentless pace. the dual stimulation pushed you closer to the edge, your orgasm building with terrifying speed.

“fuck, she’s so tight, can’t believe you let me fuck this cunt with condom on—ohh..” gojo’s words were cut off by a guttural moan as he pistoned into you, his balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. the sheer intensity of his movements stole your breath, leaving you a mindless, quivering mess beneath him.

geto smirked at gojo’s words, his ego stroked by the obvious envy in the other man’s voice. “what can i say? i like to keep the best for myself,” he replied smugly, continuing his ministrations on your clit.

gojo snorted derisively, but there was no real malice behind it. he focused his efforts on driving into you harder, faster, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your willing body.

the change in angle hit a spot deep inside you, and suddenly you were teetering on the brink, your entire world narrowing down to the exquisite friction of gojo’s cock pounding into you and geto’s fingers circling your clit.

“oh god, oh god, oh fuuuuck!”

your cries of ecstasy echoed through the room as gojo fucked you with ruthless abandon, his blue eyes blazing with unbridled lust. sweat dripped down his chiseled torso, plastering his silver hair to his forehead as he ravaged your willing body.

geto watched, transfixed, his own arousal straining against the air. the obscene sight of gojo pounding into you, combined with the intoxicating scent of sex, had him teetering on the brink of his own climax.

“yeah, take it all, angel,” gojo hissed, his tempo increasing. “love feeling you squeeze my cock so good.” he reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit after swatting geto’s hand away. pinching and rolling the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts, he coaxed your impending orgasm to the surface.

but before neither him nor you get a chance to drown in the climax, gojo abruptly stops and withdraws himself from your sucking cunt, earning a breathless whimper from you— a wordless way of yours to complain about the losing feeling.

gojo’s hands gripping your waist to position you on your side, leaving your knees before throwing one of your legs over his shoulder while he trapped the other between his thighs. gojo grab a vibrator that he abandoned to the bed earlier before kissing the material to your swollen folds. “hold it, baby,” he said. you obey without a second thought, gazing up to meet your boyfriend’s eyes— realizing you’re on eye level with his hardened cock. geto smirk the moment he gazes down to you, a halo of smoke dancing around the air.

geto smirked down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief as he took in the lewd picture you made. “looks like someone’s eager for a taste,” he teased, his hand coming to rest possessively on the back of your head after he crushed the joint to the ashtray.

gojo just grinned wickedly, positioning the buzzing toy against your entrance. “be a good girl and suck him off while i make you cum,” he instructed, his voice rough with desire.

with that, with a flick of his wrist, he turned on the vibrator, the buzzing motor sending electric shocks straight to your core. gojo pressed it firmly against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. your back arched, a high pitched whine escaping your lips as the device probed your sensitive flesh, stimulating you. your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction, even as you leaned forward to take geto’s throbbing length into your mouth. geto groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you to take him deeper.

moaning wantonly around geto’s thick shaft, you surrendered yourself fully to the overwhelming sensations assaulting your senses. the vibrations from the toy against your aching clit had your toes curling, your thighs trembling with the force of your impending release.

gojo watched hungrily as you sucked his friend off, his free hand stroking his own impressive erection. the sight of you, so wanton and debauched, only served to stoke his own arousal higher. “that’s it, angel,” he praised, his voice strained. “take him deep, just like that. fuck, you look so hot with his cock down your throat.”

his filthy words spurred you on, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking geto as far as you could manage. gojo’s hands finding your thigh, hold it firmly to his chest before his one hand guiding his cock to your pucker hole. his glisten tips kissing your anal sex for a moment before gently pushing into the tighten hole making you squeal in pain and pleasure.

geto’s grip on your hair tightened as he thrust deeper, his hips rocking in time with the vibrations of the toy against your clit. “mmm, just like that, baby,“ he groaned, his thighs flexing against your face. “gonna fill your throat with my cum soon.”

at the same moment, gojo slowly pushed past your initial resistance, the broad head of his cock spreading your anal ring wide. a sharp gasp escaped you as he sank in, inch by delicious inch, until he was buried to the hilt in your tight heat.

“fuck, you’re so tight back here,” he breathed, his hands roaming your sides and back, pulling you flush against him. “loving how you stretch around me.”

geto felt your throat constrict around him as you struggled to accommodate both cocks, and it only heightened his pleasure. once fully seated, both men started to move— gojo setting a deep, grinding pace while geto fucked your face with shallow thrusts. they quickly fell into a rhythm, sandwiching you between their hard bodies.

overwhelmed by sensation, you surrendered completely to the dual penetration, your body responding instinctively to the relentless stimulation. the toy continued its merciless assault on your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

gojo’s hands gripped your thigh bruisingly as he slammed into yo, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. “fuck, fuck, fuckkk,” he grunted, his rhythm faltering slightly. “gonna fill this tight little ass up.” you are laying on your side uncomfortably with your head slightly in the air on geto’s thighs while gojo still hold your leg against his chest, resting about the blade of his shoulder.

geto’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place “good, good, fucking good girl. always warm and wet for me,” he panted, his hips snapping forward roughly. your muffled moans grew louder, more desperate, as the coil within you wound tighter and tighter. gojo’s grip on your thigh firm and desperate, almost bruise.

“mmm,” you groan, voice muffled by geto’s cock. the vibration sends geto spiraling, throwing his head back to the headboard just a heartbeat before gritting through his teeth along with him tighten his fist on your hair.

“come on, angel,” gojo growled, his hips pistoning frantically now. “i know you're close. come for us. let go.”

geto grabbed the toy from your hand, pressing it right up against your swollen nub. “you heard him, sweetheart. cum for us like a good girl,” he hums, tugging your head down to take him whole and his tip kissing your throat.

he flicked the toy up to max power, the intense vibrations ripping a scream from your throat. gojo redoubled his efforts, slamming into you so hard the headboard shook. that devilish, wicked smile found its way to gojo’s face once again. “good, good, baby, feels good yeah?” he chuckle when your body trembling beneath him.

unable to form coherent thoughts, you simply existed in a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure. every nerve ending was alight, singing with ecstasy as gojo and geto worked you over relentlessly.

the toy’s brutal vibrations shattered what remained of your control, sending you hurtling towards oblivion. your inner walls clenched around gojo’s pistoning cock, rippling and milking him as your orgasm crashed over you in waves.

“cum.. gonna cum,” you wailed, your vision blurring at the edges as you came undone. your pussy spasmed, gushing around gojo’s cock as he drove into you. hearing your desperate wailing, geto pressed the toy harder which tears a fluid from your cunt, wetting the bed. “i—oh god, fuckkkk.”

gojo’s eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as he felt your pussy clench around him. you quaked and thrashed beneath them, gojo held himself still, buried to the hilt in your clenching heat. geto didn’t relent either, keeping the vibrator humming away at your oversensitive clit, making sure to prolong your exquisite torment. they wanted to draw out your pleasure, making sure to prolong your exquisite torment. savoring the exquisite feeling of your body writhing helplessly around them.

gojo’s rhythm falters for a brief moment, allowing you to catch your breath, then he resumes his relentless pounding, each thrust hitting a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. “fuck yes, just like that,” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

geto watched intently as you squirred, a low, appreciative whistle escaping him. “damn, look at her drench the sheets,” he murmured, turning the toy up another notch. the additional stimulation sent you careening towards another peak, your body trembling and twitching uncontrollably.

gojo’s eyes rolled back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he felt your cunt clench around him, milking his cock for all it was worth. “fuck, fuck, angel! good girl, such a good fu-fucking girl,” he roared, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own peak.

geto’s grip on your hair tightened painfully, his hips jerking against your face as he fought to hold back his own release. “not yet, not without her...” he hissed through clenched teeth, his cock pulsing in your mouth.

the toy never ceased its merciless assault, keeping you teetering on the brink of another orgasm even as you were still riding out the aftershocks of the last one. gojo and geto seemed determined to wring every drop of pleasure from you, to leave you a quivering, spent mess in their wake.

your body trembled violently, your mind hazy with lust and exhaustion. the relentless stimulation had reduced you to a babbling, incoherent mess, your pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

“please…” you whimpered, unsure if you were begging for release or for them to stop. your body was no longer your own, every nerve ending raw and exposed, sensitive to the slightest touch.

gojo’s thrusts became more erratic, his grip on your hips bruising as he chased his own pleasure. “almost there, angel... gonna fill this sweet ass up.” his words were punctuated by harsh grunts and groans, his rhythm faltering as he neared his peak.

geto’s fingers dug into your scalp, holding you in place as he fucked your face with abandon. “that’s it, baby, take it all,” lost in a sea of overwhelming sensations, you could only surrender to the relentless onslaught of pleasure. your body moved independently of your mind, arching and writhing as gojo and geto took you apart piece by piece.

gojo’s cock hammered into you, each thrust driving you further up the bed. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your high-pitched keens and geto’s low, encouraging groans. you could feel gojo swelling inside you, his rhythm growing more erratic as he neared his end.

geto’s fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he fucked your face with short, sharp jabs. the toy buzzed furiously against your clit, pushing you inexorably towards another shattering climax.

with a guttural roar, gojo plunged deep, his cock throbbing and jerking as he spilled his hot seed directly into your clenching depths. his hips bucked wildly, grinding against yours as he rode out his intense orgasm, filling you to the brim with his thick, potent cum.

geto groaned long and low, his grip on your hair and scalp flexing with the force of his impending release. he rammed his cock into your mouth one final time, his tip hitting the back of your throat as he erupted with a strangled cry. his cum flooded your mouth, coating your tongue and the roof of your mouth as he pumped spurt after spurt of his release down your eager throat.

the vibrator finally stopped, leaving you limp and trembling in the aftermath of the intense, prolonged pleasure. your entire body shuddered violently as gojo’s hot cum painted your insides, triggering yet another bone-shaking orgasm. your pussy clamped down around him, greedily milking every last drop as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

geto’s release hit you like a tidal wave, his salty essence flooding your mouth and threatening to choke you. you swallowed convulsively, trying to keep up with the deluge as he emptied himself down your throat.

when it was finally over, you lay onto the bed, utterly spent and boneless. your limbs felt heavy, your muscles lax and unresponsive. you lay there gasping for air, your chest heaving as you tried to regain some semblance of coherency.

gojo slipped free of your abused hole with a wet pop, his softening cock glistening with the combined evidence of your coupling. he freed your other leg under his only for him to roll you on your back and push your knees to your chest just so he can take a better look at your abused anal, clenches and unclenches with his thick cum.

geto pulled out of your mouth with a wet slurp, his softening cock slipping free from between your parted lips. he licked your lips, tasting the salt of his release mixed with your saliva. a satisfied smirk played on his features as he admired the sight of you laid out before him, cum leaking from your well-fucked holes and staining the sheets beneath you. “god, baby,” he whisper breathlessly.

between gasping for air, gojo chuckle in satisfaction, admire his handiwork— your stretched, cum-filled holes. he pushed his long, slender two fingers into your ass, watching it disappear into the slick, creamy mess he’d created. “look at you, so full and messy,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction.

he pulled his finger free, before spreading your legs open once again to stuffed the cum into your swollen cunt. and the man hum in amusement and satisfied, the combination of your juices and his own cum. the picture made him groan, “fuckkk,” he whisper as he watch your cunt clenched around the cum. he lift his head to look at your flustered face, seeing geto’s cum paint your lips, looked up at you with hungry eyes.

geto wiped the remnants of his release from your lips with his thumb, smearing the pearle scent fluid across your cheek in a perverse marking of possession. he leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “such a good girl, taking everything we gave you.”

geto chuckled to himself, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watched you squirm beneath gojo's touch. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. when he finally pulled back, his gaze was heavy-lidded with desire.

“mm, you look so pretty like this,” he purred, trailing his fingers along your jawline, “all marked up and messy with our cum.”

gojo hummed in agreement, his fingers still busy playing with the mixture of fluids leaking from your holes. “mmm, i think our little angel deserves a reward for being such a perfect slut for us, don’t you agree, suguru?”

he pressed two fingers into your swollen, sensitive cunt, stirring up the cum already inside you. your walls fluttered weakly around the intrusion, too tired to do much else but clench feebly.

gojo grinned wickedly, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he withdrew his fingers from your cum-filled cunt. “oh, i have an idea,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise.

he glanced over at geto, “why don’t you come over here and help me clean up our little angel?” geto raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face as he caught on to gojo’s suggestion. “with pleasure,” he drawled, sauntering over to join the white-haired man.

together, they knelt between your spread thighs, their faces mere inches from your abused, dripping sex. gojo reached out, spreading your folds wide, exposing your tender flesh to their hungry gazes.

“look how messy she is,” gojo said, his tone teasing and approving. “so much of our cum leaking out of her poor, stretched holes. it’s almost a shame to clean her up...”

geto hummed in agreement, leaning in closer to inspect the mixture of fluids coating your inner thighs. “such a beautiful mess,” he murmured appreciatively. he turned his attention to your cum-soaked cunt, watching as it twitched and clenched around nothing. “so needy,” he purred, tracing a finger through the wetness pooling around your entrance.

his finger dipped lower, finding your tight asshole and circling the puckered flesh teasingly. “and so full,” he added with a chuckle, giving the sensitive ring a gentle squeeze.

your breath hitched as geto’s finger circled your asshole, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your oversensitive body. your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just happened— the brutal fucking, the overwhelming orgasms, the sheer depravity of it all.

but even as your brain tried to make sense of it, your body betrayed you, responding eagerly to the touch. your asshole clenched reflexively around geto's probing finger, a soft whimper escaping your lips. gojo noticed your reaction, a knowing glint in his eye. “see, suguru?” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “our little angel loves having her ass played with.”

geto’s gaze flicked to your face, then back to where his finger was working its magic on your most intimate hole. your entire body tensed as both men settled between your thighs, their heated gazes fixed on your most intimate places. you could feel the cool air of the room caressing your overheated skin, making you shiver despite the lingering heat coursing through your veins.

gojo’s fingers parted your swollen lips, baring your aching core to their view. you whimpered softly as he exposed you further, feeling vulnerable and yet excited by their intense focus on your body.

geto’s teasing touches sent jolts of sensation zinging through you making your hips twitch involuntarily. you moaned breathlessly as he circled your clit, the bundle of nerves still overly sensitive from the intense orgasms they’d wrung from you.

“please... too sensitive,” you gasped out, not even sure what you were wanting anymore. more? less? something in between?

gojo tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “now, now, little one. we can’t leave you all messy like this,” he scolded playfully, his fingers still holding your folds open. “don’t you want to be nice and clean for us?”

geto chuckled darkly, his finger still teasing circles around your clit for a second before finding your puckering hole once again. “mmm, yes, we wouldn’t want my precious angel to be uncomfortable, would we?” his tone was laced with false concern, belying the hunger in his eyes.

geto now seemed intent on pushing past your limits. his finger probed deeper into your ass, stretching the tight muscle incrementally. you bit back a cry, your body instinctively trying to resist the foreign intrusion. “shh, relax,” geto coaxed, his tone soothing despite the boldness of his actions. “let me in and be a good girl.”

as if to emphasize his point, he pressed harder, his finger sliding deeper into your ass until he bottomed out. a strangled moan tore from your throat at the sudden fullness, your inner walls clamping down reflexively around the invading digit.

your body trembled as geto pushed deeper into your ass, the intrusion stretching you wider than you thought possible. you cried out, the sound echoing in the quiet room, your body arching off the bed as another wave of pleasure-pain coursed through you.

your muscles spasmed around geto's finger, gripping him tightly as he continued to push deeper. the sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, the burn of discomfort mingling with the sweet ache of pleasure. you felt yourself teetering on the edge of pain, the line blurring as your body adjusted to the new sensations.

you couldn't help but buck your hips, desperate for some sort of friction. your cunt throbbed, empty and neglected, the need for release gnawing at you. “don’t...” you weakly attempt to stop geto making your boyfriend chuckle in mockery.

gojo smirked at your feeble protest, clearly amused by your predicament. “aww, does my little slut want more?” he teased, pressing his fingers deeper into your abused slit. your cunt clenched greedily around the digits, still craving more despite the copious amounts of cum already filling you.

geto hummed thoughtfully as he began to move his finger in and out of your ass, slowly building up a rhythm. each thrust sent sparks of sensation shooting through you, your body quivering under the onslaught.

“you’re doing so well, taking me so deep,” geto praised, his voice low and gravelly with arousal. “i bet you’d let me put my cock in here, wouldn’t you, baby? stretch this tight little hole even wider...”

your body shook violently as geto’s words washed over you, the dark fantasy he painted igniting a fire within you. the thought of taking his thick cock in your ass, of being split open and filled to capacity, made your head spin with desire once again.

“no, no, baby don’t,” you whimpered, aside from your whimper, you are unable to deny the truth in his statement. your resolve crumbled under the relentless assault on your senses, leaving you a quivering, malleable thing, eager to submit to whatever twisted desires they might have.

geto’s finger pumped steadily into your ass, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur and your toes curl. your pussy gushed around gojo’s fingers, the slick fluid easing the way as he worked two digits into your cunt now, scissoring them apart to stretch you wider.

gojo’s eyes gleamed with triumph as he watched your body respond so eagerly to their ministrations. he curled his fingers inside your cunt, rubbing against that special spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, take it,” he growled, his voice rough with lust, “take our fingers like the desperate little whore you are.“

geto, emboldened by your lack of resistance, added a second finger to your ass, stretching you even wider. the dual penetration had you seeing white, your body convulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm.

“so close already?” geto taunted, pumping his fingers faster. “come on, angel. give us another one. show us how badly you need it.”

your body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release. the dual stimulation of gojo’s fingers in your cunt and geto’s in your ass was almost too much to bear, pushing you higher and higher towards that elusive peak.

“mmm, cum, wanna cum!” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as you bucked wildly against their hands. your hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of the mind-numbing pleasure that only they could provide.

you could feel your orgasm building, the pressure mounting deep inside you until it finally exploded outward in a blinding rush of ecstasy. your body convulsed violently, your inner walls clamping down hard on the fingers still buried inside you as you came harder than you had earlier.

gojo and geto watched intently as your climax overtook you, their faces alight with smug satisfaction. they didn’t relent, continuing to stroke your throbbing sex and plunder your stretched holes throughout the duration of your orgasm.

“that’s it, milk our fingers,” gojo purred, his voice dripping with sensual approval. “such a good girl, coming so hard for us.”

geto’s expression was darker, his eyes burning with possessive hunger as he felt your insides ripple around his fingers. “fuck, look at her,” he groaned, pumping his digits faster, “so beautiful when she’s lost in pleasure.”

as the aftershocks faded, they slowly withdrew their fingers, leaving you limp and trembling in their wake. your entire body felt boneless, completely spent from the intense orgasms they had wrung from you. you lay there panting, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin flushed and damp with perspiration.

you could feel their gazes raking over your naked form, drinking in the sight of you sprawled out so wantonly before them. it made you shiver, knowing how thoroughly they had debauched you, reduced you to nothing more than a puddle of sated flesh and needy nerves.

geto’s eyes soften along with his smile. your eyes meet his, interlink with the trembling of your body and crushed cherry on your cheeks, making you as beautiful as ever. he leans down to kiss your forehead. “good girl, such a good girl,” he whisper. “are you tired?” he asked after, the tone of his voice coating with gentleness and tenderness.

“you did...great, doll,” gojo purred, a satisfied grin on his face as he watched you catch your breath.

you could still feel the effects of their combined attention settling in your bones, sending shivers down your spine. the way their eyes lingered on you, taking in every detail of your form, made your heart race, their gaze almost a physical touch on your skin, igniting goosebumps in its wake.

geto’s reassuring words and the gentle kiss on your forehead only heightened this feeling of exposure, vulnerability, and a soft exhaustion that coated everything in a hazy, pleasurable buzz.

a soft, breathy laugh escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze as he spoke, his voice gentle and understanding. “a wreck,” you whispered, your voice a soft murmur, “this was...a lot, even for me,” you added, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

you reached out, your fingers lightly tracing a path along his cheek, your eyes meeting his. “but,”you continued, your tone slightly playful, “i’m happy.” your attention fully on your boyfriend, leaving gojo on the side, making the man roll his eyes in annoyance. how dare you ignore him after he give you the pleasure.

“oh, so it's like that, huh?” gojo teased, his tone a mix of feigned hurt and playful jealousy. as he observed the intimate moment between you and geto, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. he had just given you such pleasure, and now you were focused on his best friend, leaving him out of the moment. the thought sparked a small spark of anger in him, making him want to regain your attention. as you turned your attention back to him, he felt a twinge of victory, but his ego still craved more.

“well, doll, looks like i managed to wear you out,” he joked, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. as his fingers traced lightly along your neck, his touch carrying a soft threat, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of dominance. it was a subtle challenge, a reminder of the power he held over you. he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “but if you still have energy left, i promise i’ll make sure to keep you up all night.”

geto rolled his eyes, an exasperated smirk crossing his face as he slapped gojo’s hand away from your skin, a touch of protectiveness flashing in his eyes. “that’s enough for tonight,” he muttered, his voice firm but calm, his gaze flickering over your tired form. “she’s exhausted, satoru, don’t push it.”

with a dismissive shake of his head, he reached over, grabbing a pillow and carefully placing it at the foot of the bed, ensuring the sheets stayed clean. he pulled you close, guiding your naked, worn-out, marked body against his own, his arms wrapping around you in a secure embrace. his warmth and steady heartbeat offered a sense of comfort, a grounding contrast to gojo’s relentless energy.

as you nestled against geto, he gently ran his hand through your hair, a silent reassurance that he had you, that you could finally rest. his fingers traced lightly over the marks on your skin, a faint hint of pride in his gaze, as if each mark was a testament to the moments you’d shared.

gojo frowned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as geto’s voice cut through the air. he watched silently as geto intervened, a soft, but stern command, dismissing gojo’s antics as he wrapped you up in a warm, protective embrace.

his gaze softened, though, his expression filled with a mix of annoyance and amusement. after all, he knew he wasn’t always easy to handle, and he respected geto’s restraint, even if it meant ending their game for the night. he let out a soft, playful chuckle, trying to conceal his disappointment.

despite the flicker of annoyance still lingering in his eyes, gojo couldn’t deny the unspoken boundary that geto had set. he knew well enough that you were geto’s girlfriend, not his, and despite the twisted game you three played, there was always a line he couldn’t cross. so, with a sigh of playful defeat, he grabbed another pillow, placing it beside you as he slid down onto the mattress.

he wrapped his arm around your waist, settling close as he pulled the thin sheet over the three of you, blanketing the room in a soft, cozy warmth. his head rested gently against your bare back, a comforting weight, even as he tried to mask his earlier disappointment with a low, lazy chuckle.

as he lay there, a subtle dampness on the sheet caught his attention—a trace of everything the night had held. instead of moving away, he stayed close, almost comforted by it. for him, that small reminder was proof of the intimacy you’d shared, of a connection deeper than any fleeting frustration.

“rest now, baby,” he whispered, kissing your back without moving his head.

he let his fingers idly toy with a strand of your hair, his eyes fixed on a distant point in the room, his mood still a bit tense. there was a quiet, contemplative silence between the two of you, a subtle tension still lingering in the air. despite this, he didn’t move away, his arm remaining wrapped around your form, a slight smile tugging at his lips as his attention turned back to you.

“hey,” his voice was a gentle murmur, teasing yet affectionate. “next time, i call dibs.”

geto let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he reached over and smacked gojo on the back of the head—a light but firm reminder. “if you want to call dibs, go get your own girlfriend,” he muttered, his tone laced with playful irritation.

gojo chuckled, rubbing the spot where geto’s hand landed, feigning a hurt expression before leaning back against the headboard. “aww, come on, suguru, don’t be so stingy,” he teased, flashing a mischievous grin. despite his joking demeanor, he settled into the quiet, enjoying the familiar banter as he kept an arm around you, savoring the warmth of the moment.

geto just shook his head, smirking slightly as he held you close, a silent reminder to gojo that some things were his alone. gojo scowled, rubbing the back of his head where geto had smacked him, a pout on his lips as he responded with a huff. “you know i don’t do relationships like that,” he complained, his voice teasing and lighthearted.

gojo pushed himself up a little, his scowl softening as he leaned down to press a trail of light kisses along your bare shoulder, working his way up to your cheek. you couldn’t help but giggle at the gentle, ticklish touch, a smile tugging at your lips as he finished with one last lingering kiss.

“besides...” he teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he glanced between you and geto with a smirk, a firm squeeze of your breast. a playful, teasing gesture that seemed to test the limits of his friend’s patience, although this time, geto’s exasperation seemed to be mixed with a touch of amusement. “this dollie here doesn’t seem to mind at all.”

geto sighed, rolling his eyes, though a small smirk hinted that he found the moment amusing. “she might not mind, but don’t push it,” he warned, his tone light as he pulled you a bit closer, almost as if staking his claim.

gojo chuckled, leaning in to steal another kiss from your lips before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eyes. he looked over at geto, a playful smirk on his face, and teased with a cocky, “oh yeah?” his tone almost challenging.

geto shot him a pointed look, a mix of warning and annoyance in his gaze, but there was no real irritation there. instead, a subtle amusement hinted at the corners of his lips. he seemed to enjoy this playful back-and-forth between you three, even if he occasionally had to keep gojo in check.

gojo leaned back, his smirk never leaving his face. he knew he was treading a fine line between playful teasing and overstepping, but he couldn’t help himself. he thrived off the thrill of testing geto's limits, pushing just far enough to keep things interesting. the chemistry between you three was undeniable, each of you feeding off the other’s energy in a way that was intoxicating.

geto’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly, a silent reminder that he wasn’t going to be pushed around—his quiet way of asserting his place in this complicated relationship.

as gojo settled back against the wooden board of the bed feet, his gaze shifted from geto to yourself, an amused spark still dancing in his eyes as he glanced at you. “what about you, doll,” he asked, his tone casual, yet laced with curiosity. “have we worn you out, or are you up for a few more rounds today?”

geto rolled his eyes, his arm wrapping possessively around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “don’t even think about it, satoru,” he warned, his voice firm but lacking any genuine anger.

you nestled yourself deeper into geto’s embrace, letting his warmth soothe you as you closed your eyes. a soft, contented sigh escaped your lips, your head resting comfortably against his chest. “mmm… tired,” you mumbled sleepily, barely managing the words as a gentle smile played on your lips.

gojo let out a quiet, amused chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back, though you could feel his gaze still lingering on you. “guess that’s a ‘no’ for me, then,” he teased softly, his tone lighthearted, but there was a fondness in his voice that made you smile.

geto’s fingers gently traced comforting patterns along your back, his touch soothing as he murmured, “just rest, sweetheart.” his voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that only came out in quiet moments like this, and with that, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing lulled you further into peace, making the room fade into a warm, sleepy haze.

geto pressed a gentle kiss into your hair, the sound of his heartbeat beneath you steady and soothing. gojo's playful energy had been replaced by a contented silence, and even he seemed to settle into this peaceful moment, his eyes fixated on your figure.

an almost drowsy haze filled the room, the three in the bed creating a calm bubble within the surrounding silence. it almost felt like the whole world had paused, the moment frozen in a quiet, intimate tableau.

gojo, meanwhile, watched the two of you with a hint of longing. he was playful and often enjoyed being the center of attention, so seeing you resting so contentedly in geto’s arms stirred a slight pang of disappointment within him. he crossed his arms, letting out a soft sigh, almost sulking for a moment as he processed the sight of you so peacefully held by geto. finally, with a resigned sigh, gojo shifted back onto the bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his head gently on your back. he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder, surrendering to the quiet intimacy of the moment.

as you nestled into geto’s arms, feeling his gentle kiss pressed into your hair and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth between you two was comforting and secure. geto, your boyfriend, held you protectively, his quiet strength radiating through his embrace. his presence was reassuring, providing a calmness that made it easy for you to relax.

“fine… let’s just sleep,” he murmured, a trace of a smile on his lips as he settled down, feeling content with the closeness of simply being beside you both. even though geto was your boyfriend, gojo had carved his place in these cherished moments, creating a warm, close bond between the three of you, built on trust, care, and shared affection.

as gojo settled behind you, his arm gently draped around your waist, a sense of warmth and closeness enveloped you. geto’s steady heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his chest provided a comforting embrace, a reminder of the love and security you had found in him.

gojo’s soft, warm breath tickled the nape of your neck, lulling you into a deep, restful sleep. the gentle touch of his lips against your shoulder created a small, contented smile on your face as you surrendered to the peaceful haze of sleep, feeling loved and cherished by the two men beside you.

#suki☆#gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #gojo smut #anime smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satosugu smut #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo x y/n #geto x y/n #gojo satoru #geto suguru #f!reader

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undyingdecay · 1 month ago

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being overstimulated by someone with super strength must be otherworldly

the thing about bob is—he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing most of the time.

it starts innocent enough. a quiet night in. you’re curled up with him on the couch, an old movie playing you’re barely watching. his hair smells like your shampoo, still damp from a shared shower, and he’s got that sleepy weight to him—slow blinks, heavy limbs, shirt riding up to expose the soft skin of his stomach. you’re half-listening to the movie when you feel it: his hand sliding under your waistband. no urgency, no teasing. just warm, calloused fingers pressing against your folds like he belongs there.

you open your mouth to say something, but then he shifts—nuzzling in. his face presses into your chest, cheek squishing against the softness of your breast like he’s found the safest place in the world. and then his mouth opens. his lips latch around your nipple like it’s second nature, and he sucks.

not rough, not greedy. gentle. rhythmic. like breathing. his tongue flicks lazily over your skin, slow circles that make your spine arch and your breath hitch.

it’s not even sexual to him. not at first. you can feel it in his body, the way he sighs, the way he melts into you like he’s settling down. comforted. grounded.

you glance down and catch sight of him—brunette curls tucked beneath your chin, those big baby cheeks warm and flushed, lashes soft against his cheekbones. his hand still between your legs, palm cupping your pussy like it’s his right, like he doesn’t even think about needing permission. he’s not rubbing, not moving. just holding.

you shift, just a little, and feel the wetness between your thighs. sticky. messy. and his fingers are soaked. glazed in your arousal like he’s been touching you for hours.

because he has been.

the clock on the wall tells you it’s been nearly sixty minutes. sixty minutes of his warm mouth on your tit, his fingers nestled between your lips like he’s marking you, like he’s staked out the most sacred part of you and decided to stay.

“bob…” you murmur.

he makes a low sound, like a puppy dreaming, and tightens his arm around you. his strength makes your breath hitch—his grip is always just a little too much. he doesn’t mean to do it. you know that. but even when he’s soft, he’s still him. still a weapon trying to learn how not to shatter everything he loves.

“bob,” you try again, gentler this time.

he hums. and then—without lifting his head, without even looking—he shifts his fingers just slightly, dipping them through your slick, smearing it across your clit in a lazy, absentminded circle.

you flinch.

his tongue sucks gently at your nipple again, and it makes your cunt clench. you’re still so sensitive, nerves frayed from the constant touch, from how long he’s kept you simmering without letting you fall apart.

“you’re soaked,” he murmurs against your skin. his voice is sleepy. slurred, but there's a faint laugh like you can hear the smile in his voice—like he’s in a trance.

and how could you stop him?

his mouth is warm and wet and suckling so slow it borders on worship. his fingers—those long, scarred, too-strong fingers—cradle your pussy with such gentleness it makes your heart ache.

but you’re overstimulated. raw and twitching. every time he breathes, you feel it. every time his thumb twitches, your thighs tremble. you don’t even remember coming—just that you have. at least twice. maybe three times. he never asked. never looked down. just kept holding you like you’re his anchor, his home, his grounding wire.

#.ᐟ.ᐟ #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfic #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #marvel #thunderbolts #⤷ robert reynolds #new avengers

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shahedmoatasem-gaza · 2 months ago

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Hello, I'm Shahd from Gaza.

I was born in 2006.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #608 )✅️

I got married a year before the war.

My husband, my daughter, my mother-in-law, and my uncle and I lived in a house before it was bombed.

We were happy until the war broke out.

The war on Gaza began on October 7, 2023.

Here, hell began for us in Gaza. We lost our home and became homeless. My husband had nothing, and I had nothing.

My husband, his family, and I were displaced to the southern Gaza Strip for 15 months. I didn't go with her. Those were months of longing for my mother and brothers who were in northern Gaza.

My brothers Ahmed and Abdullah remained in the northern Gaza Strip. We were displaced several times because I live in Rafah, a border area close to the army.

During our displacement, we left the house and ran down the road to escape the shells and planes. Then came the thunderbolt. The shock was that death was faster than my brothers could escape... Here, here, we lost our loved ones. I lost my brothers, the apple of my eye, Ahmed. Ahmed left no children. And my mother is in pain because they departed to God without saying goodbye, without a kiss on their foreheads, a farewell kiss. After a while, we returned home. The house was severely damaged by demolition and the falling of stones from their places, which sheltered and protected us. Now, nothing protects us except some worn-out candles that do not protect us from the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Our suffering is great, but with your help, we may reach a better and more dignified life. I appeal to you to help me support myself, my mother, my loved ones, and my family. What you provide makes a difference in our lives as individuals. We live in a world that has forgotten the meaning of humanity and giving. May God bless you all. Please help me help my family. Anything you provide, even if it is small, will mean a lot to me. Please donate to me.

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random-cockroach · 1 month ago

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I never created the world, I just gave it inquisitiveness. I never wanted to be something big, I just wanted to be a part of something. And sometimes it felt like the world itself got as curious about me as I was about it. It started creating new plants, ground started taking new bizarre shapes, new creatures, flying or walking. I had the notion about everything, but never knew where from the knowledge comes. Yet it never felt fulfilling, world felt like it's not what it's associate needs. I never knew what I needed, I just had the subtle feeling of something. I was searching in the very origin of everything. Everything had thin lines of life, each with its own. Crystals were the greatest concentrations of life. It was a good place if crystals were growing here, it was soothing, it was warmer. He was full of life and warmth. He was radiating persistence of the oldest crags yet was warmer than any presence from crystals. How could I know if I'm the same? He was different, we have been the same in our nature but his path was always sturdier, broader, it never was cold in his shadow, he never let me walk in his shadow, I was walking with him facing the light. I never had the need to speak, there was no one to speak to, and I didn't notice how we started communicating through ideas, little scrubs of voices and gestures until it became our own voice and language. It felt like the world finally started taking the shape I could be part of, and Prima was next to me to make it's formation. He had the name. He looked at me with his apatite optics with expectation, but I had nothing to tell him. We looked at forming canyon. "Reminds me of you. Platforms little by little making new paths, craving new patterns." Small crystals grew on the rocks and the water hit them with a slight ringing sound. Prima smiled and looked at me. "Rung." Oh how he smiled, does the warm of his spark even has borders. Rung wouldn't exchange his name on anything. He is Rung. He wasn't lonely no more. He was Prima's. Prima was his. He never wanted to be something big, but he became a part of something tremendous, because Prima was as big as the world. And Rung was his world, where he was as free as cyberbirds but never planned to fly away from Rung, not without him. That's how the nature of this place must be. Every mech must be a part with someone, not one should be alone, never. Living without warmth beside, without a look of understanding, without light soothing touch is what feels insufficient. To be whole no one ever should feel alone. Prima couldn't see the markings of life. His spark even if was beating as strong as the core itself, wasn't as strong as Rung's. He wasn't here for forever. Rung didn't want forever without him. Rung never created something with his own hands, not something new, he loved the making of his shared inquisitiveness and was basing everything from it. Everything still was his creation but he loved to feel like he accomplished in their independency, not became their sole creator, looked over them but not intervened in their growth. He created only one thing with his own hands, not based on anything but his own life and world's life - matrix, to share forever with who he loved more than anything.

#tf mimics au #cockroachdoodles #best possible way to die #rung #prima

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months ago

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DCxDP idea: The old switcheroo

Based on this ask that got me thinking.

It's not well-known that Mary and John Grayson had identical twins. The reason is that Haly Circus had a strict rule about babies traveling with them. There could only be one at a time.

Jack Haly tried his best, but it had been a long-standing rule of the circus back when his grandfather first started the business, and since he enforced it onto everyone else, he couldn't make exceptions for the Flying Graysons even if the second boy wasn't planned.

There were a lot of reasons for this rule. The first was traveling, which was dangerous for the little ones: illness and unsafe equipment. The second reason they encountered more delays whenever they crossed borders was because people were suspicious of multiple children being moved about.

The last was that Fedrick Haly thought children were a distraction and would not stand for his performers to not be entirely focused on their acts. So the rule went up, and anyone displeased with it was welcome to leave. He later allowed for more than one child as long as the first born had was at least ten years old before the second born was on its way.

The problem was that while a few people did leave, most had been born and raised in Haly's circus and couldn't imagine a world where they weren't part of it. Mary and John were in the second category, so they made a hard choice.

They gave up one of the twins to a lovely couple, Madeline and Jack Fenton, and tried not to think about him. They went as far as to leave themselves off of the boy's birth certification. This was a viewpoint the son they did keep, Dick, did not share.

The minute the circus Strong Man let it slip that he had a brother, Dick had tried tracking him down. He found an ally in Jack Haly himself, who had always hated his grandfather's rule and took him on an "educational" trip to America.

The Graysons didn't suspect anything, and the Fentons were also left in the dark because Jack H. was worried they would try to cause trouble among his people if they found out about Dick.

Danny Fenton, Dick's twin, swore to never tell anyone a thing. In his eyes, he saw it as tearing Dick's life apart when it was their parents who made the choice to get rid of him. He didn't even tell his sister or his best friends. He liked to think that one day, when they were older, the brothers would be able to be seen in public.

In the meantime, they shared secret letters as pen pals and would call each other once a month with the help of Haly. It wasn't much, but they built an unbreakable bond.

Then, the Graysons were killed when they were nine. Dick vanished from the face of the earth for a few months. They lost communication until Dick appeared in Danny's life again one year later. It couldn't have come at a better time because Danny, who was used to Dick not responding without months-long gaps in between, was getting angsty that he hadn't heard from his brother.

Apparently, he was taken in by a billionaire who felt a kinship with him, as someone who also watched their parents die. Dick begs Danny to keep their connection a secret for a bit longer because if Bruce knew he had family, he would ship him off to the Fentons, and Dick would never bring their parent's killer to justice.

But he kept their connection a secret anyway so his brother would not lose a second family. Despite what Dick believed, Danny knew that Bruce Wayne actually saw him as a son and that Dick slowly, over the years, thought of him as a father. Dick would later tell him that Bruce was Batman and he was Robin.

Danny didn't have the heart to tell him that he couldn't care less about Mary and John Grayson. He didn't even care that they were dead past the pain it caused his brother. After all, to Danny, they chose a career over him.

They were nothing but a tragic tale. Strangers in every sense of the world. He never even met them.

Both knew that Gotham needed the dynamic duo, so they kept their mouths shut. Danny later realized how important that was when he was turned into Phantom. He too had a city that needed protection.

One day Dick came to him with a proposal.

"We look exactly alike. Down to the mole on our left butt cheeks! No one would know if we switch places." Dick told him excitablely.

"I don't know Dick. I'm not exactly the best actor in the world." Danny started a little hesitant, but he eventually agreed because Dick worded it as a favor he needed desperately.

Danny would do anything for his twin. So he jumps on a plane and flies to Gotham, slipping into Dick's life quickly. He was trained to know people's names, faces, and even his school schedule, which were a part of Dick's life. There were only two things he wasn't prepared for.

Robin's training and the fact that the twins had very different personalities.

On Danny's first night out as Robin, he fell back on his powers to fight crime. He was lucky that Bruce had left Dick on his own for a month now, after years of arguing, and wasn't present to see Robin blast criminals with green rays. He was smart enough to stick to the shadows when people clearly out of his league were up to something- plus, fighting the bigger threats would expose his identity.

When they met up on a roof, Bruce turned to him with a commanding aura that had Danny standing up straighter.

"Robin, report," Bruce, in his Batman outfit, bit out.

After years of giving his parents oral lab reports, he quickly rattled off, "There were four mugging by the east docks, two break-ins at Old Gotham, and a suspected sighting of Joker at-"

Batman slaps him across the face, cutting Danny off. He gasps, clutching his face. "Ow! What the hell!?"

"You were being hysterical. Not once did you crack a joke or insult me. I think the Joker slipped you something." Bruce tells him seriously, tapping his communicator to let Agent A know they needed medical aid as soon as they arrived at the cave.

"What?" Danny demands

"Oh no. You didn't throw a flying kick at my crutch for that. It's worse than I thought. I'm going to have to sedate you." Danny doesn't have time to dodge or go intangible before Bruce leaps at him with a needle.

The following day, he was informed he would not be out on the field until whatever was in his system was cleaned out. The tests picked up his ectoplasm- but Bruce wasn't aware of what it was. Danny is ecstatic about it, getting comfortable in the house of old money and enjoying the world's finest had to offer.

Bruce was unsure why "Dick" was okay with not going out in the field when his angry determination to fight was the whole reason he became Robin. He also took him to a gala, and when he was telling him that the Robinsons had an enormous chandelier and "Dick" was not allowed to swing on it.

"Why would I want to do that?" Danny scoffs, missing the way Bruce's face paled. He was more worried about how obviously popular Dick was and all the people that were tripping over themselves to speak to him.

It was a nightmare.

In school, Dick was in all the advanced classes. Danny was a little worried until he realized without ghosts to fight and people not bullying him every second of the day (Dick was one of the popular kids!), he actually did really well. He enjoyed learning.

Gotham Academy was challenging and engaging in a way Casper High never was. He would go straight home after class, check in with Alfred or Bruce, and then just relax in one of the Wayne pools or in the video game rooms- they had the latest games and systems!

Bruce looked like he was having an aneurysm whenever Danny politely asked him about his day and thanked him for everything he did.

Thankfully, the two switched back after a week-long stay at Wayne Manor. Danny didn't think he could keep tricking Bruce or Alfred without getting caught.

"Did you enjoy your time with Bruce?" Dick asks him after they switch clothes.

"It was.....something. Your foster dad is weird." He tells him.

"Yeah? Well your dad is way too sentetive. He told me he loves me before bed and every morning at breakfast." Dick scoffs. "I still think he was on drugs."

Danny sighs "Well, at least it's over. I miss Sam and Tucker, though I am not looking forward to seeing Dash again."

"Oh, about that. You're suspended from school." Dick tells him casually. "You hit Dash Baxter with a chair after he and his little group surrounded you to shove you in a locker. Thankfully, the ugly one, Paulina, was recording everything because they liked to laugh at the videos, and you broke her hand when you stole her phone. After getting proof of self-defense, plus several other victims coming forward with the videos, the suspension is all you have. Dash is expelled."

Danny gapes at him as Dick winks. "Thanks for doing me a favor of providing the perfect window to protect my twin. Love you! Bye!"

Dick hops onto the plane before Danny can find any words. When he shows up to school, everyone jumps out of his way, eyeing him like he is one second away from telling Sam and Tucker not to come to school tomorrow.

He forgot that Dick has some.....unresolved anger issues. Every day, he is thankful the Graysons gave him away to a family that may be ghost-obsessed, but at least they knew how to process emotions.

Miles away, Bruce watches Robin launch himself with a scream of rage at a mugger and wonders if his son has developed split-personality disorder.

Years later, he tells everyone that Dick has a second personality called Danny, who occasionally slips in once and while. Everyone treats Danny as his own person, including Justice Leauge and his siblings.

Both twins forgot to come clean about each other even after they turned eighteen. They thought the Waynes figured it out because the Fentons did when Dick switched again a few months after Dash got expelled.

It was the fact Dick laughed when his meal came to life, thinking it hilarious. Jack and Maddie were more than happy to have a second son, incredibly one open to ghost research. He did argue a lot about ghost rights, but it was better than Jazz and Danny, who wanted nothing to do with it.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #dc x dp crossover #The old switcharoo #Part 1 #Danny and Dick are ideintal twins #Dick is popular and angry #Danny is dorky and chill #The Waynes and heros think Dick has a spilt personality #It's just Danny doing his twin a favor #Humor #Danny and Dick thinking the other's family is werid #Dick thinks Paulina is ugly because her insides are ugly.

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lily-bisque · 20 days ago

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toji know's how to hit you where it hurts. hurt/mild comfort. wc: 3k

A heavy, black mood settled in your living room, with you standing on one side of the couch, and Toji on the other. A wicked snarl painted his face as he leaned forward, making him nearly unrecognizable from the man you knew, the man you loved, mouth contorting as he spat venom in your direction.

He’d been coming home wasted after his shifts recently. Kicking his shoes off in the foyer, stumbling and shedding his clothing right in the kitchen, and collapsing in your shared bed without even a word to you.

Worried as you were, you’d asked him about it after the first couple of nights, but you’d only been met with mutters and huffs, asking you to lay off him.

So you did. Allowed him to process whatever it was he needed to. When it came to his occupation, he never let you in much. Never gave you the details of his missions or showed if it affected him. He liked to keep his work and personal life separate.

But now that carefully drawn border was blurring, Toji teetering on the precipice of the straining overload that was beginning to consume his every waking thought.

Even with you, he couldn’t seem to escape it.

Instead, he stopped at the bar for a drink, which turned into a couple, which turned into a concerning amount where the waitstaff kicked him out routinely from how intoxicated he was and causing a scene.

You didn’t have to know about the brutal nature of his job, he preferred it like that.

In spite of that, you began to nag and itch at him for every fucking thing. Asking too many questions for your own good, and lingering with that pitiful expression that made his skin crawl.

He could barely look at you.

And now you were cowering, fingers twitching at your side as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Saying how you couldn’t recognize him anymore.

It made him sick.

But, in truth, deep down, in the grotesque depths of his gut, twisting in shame and contrite, he couldn’t recognize himself either.

He’d wash his hands of sticky, still warm blood in some cheap motel, wringing his compression shirt of any evidence before staring at himself in the mirror for hours. He wasn’t quite sure who was staring back at him.

At some point in his wrath, he’d lost himself.

And he was beginning to lose you, too.

So why delay the inevitable?

“You stick ‘round me ‘cause I’m your new charity case,” he slurred out with malice, eyes red-rimmed as he gripped the headrest of the couch until his knuckles paled. “You pity me. I fuckin’ see it every morning when I wake up, and every night.”

You scowled, a fresh set of tears flowing down your heated cheeks. “So you’re saying all the time I’ve spent loving you was because… because–” You threw your hands into the air, chest heaving as you swallowed a thick lump akin to a rock in your throat, body rigid and shoulders tensed. “That this was all because I felt bad for you?”

Your pinched face and frigid features unlike your soft demeanor made his body run cold despite the rising heat in the room. But Toji was conscientious. He left no ends untied. He always finished what he started, even if it killed him to do so in the act.

“Or to feed that savior complex of yours. You see anything broken, you’d crawl to the depths of hell to mend it,” he asserted, eyes narrowing like slits as he gave you a once-over short of nothing offended, repulsed.

But he wasn’t done, not yet. He took a sharp inhale, hoping his knees would buckle and the world would swallow him whole before his misplaced anger spoke for him.

“Easy for your consciousness to make you forget just how screwed your life’s always been.”

The nail in the coffin.

Your body went stiff as cardboard, breath hitching as your blurry eyes went wide.

Fushiguro Toji, the sole person in your life you knew you could rely on after all of these years, used the one thing he knew to hurt you. To slide the knife deeper.

You’d always been fragile when it came to your shaky upbringing, and you’d only opened up to him when you felt vulnerable with him and knew for a fact he wouldn’t judge you for your past.

And he hadn’t. He’d held you in his arms, whispering and muttering endearments and praises of just how strong you’d been despite it all. Initially, he even felt empathy as he could relate. You were one of the few people he could relate to in that sense.

Yet somewhere along the way, his mind had become such a muddled mess of his emotions. He was no longer rational. He couldn’t see straight.

But Toji emanated no regret, no remorse, not a sliver of empathy. He just stood there, his body stock, still save for his heaving chest, a prominent, smug grin on his mouth, like he was fucking proud of himself.

Your breaths quickened, the edges of your vision darkening as a horrible sense of dread washed over you.

You needed to get out of here.

Looking back, you couldn’t remember much, how you scrambled to shove your things into a small duffel bag and the loud sobs that left your lips as you did so.

You didn’t remember to grab your toothbrush or any underwear.

Didn’t grab a single photo to keep with you.

All you could make out of that night was the way Toji didn’t move from where he stood. He was like a statue, feet planted in stone behind the couch, imbued in the very ground below him. Not sparing even a glance in your direction.

He became a ghost in his own home.

You didn’t care that it was freezing outside. Nothing could rival the icy chill in your bones.

Didn’t care that the motel that you checked into probably scammed you in your frantic state.

Didn’t bother changing out of your clothing littered with your tears and snot.

Didn’t bother sliding beneath the blanket, the itchy linen would do nothing of comfort for you now.

You just curled up, a pillow in your arms as your eyes became dry wells, empty and staring blankly ahead.

There were some things with Toji you could forgive, like his spending habits or snarky attitude, but this was too simply too much.

You knew his words had now torn the already frayed edges of your psyche. You were inconsolable, and left to mend the shattered pieces of yourself all on your own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You weren’t sure how many days you’d now spent at the motel. In truth, you didn’t care if it drained your savings.

There was nowhere else for you to stay, no second home you could go to to get back on your feet. You’d managed to leave your personal documents back at your place with Toji, but you’d be damned if you took a step inside of there right now, a home haunted by memories with the person you thought you’d be buried beside.

So you went to work. A bleary job at the convenience store around the corner. Selling cheap cigarettes, gum, beer and gas for hours on end. Mind mushed and eyes puffy and blank as you punched something into the screen you weren’t quite registering.

Small talk was stifling, like a vice to your throat.

You felt like you’d been submerged in ice water–your head just beneath the surface as everything dulled to a murmur, your body settled in a consistent, stabbing chill. You were slowly suffocating, the one thing that made it easy to breathe now wrapped around your ankle and tugging you deeper.

You took on extra shifts, terrified to go back to the motel alone and stare at the wall, nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest.

Your manager asked if you were alright after eyeing your withered state. You gave them feigned reassurance and a smile that hurt your cheeks.

Your appetite was practically nonexistent. You’d pick at the reheated pasta you attempted to shove down your throat the previous night before tossing it out.

Sleep was of no evasion–restless nights spent tossing and turning, sweat like a second skin, as you replayed moments and were unsure if you’d made them up or if they were true.

You began to shuffle through life, enduring one day after another as they blended depressingly into each other, a montage of gloomy moments strung together.

Until something out of the ordinary fizzled into your reality–your detached mind wasn’t quite sure if you were dreaming or not. An issue you’d become familiar with as of late.

You ignored it, walking past it without a second glance and shut the motel door behind you before dragging your heavy limbs towards the shower.

But then there it was again. Same place, but it looked different, new clothing.

You squinted your eyes, clearing your hoarse throat, then stared blankly ahead at your door before stepping in your room and locking the door.

Then, on the third day, they walked towards you and wrapped a firm, familiar hand around your wrist and pulled you towards them. You couldn’t make it out, their voice muffled as you were still in the depths of that lake, before your vision cleared and you deciphered their face.

Your heart rate quickened as your eyes went owly, pulling away from his grip. But he held fast, still speaking but you weren’t hearing a word of it. Like a Chinese finger trap, each wringing movement only made him tighten his grasp.

“Let go,” you coughed out, mouth desert dry as you hadn’t had a lick of water in days. You were too weak to free yourself from his unrelenting grip from days of not taking care of yourself.

His forearms that looked to be cut from marble, flexed when he saw how you trembled in his grasp, bile tasting on his tongue as he made it known to himself exactly whose fault it was that made you like this.

You were unrecognizable, that gleam in your eyes he’d seen when he first met you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out.

You fought against him, strangled shouts of demanding he release you, face coiled in anger with something fractured just simmering beneath the surface, your cries broken and shrill.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, nor could you meet his.

He averted his gaze, his composure faltering by each passing second, his tongue a thick wad of muscle resting in his mouth. He was far too ashamed to utter anything to you.

The sky was now tempestuous, a deep and dark grey that held heavy above your heads, mocking the turmoil coiling between the two of you.

Toji was too ashamed of an admission that if he could take it all back, he would. That he desperately needed you, not the other way around. That he’d been pulverised to something he couldn’t recognize in your absence.

That the one thing that remained true was that you didn’t pity him, but he pitied himself to accept such unconditional love. He was so deeply insecure that he pushed away anything when it got too hard, when it began to puncture the bubble of safety he’d wrapped so carefully around himself over the years.

Your fists pounded into his chest, and he wanted to claw at the ache in his chest that seemed to grow with each passing second.

In your flailing state, a man of such formidable strength could easily have subdued you.

But Toji was weak when it came to you–you’d stripped him bare to his smallest, most repulsive layers and still loved him when you held them in your palm.

His teeth gritted against each other each moment he recalled just how spineless he’d been when you were simply reaching out. Toji couldn’t even reach you halfway, no. He sliced any tether that held the two of you together.

But he’d rather meet an early demise than not have you in his life. He was going to work at it, every single day, until he could hold you in his arms as his again. Until he could pepper kisses against the column of your neck in a way that made you squirm, until he could trace the dips and curves along your form, until he could watch the expressions you made as you unraveled beneath him, whining and exposed to your rawest nature as he pushed into you.

Your body began to tremble as you exhausted your efforts, out of breath and muttering cries to yourself under your breath mixed with curses condemning Toji to hell.

Until your tears worked their way up again, your body weakening as you convulsed in his tight hold of your arms. Until you collapsed against his chest.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, face digging into his chest like you’d done thousands of times before, pleading to Toji something neither of you could understand.

Did you want him to free you from this hellish torment? Spare you from any more of his hurt? Or for him to hold you like his again?

For the first time Toji could count, his hands trembled. They wavered above your back with reluctance. Your tears stained his shirt, wetting the skin beneath and burning him. Reminders that these were tears he caused.

He felt like he couldn’t breath, his lungs stuffed with cotton. His legs were rendered useless as he could barely take a step forward, or backward.

He needed to move. He knew it, he repeated it over and over in his blank-slated mind until he was able to will himself to do so.

The two of you had yet to notice the drops of water that sprinkled onto the pavement, slicking the ground.

With apprehension, his hand brushed against your back, a warmth suddenly heating his palm, calloused from years of strain. He began to question if he even deserved such an act, rendering him foolish as he started to skim his fingers through your hair.

He had been so catty and abrasive with you, pouring anything good he had with you down the drain with a couple sentences of words to hit you where it hurt.

He tugged his bruised bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the same spot he’d been doing for days. The difference was he tasted copper on his tongue now.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there, bodies drenched from the rain, hair matted with water, clothing that clung uncomfortably to you.

A hiccup left your lip well after your sobs died down.

Toji slipped a hand into your pocket, pulling your motel keys from them before lifting you into his arms.

You didn’t fight him this time, resigned to your exhaustion and something else you didn’t want to address.

He kicked the door shut after stepping in, expression sober as he walked straight for the bathroom, not even caring about all of the mud and rainwater he’d tracked in.

He sat you on the counter, then turned the shower faucet on.

You sat limp, nose stuffed and sniffling, skin paled.

He began to undress you carefully, tugging your top over your head and slipping your jeans off along with your panties. He unclasped your soaked bra and tossed it on the pile on the ground, then began to undress himself.

You weren’t entirely focused on all of his movements, something akin to familiarity wrenching in your chest.

He pulled you off of the counter and carried you into the shower before letting you settle on your own two feet.

He grabbed the measly bottle of motel shampoo and began to work it through your hair, the hot temperature he’d always shower with scalding your skin.

You stood there, letting him work the suds off before he began to scrub away at your body.

Toji had always been a rough-handed man, but the way he tended to you so delicately, like you were a prized piece of China he held in his palm, afraid to crack it with his brute, made you nauseous.

You stood there as he cleaned himself off.

The air was steamy and suffocating, a humid temperature billowing before he shut the water off.

The two of you smelled of the same soap.

He wrapped you in an abundance of towels, making sure to wipe away any lingering tears. His feather-light touch made you shiver as he dried you off.

He propped a window open, before making the bed.

Sifting through the cabinets, he found a hairdryer and did his best to figure out how exactly they worked before ruffling it through your hair.

You shut your eyes, for a moment pretending like everything in the world wasn’t wrong when it was starting to feel right.

His meaty fingers attempted to braid your hair back, but it looked disheveled and disarrayed.

You didn’t care.

He lifted you up once again, the both of your bare skins grazing against each other in a matter so intimate you could feel your heart sinking to the depths of your gut.

He lifted the sheets, before laying you down.

Then he laid beside you.

Without a moment of hesitation, like it was second nature, he pulled you against his chest, his bulky arms engulfing you in his large form.

Your breath stilled as his breaths began to pick up, his heartbeat quickening beside your ear.

You felt something wet touch your scalp.

He cradled you like a dove.

And then he began to whisper your name out, heady and abject. His voice was swimming with repentance as it started to crack.

He apologized profusely, in a hushed tone for only you to hear. Swore on you like you were his salvation. In his misery, he beseeched you to curse him, a promise that he’d never forget, whispered in the night.

Nothing was fixed, not right now. You weren’t sure if it ever would be.

You weren’t sure how to describe the gnawing feeling in your gut.

Toji could barely rest without your forgiveness, but for now, this would have to do. Your breaths synced, chests rising and falling in tandem, as slumber took the both of you.

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rhodyrich · 18 days ago

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chrome-barkz-aac · 11 months ago

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i made this instagram post !!! there isn't as big of a community of AAC users on instagram so I thought I would share this on my instagram (@cytochromesea).

EDIT: i got an ask that states that not everyone knows what AAC is which is an oversight on my part, it stands for alternative and augmentative communication!

Image ID:

A light blue background with a rainbow and a cloud and some stars. There is a blue border collie with wings holding an aac tablet that says I love you! Text reads: AAC etiquette. Do’s, Don’ts, and other stuff. By cytochrome sea.

The same background appears in every following slide. Text reads:

AAC is my voice! It is not a toy or accessory

Don’t touch my AAC without my permission

Don’t take my AAC away from me, for any reason (joke, punishment, etc)

Don’t press buttons randomly or flip through my communication cards without permission

How would you like it if I randomly poked you on the mouth and throat (or on your hands if you sign)? It would be unpleasant, so don’t do that to me

Some AAC users can speak sometimes. It is not your business why someone can or cannot talk

Don’t ask questions about why an AAC user cannot speak.

Do let us communicate however is best for us in that moment

Don’t ask us if or when we will be able to speak verbally. It’s not your business

Do not value verbal speech more highly than AAC. Any communication is good communication

Some of us never talk, either, and that’s ok! Those of us who can talk sometimes are not better than those of us who can’t. None of us owe you an explanation for our use of AAC.

Don’t look at my screen until I show you. It feels really invasive!

It feels like when someone is looking at your phone screen over your shoulder, so please don’t do this

This applies to low tech AAC as well, don’t look at someone’s cards or letter board until they show you

You have the dignity of forming your thoughts in your head before you say them, whereas my thoughts are all on display. Please afford me the same dignity that you get automatically.

Don’t shame someone for not being able to speak verbally. It makes us feel horrible

We are real people with thoughts and feelings. Please treat us with kindness.

We are trying our best

Don’t shame someone if their device mispronounces a word. It’s quite literally out of our control.

Other Don’ts. Don’t

Don't Treat an AAC user as childish or stupid for not being able to speak. Our ability to speak does not define our worth

Don't Show frustration at the way someone communicates

Don't Make comments about how fast or slow we communicate

Also don’t…

don't Act surprised when we swear or talk about adult topics like sex, drugs, or violence. We are not pure uwu precious smol beans, we are normal fucking people

don't Assume what is “wrong” with us. There are about a hundred reasons for someone to use AAC and you probably aren’t the expert in any of them.

“OK, so what CAN i do?” im glad you asked! When interacting with an AAC user, DO…

Ask us how we prefer to communicate and support us as you are able

Assume that we are competent

Talk to us with the same respect, tone and vocabulary that you would for any one else

Give us money (this one is a joke)

Understand that AAC grammar isn’t perfect and we are doing our best

Is it rude if…

I can’t understand your device? Not rude! Misunderstandings happen all the time in any conversation, just be patient as you would normally.

I want to complement your AAC? Not rude!

I ask to see your AAC and understand how it works? This isn’t rude if you are already talking about AAC, but don’t ask random strangers this. They don’t owe you an AAC tour.

Thank you for listening! This post is for the community! If you are an AAC user, let me know if I missed something in the comments and I will pin it! I hope you are filled with peace and love and I hope something good happens to you today! End ID.

#chrome barkz #aac #aac user #part time aac user #actually autistic #autism #coughdrop aac #autistic #selective mutism #selectively mute

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muletia · 5 months ago

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𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 <𝟑

[tfp] various x human!reader optimus / ratchet / bumblebee / smokescreen megatron / soundwave / starscream / knockout

word count: 2200

Optimus most often kisses the back of your hand

He learned this way of showing affection while delving into Earth’s culture. Perhaps he read about it in one of the books you recommended to him. Maybe he saw a scene where a gentleman kissed his chosen one exactly in that spot. What matters most to him is the meaning of such a kiss and the emotions tied to it.

Optimus could pour all his love into a single gesture. Demonstrate to the whole world that he has the most wonderful partner and is endlessly grateful for your presence in his life. Make such a kiss merely a greeting, but Optimus desires you to see the multifaceted nature of his feelings toward you

When he bows down and takes your hand in his servo, he wants to show the respect he holds for you. By brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, he demonstrates gentleness and support. Finally, by enveloping your knuckles with his lips, he pours all his adoration into the gesture. He reveals his admiration for you in the least intrusive way, so as not to overwhelm you with the true strength of his love. He shows respect, proving his gallantry

He wouldn’t hesitate to kneel on one knee during a hand kiss to further emphasize his feelings. To meet you at eye level, look optics to eyes, or make you look down on him. He would renounce the title of Prime in your honor. For you, he is simply Optimus, striving to unveil the boundless, infinite love he has for you <3

Ratchet most often kisses the top of your head

He is a busy mech, often working overtime on research and ensuring no Autobot faces health issues. He doesn’t have time to be romantic. He rarely takes you on rides, and persuading him to go for a walk around the hangar borders on a miracle. Even in his private habsuite, he only appears sporadically, sacrificing recharge for a few more hours of work. And constant exhaustion means using mass shifting is out of the question for fear of fainting and possibly harming you

Still, Ratchet wants to be a good partner—or at least try to be. To thank you for choosing such an old mech, despite being a young human, without having to say it outright. To convey what he struggles to say aloud. To appreciate your constant presence and the support you give him, even when you do nothing extraordinary

That’s why he loves kissing the top of your head. You don’t need to do anything special—just sit there reading a book—and suddenly you feel passion and gratitude in the touch of his lips on your hair. But before you can ask, Ratchet is already back at work, leaving behind only his silent love

He’s always gentle, blending the precision of a medic with the softness of affection in his kisses. Sometimes he lingers there a little longer, taking in the scent of your shampoo, experiencing the unique texture of your hair—both firm and fluffy. If he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he wraps his servo around your back. It’s his way of showing he’s there for you, even when his work often keeps him away. To remind you of his feelings, that they still hold him firmly by the spark <3

Smokescreen loves kissing you on the lips

He’s a young mech, full of energy and hungry for experiences. That vitality is something he wants to share in his kisses, along with his passion for life—and most importantly, his weakness for you.

He seizes every possible opportunity. Greeting you, saying goodbye, or simply showing affection. He always aims for your lips, even in front of others, as he has no problem with PDA. Besides, he wants others to know you’re taken. That you belong to him, just as he belongs to you. And there’s no better way to express that than through a kiss

He loves catching you off guard. First, he runs his servo through your hair, then leans in to kiss one corner of your mouth, only to immediately claim your lips because he has no patience for the other corner

It’s worth noting that he’s terrible at kissing due to a lack of experience. He focuses more on showing than perfecting, losing his senses around you, always craving more and more. His intake moves impulsively across your lips, chasing the motion of your mouth, often outpacing you in his insatiable appetite for affection. Eventually, it leaves you with swollen lips, breathless, and a very satisfied Smokey, already eager for the next make-out session <3

Bumblebee places kisses on your cheeks

Or at least he would, if his lips were accessible. As a young mech fascinated by human culture and well-versed in its nuances, he knows how significant kisses are in human relationships. It pains him deeply that he can’t give you such an important experience, no matter how often you reassure him it’s not his fault and that you don’t hold it against him. Bee still feels disheartened about it. That’s why he’s come up with his own way of showing physical affection

He nuzzles your cheeks with his battle mask, always remembering to do both sides. It’s a sweet gesture he’s utterly addicted to, so much so that he’ll “kiss” you this way at every opportunity. Greeting you, he caresses your cheeks, chirping cheerfully and listening to the melody of your radiant laughter, immensely pleased that he’s its source

If he’s mass shifted, he always pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your back, practically supporting your entire weight against his chassis. In this position, he has perfect access to your face, which he overzealously takes advantage of. He snuggles into the softness of your cheek, tracing uneven circles and pushing his mask forward as if truly planting a kiss. If only he could, he’d spend an eternity pampering your face, pouring all his nonverbal love into the gesture <3

Megatron particularly loves kisses on the palm of your hand

At first, he simply wanted to surprise you with his tenderness. To prove that he even possesses it, doubting your trust that he could be anything more than a domineering, unfeeling tyrant. That’s why, when he first took your hand and placed a kiss in its center, he got exactly the reaction he anticipated: surprise, but also bashfulness, that the mighty Megatron could treat you with such calculated delicacy

Over time, such kisses became almost an everyday occurrence for you both. He leaves kisses to draw your attention when you’re lost in thought, focused on something other than him. To elicit the reaction he desires, to see the smile on your face and that captivating shyness, so rare in your usual demeanor

He grabs your wrist to guide your forearm into supination, bringing your hand to his lips with a roguish grin because he knows he’ll surprise you again. His kisses in that spot are subtle, unhurried, but they remind you always to think of him. He always looks straight into your eyes, as if showing respect—or perhaps issuing a challenge? Or maybe, deep within his spark, he’s a gentleman

It’s undeniable that he has class. He’s calculated and self-assured, traits that carry over to his kisses. He always knows exactly where to "strike" to tickle you or send shivers down your spine. He knows the effect he has on you—how you squirm when he lets his shark-like teeth lightly graze your skin, mocking your self-control. In a way, he plays with you, teasing only to stop and move to another spot, this time the base of your thumb. Again, he proves his tenderness, cherishing and adoring, only to move to yet another place, striving to show you that his feelings for you burn as fiercely as the values he believes in <3

Soundwave loves to kiss your forehead

Another mech without a mouth who’s devised his own way of compensating for having a display screen instead of a face and a human significant other. With access to all the information on the internet, he knows well that humans love kissing and that it’s important to them. That’s why he’s determined not to deprive you of this pleasure, to not deny you something you deserve due to his anatomical limitation

So, Soundwave touches his forehead to yours. It’s a delicate gesture but carries the weight of his complex and multilayered feelings for you. It shows that he cares, that he’s there for you—even when he spends countless hours standing by a console. He doesn’t need breaks, capable of working endlessly, but for you, breaks have become a daily ritual in his life, just to prove that he’s with you, not just in thought

He pulls you close until you’re level with his faceplate, tilting his helm to connect your foreheads in an unusual yet tender kiss. He loves when you close your eyes during this gesture, giving him tangible proof that this form of affection satisfies you and that you’re content with his efforts, no matter how minimal they might seem. You validate him, giving him a sense of trust that you don’t regret entering a relationship with him

Sometimes, he tilts his helm in a similar gesture while working, as if kissing you from afar. Manifesting you suddenly before him, so he could spend hours in such a position, foreheads melded together in a silent confession of love. He often misses you, and that longing later translates into prolonged sessions of such kisses, as he strokes your forehead with his, trying to pour all his feelings into the gesture <3

Starscream most often kisses your neck

Not necessarily to spark desire and lure you to the berth. Starscream isn’t a sappy mech. He’s not romantic, but his kisses bear the weight of his complicated and uneasy feelings for you. Sometimes they’re soft and sweet; other times, they’re fierce and fiery, trying to engulf you in flames of yearning. He has no qualms about kissing your hand to achieve a similar effect, but kisses on the neck hold great significance for him

He can lose himself in them—in the sensation of skin beneath his lips, the warmth radiating from it. The bones pressing against the flesh, the moles, scars, and marks. Above all, he loses himself in the feeling of reducing the world to your form alone. In the hollow of your neck, he hides from the demons that haunt him. He doesn’t feel Megatron’s breath on his nape, nor the impossible duties, broken promises, and missteps. There’s only you and the safety you offer, even if you can’t truly protect him

He can spend hours like this—or as long as his duties aboard the Nemesis allow—exploring your neck with his lips. Sometimes, he nips at your skin when he wants to extract a compliment from you, but most of the time, he tries to be gentle, as much as his ego permits. Hidden and surrounded by you, grateful for your presence, though he’ll never say it aloud

With his limbs wrapped around you, he pulls you to his chassis. There’s no escape from this trap; Starscream ensures you sit perfectly before him, where he has ideal access to your exposed neck still bearing traces of your previous rendezvous. He immediately buries his helm in your softness, kissing a trail from your collarbone to your ear. Subtle at times, yet swift, as if trying to devour you—eager to seize the rare opportunity for genuine and natural contentment obtained without schemes or deception. Just you and him, mutually showering each other with affection <3

It’s no surprise that Knockout adores French kisses

However, to "mature" to them, the Decepticons’ sex symbol has to overcome a long road of shedding his phobia of human bodily fluids. Only then does he discover how incredibly satisfying it is to explore your intakes with his glossa. How much passion he can convey through this gesture, showing desire not just through interfacing

He usually catches you off guard. Maybe you weren’t paying him enough attention, or maybe he just suddenly felt the urge to kiss you. He places his servos on either side of you, trapping you with no way out, and starts to charm you before launching into fireworks

He quickly learned what to do to make a kiss anything but average. It took a few tries—in the beginning, your kisses felt more like bumping faces—but Knockout has a knack for kissing. He can adapt to your rhythm or set his own. With unrelenting fervor and intensity, he explores the depths of your mouth. He never cares if anyone’s watching or not

Knockout can be quite possessive, a trait that shows in his kisses. He’s not bothered by PDA; any fear of your relationship being exposed to the public has long been forgotten when he can show everyone who you belong to. This often impacts his patients, who must patiently wait until Knockout reaches a satisfactory level of affection to pull away. Otherwise, you’re inseparable.

He won’t let go until he’s sure he’s poured all his feelings into the kiss—the ugly and the tender, the physical and the ones rooted in his spark

He always leaves you breathless with his intensity and passion, ending with a fleeting peck on your lips. <3

#transformers x reader #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #ratchet x reader #smokescreen x reader #bumblebee x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #starscream x reader #knockout x reader

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prisonhannibal · 5 months ago

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Nader and his family have been displaced nine times, they lost their home and most of their belongings. The winter has been difficult, with rain and low temperatures without adequate shelter and clothing. You have to remember that during the ceasefire they are still living with the consequences of everything has happened, and the reality is that many people in gaza have lost everything they had, and their schools and hospitals and homes are gone. They still need your help even if the bombs stop. Nader is seventeen years old and his brother’s campaign supports their family of eight, with the goal to evacuate to safety. It’s very urgent for them to leave because Nader’s father has cancer and the treatment he needs is not accessible in Gaza anymore, and if left untreated it will continue to get worse. They have already lost so much, please help save their loved father and grandparent.

When I’m writing this, they have almost 91,000 out of the 100,000 goal! That’s only 9,000 left to reach their goal so they can finally leave when the border opens and begin the process of healing and rebuilding their lives. Please donate if you are able and share this post so it can reach people who can donate ❤️🇵🇸

VETTED #4

@90-ghost @tamamita @rhubarbspring @heritageposts @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @butchniqabi @feluka @socalgal @finalgirlabigailhobbs @darthteeth @newporters @pikslasrce @vampiricvenus @danlous @loumandivorce @jackiedaytona @deepspaceboytoy @autisticmudkip @nashvillethotchicken @femmefitz @pitbolshevik @sawasawako @iregularlyevadetaxes @omegaversereloaded @hotvampireadjacent @boobieteriat @mens-rights-activia

#free gaza #free palestine #save gaza #vetted fundraisers #evacuation fund #txt

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jiminrings · 6 months ago

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anything

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

glimpse: yoongi doesn't want to move on from his ex because she's everything he's ever known, whereas you want to move on from him because he's everything you've ever loved.

alternatively, yoongi's your best friend and you've been in love with him your whole life.

[ angst, fluff, friends to Not Friends to lovers, pitiful amounts of Yearning And Pining, emotional constipation, second lead taehyung being unbearable And delicious somehow, jealousy, the harrowing argument of what it means to seek growth n seek comfort, VINDICATION!!!, redemption ]

notes: because i've decided that i will never become sick of writing lovers who are doomed but not really, here we are 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ to get the full experience, pls listen to the song that was the inspo behind this!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Yoongi's only ever been with one woman his entire life.

Ever since he turned old enough to introduce someone to his parents without them mistaking it for puppy love, which in his case was at seventeen years old, Yoongi quickly realized that he doesn’t ever want to introduce anyone other than Haein.

Yoongi, at his fresh age of seventeen, made a pact to himself to never bring someone home again if it’s not Haein, because bothering a nineteen-year old you for your own house slippers to lend to his girlfriend (he didn’t want to spend his allowance buying a nice pair when he could just sacrifice his dignity by groveling at your feet for it) was too much of a hassle.

He didn’t like the fuss that came with forming crushes. Yoongi’s spent countless nights scrutinizing his first love’s actions during recess and microanalyzing her tone towards him from the morning earlier— he doesn’t want to go through any of that again.

He doesn’t want the grown-up equivalent of it either, because all throughout high school and some bits of college wherein he and Haein were together and totally not broken up in a perpetual on-off cycle as usual, Yoongi thought that he was set for life with her.

Unlike you, he hasn’t had his share of multiple first kisses. Yoongi, not even once, stepped into a bar with wandering eyes and a hopeful perk to his tone. He hasn’t worried about making first impressions again, nor has he ever had to ask how many people came into the picture before him.

In Yoongi’s eyes, it’s only been Haein the entire time. There’s no before, during, and after her, even if the last phase in time is just something he hopes for and is not set into stone.

It’s still Haein for him, the kind, starry-eyed girl that wore your house slippers when she stepped foot into his childhood home for the first time to meet his parents, and it’s been her ever since.

It’s still her, because she never knew that the slippers she wore was actually yours, which made it her one and only designated pair, so much so that she even took it with her when she moved in with Yoongi in their shared apartment.

It’s still her, because you’ve gone through multiple pairs ever since, and so did the boyfriends you took home to meet your family.

It’s still Haein, because Yoongi hasn’t moved on from her even if they broke up for good (or atleast that’s what you’ve heard in verbatim and what Yoongi refuses to confirm) a year ago.

"There's nothing wrong with being with someone new," you snort, your tone bordering on condescending to which Yoongi predicted correctly, simply because you’ve had this conversation a million times already.

You told him that in your attempt to comfort him when Haein broke up with him back on the second semester of their first year in college, wherein he found himself wailing against your sheets at your dorm.

You told him that in your attempt to appease him when he broke up with her during their junior year, wherein he had to wipe at his tears furiously before fixing his tie because it was only hours before your graduation and both your parents downstairs are calling for a picture.

You tell it to him now too, in your attempt to convince both Yoongi and yourself, as he starfishes on your couch while reminiscing what could’ve been another anniversary (albeit choppy and not at all continuous) of the first time they held hands.

"Yes there is," he groans, his emotions maturing enough not to cry helplessly unlike the past breakups, but not enough to stop glomming onto you. “I don't want to talk about my favorite color again. I don't want to answer how many siblings I have. I don't want to be asked the extremely quirky question of whether I think pineapple belongs on pizza or not, again!"

"It's only normal to introduce yourself again and again until you find the right one for you!" you laugh, your self-built amusement keeping the entire situation light for you because if you don’t find a way to distract yourself from Yoongi holding onto Haein pathetically, just like how you do so with him, you’d be as devastated as him.

You’d be devastated too if you realize that there’s little to no chance of earning back the only person you’ve ever truly loved, if not more— except you’re not Yoongi, and he’s not Haein.

What you have to go through is more devastating because Yoongi’s never really been yours in the first place.

"But I want Haein to be right for me," he whines, his eyes sleepy from all the fatigue that comes with driving all the way to your place, just so he could be miserable around you and not apart from you. “Even if she's not, I want it to be her."

You’re quiet for awhile, and Yoongi doubts your silence because you’ve only ever chewed his ear off whenever he started moping about Haein. He’s noticed it ever since you were young; you’d never let a single second pass without overwhelming him with your words whenever he thought too deeply, too lowly about anything. You didn’t give him a break to even think when it comes to times like these, so Yoongi grows even more concerned when you give him a break.

He’s used to the noise that is you trying to distract him from everything that pains him.

"For the record, you already did those things twice in your life,” you murmur after some time, looking up from the glass of wine that Yoongi poured you and bought for your collection before he made the decision of crashing out over Haein in your living room.

"Oh my god, did I kiss someone while I was drunk? When you dragged me out for drinks last week? When-… when it was, uh, when it was the anniversary of me and her moving in and-…”

"No, you monogamous asshole," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You did it with Haein."

"What are you talking about?" Yoongi tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying.

You still look annoyed at him, as you’ve always done whenever he comes to you crying about her, but now, you look more subdued; like you’re a little more melancholic for god knows what reason (Yoongi knows it’s definitely not about him and Haein’s breakup), and a little less agitated at having to have this conversation for the nth time.

"I knew you first, Yoongi," you remind faintly, shoulders offering a weak shrug. "You had to do it all over again for Haein when she came into your life, but I don't see you complaining."

Yoongi hits pause on his agony to frown slightly, sitting up on your couch in order to nudge you with his shoulder. ”But that's different because I grew up knowing you. It's only natural for you to know me this way.”

The snort that leaves you borders on offensive, and Yoongi automatically narrows his eyes when he senses the hint of sarcasm in your smirk.

”You mean know you as intimately as your one and only girlfriend did? Maybe even more than Haein actually does know you?"

"If you put it that way it sounds weird, but yeah," Yoongi scoffs defensively, crossing his arms on his chest before looking up at the high ceilings of your apartment in surrender. “Aren't just close friends basically lovers without the formalities?"

Yoongi’s only ever been with one woman his entire life.

You figure it’s because of that so he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

You figure it’s because of Haein’s monopoly on his feelings and experiences that you convince yourself that Yoongi hasn’t been kicked around enough, to realize that what he’s saying is enough for you to assume a higher, closer place in his life.

You figure that Yoongi only knows love because of Haein and not love itself, enough for him to tell you that being close friends with him is the equivalent of loving him in that light, only without the coveted crown that comes with being his first and only love that Haein still possesses.

"You're right," you mutter, downing the rest of your wine and the assumption that Yoongi knows it’s him whom your hearts yearns for. "It does sound weird when you put it that way."

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s a manny.

More specifically and less confusingly, Yoongi’s a male nanny and he enjoys the job.

When you graduated two years earlier than he did, all he talked about was how happy and envious he was for you over being born earlier than him. He told you that you were unfair (and so were your parents) by bringing you to the world earlier and not as the same time as him, even detailing how he wants to be just a day older than you instead of you being ahead by two full birthdays.

When you graduated two years earlier than him, proving just how lucky you were (even if Yoongi argues that it’s your sheer intellect and not something as silly as luck) by landing a coveted job, all Yoongi could talk about was how he wanted to follow in your footsteps.

He’s not in the place where you are now, and although neither of you are bitter about it, some part of Yoongi still thinks what could’ve been.

“I should’ve never brought it up,” you apologize sincerely, nudging him with your knee to get the point across because you didn’t really mean to throw him into a loop.

You’re sure that Taehyung, your colleague who’s one year your junior and knew both you and Yoongi from college, didn’t really mean to offend the latter either, or atleast that’s what you think.

You only opened up about your brush-up with Taehyung in the elevator because it was your first time bumping into each other having worked in the same company for so long, and you thought (read: thought) that Yoongi would be amused about the interaction too.

You thought that Yoongi would be amused about your encounter with Taehyung because the third question he asks you (the first asking how you were doing and the second asking if you were single) ventures straight to Yoongi and what he was up to.

You thought he’d be amused that Taehyung still remembers how the both of you were attached to the hip despite being apart in year levels, but with the way Yoongi scowls (even for just the briefest second), you knew that you hit a sore spot.

“Nah. It’s okay,” Yoongi exhales, glossing over the random question of Taehyung asking if you were taken before willing himself to forget it completely, and moving onto the facet that you thought offended him. “It pays well, honestly. I didn’t think I would ever score a job like this.”

“Me neither,” you shrug lightly, being relieved when you see the playful roll of Yoongi’s eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he whines, throwing his head back in faux annoyance, to which he may or may not attribute to Hwayoung’s (one of the children he looks after) tendencies.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, Yoongs. It’s just that, well, I pictured that you’d be this hotshot data analyst, or I.T, or something equally as technical and now-…” you trail off, the smile in your face genuine. “You’re a hotshot nanny.”

“This wasn’t my dream. You knew that,” he snorts, asserting his point by once again bringing up your extensive knowledge about him. “But I was just strapped for cash this one time, and I was behind on rent and my stupid, complicated job at my old company didn’t pay on time– then you already knew about my neighbors being these newlyweds with twin babies and before I knew it, I was looking after them! I was making bank by staying up like I’ve always done, and I get an audience when I’m talking to myself!”

Yoongi doesn’t overestimate your familiarity for him, and neither does he overestimate your sincerity towards his decisions. You judge him, sure (you’ve never made your annoyance for his weakness for Haein and his affinity for their backwards-moving relationship a secret), but you’ve never actually discouraged him from anything.

You didn’t talk him out of getting back with Haein all those breakups ago.

You didn’t talk him out of applying for unrelated jobs outside of his degree.

You don’t talk Yoongi out of anything, even anyone, that’s capable of bringing him joy.

“You love what you’re doing and you’re earning a shit ton. You don’t have to be affected by what an old classmate is asking.”

“That old classmate is working in the same Fortune Global 500 company as you are,” he chuckles just a little bit bitterly, making you nudge his knee a little harder this time. “But still,” he deadpans. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it. I can consider this as practice anyway.”

“You’re… opening up a babysitting company…?”

“Stupid,” Yoongi snickers, squeezing your knee tightly before his hold disappears. “No! I mean practice before I have a family in the future!” he laughs, shaking his head at you as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world; as if his optimism for a future with Haein isn’t persistent. “I don’t know what’s Haein’s take on working if we ever do have children, but either way, it’s nice to know that I already have the basics mastered.”

Whenever you least expect it, even if you should know by now after spending so much of your life with Yoongi, he reminds you of your place.

“You and Haein aren’t even together now,” you mutter, keeping your gaze low.

“Can you shut up?” Yoongi groans, slouching in his seat. “I’m not saying we’re gonna have a family now. I’m saying maybe we’ll have one in the future.”

“But you’ve been broken up for years.”

“Again, Y/N,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, the playfulness between the two of you slowly but surely dissipating. “I need you to be quiet.”

( ♡ )

Your parents like throwing thanksgiving parties for you and your siblings.

It’s quite literally the joint event for all seasons because your parents don’t even dare to set out cake for anyone outside of your family to eat when the holidays come, promising to make the party they excessively fuss about to be an umbrella for the rest that they miss throughout the year.

It’s an event that none of you really asked for but your parents insist on anyway; mostly to celebrate their accomplished children, and just a tiny bit more to brag about the lives they’ve managed to cultivate.

Yoongi, like for every other thanksgiving party that your parents have thrown, shows up in his most prized suit. It’s his most expensive and cleanest one to date, and it’s a suit that he reserves only for your parents’ shenanigans; not for a relative’s wedding, and not for a rich friend’s event either — he wears it just for you.

“I’d hate to be your unemployed cousin during this time of the year,” he jokes, being unable to look around the room without locking eyes with atleast one of your relatives or mutual friends and waving at them, yet Yoongi’s not really peeved about it at all.

“Yeah, that side of the family hates us,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders loosening when you realize that you have nothing to be anxious about, especially when you’re just across the person who knows you the most.

You have your fun in these thanksgiving parties, and Yoongi has his own. Your definition of fun means owning up to your achievements and not attributing them to luck, poking fun at your siblings behind their backs, and maybe striking up a conversation or two with a family friend that you forgot was more handsome than you thought he’d be.

Yoongi’s fun on the other hand, only ever revolved around you and Haein when it comes to these parties. Now that the latter wasn’t invited this year and he’s not capable of trailing after her like a puppy, feeling like an outcast amongst a sea of accomplished individuals, Yoongi can now trail after you, feeling like he belongs.

“Look at my parents. They keep boasting about you so much, you’d think they gave birth to you,” he nods his head to them, talking your aunt’s ear off as they keep gesturing to you, grinning when you catch their gaze.

“I don’t look at you as a brother. Gross!” your nose scrunches, making Yoongi roll his eyes and subsequently kick you lightly in the shin.

The two of you, thankfully, are okay. The awkward conversation that transpired about Taehyung’s curiosity and Yoongi’s own insistence of a future with Haein seems to never have sprung up in the first place.

You’ve known each other for a lifetime; it only felt appropriate, nevermind unhealthy, to let familiarity take its toll to make the two of you complacent enough to not apologize to each other and still be okay by the next day.

“My parents didn’t graduate college, but you knew that already,” Yoongi talks, gaze still holding out to his parents from a distance like it’s a stare he can’t break off because his eyes feel too comfortable. “They found a lot of things– a lot of people annoying because they made them feel inferior, but we never felt that way with your family, y’know?”

You’re not one to deny the distance between you and Yoongi; everything from your age difference, to how your childhood house overlooked his, and even to the feelings you share and don’t share, there’s an imbalance the two of you would never be able to tip.

“Your parents are genuine, close friends with my own, and your family never pitied ours,” he smiles, eyes crinkling in gratitude as he does so.

“I know that,” you return the sincerity, eyes set on his while his gaze is directed elsewhere. “But where’s all this coming from?”

“I see the way you look at me,” Yoongi shrugs, the second that it takes him to turn his attention to you making you falter.

You don’t know if you’re more scared or relieved at the possibility of Yoongi knowing about your feelings.

“And how do I look at you?” you test the waters, tilting at your head to try and closely gauge the tiny smile on his lips, but you come up empty.

“I can’t tell exactly, but you always look at me with some sort of guilt.”

“Why would I look at you with guilt?” a breathless laugh escapes you, the ease plastered on his face making you more and more pressured.

“I don’t know either! You tell me,” Yoongi laughs brightly, slinging an arm across your shoulder to which no one bats an eye to, because although they don’t know the two of you as well as you know each other, they have a semblance of it.

They know how you and Yoongi are friends; how you and Yoongi are close friends who are basically lovers without the formalities.

“We’ve known each other for a lifetime, Y/N. There’s nothing about one another that could surprise us anymore.”

“That sounds so boring,” you mutter, the words slipping out of you before you could even control them, effectively dampening the sentimental mood that Yoongi’s in.

“Excuse me?” he asks, a little bit offended but a lot more hurt over your comment.

“We’re not always gonna be the same, Yoongi,” you continue, staring at your feet with your voice low because it’s not like you can retract your words anymore; they’re as out there as you are when it comes to loving Yoongi silently.

“Do you… not want to be friends with me anymore?” he whispers, arm suddenly stalling as he tries to deduct whatever the hell you could possibly mean.

“Where did that come from?”

Yoongi chuckles uneasily, almost regretful he even said that outloud in fear of manifesting it.

“I don’t– I-I don’t know! It’s just weird with the way you’re talking. Like you purposely want us to change.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he emphasizes. “If you’re already comfortable with the life that you have now, you don’t need to change,” Yoongi blinks slowly, unfamiliar with the way your eyes lack emotion. “I have you. I have the manny job. I have Haein.”

You’re quiet as you let Yoongi think and simmer in whatever he had to say, and he hates it.

“Is this life not enough for you yet?” he asks hesitantly, the premature scoff that leaves his throat making the bitterness linger for the slightest second. “What more could you want?”

You want to say it’s only him whom you lack, but you stay quiet.

You give Yoongi both the silence and the space to think, and he realizes that he’s never wanted to be overwhelmed by you more.

( ♡ )

Things have been awkward between you and Yoongi.

You didn’t mean to sound beyond ungrateful and out of touch, but simply (and maybe even arrogantly) put, Yoongi just didn’t get it.

He didn’t get where you were coming from because he’s only stayed in one place long enough to call her his future. He didn’t get what you could be possibly going through because Yoongi only longs for comfort and not change because the latter wouldn’t benefit him in any way.

He’s right about him having the manny job makes him happy because he gets a heavy check and a learning experience. He’s also right, even if he’s rarely accurate when faced with her, about having Haein because you figure that if you were in his position, you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

If you were anything like Yoongi by having had the privilege of harboring the person you love and the life-long burden of having to yearn for her, you would be satisfied too.

It’s been a full week since the two of you talked and it’s the longest you ever went without any communication. There’s no texts coming from your end, but there had been plenty of it coming from Yoongi’s.

Yoongi, your best friend, knows that you didn’t end your thanksgiving party in the happiest note because he happened. He felt apologetic about it ever since because he didn’t mean to sound self-absorbed to the point of projecting his selfishness onto you; painting you as the villain would be the last thing he’ll ever do because he knew that between the two of you, you were the stronger one.

You’re the more rational, focused one who studied the same degree as he did, yet actually amounted to something infinitely more even if he’s the younger one who had more opportunities than you ever did.

You’re the more unyielding one between the two of you, because you can stomach ignoring him for a week while he’s about to lose his mind.

Yoongi could send a hundred more texts wherein he pretends to have mistakenly sent a discreet, low-lying sorry to you (because the two of you barely ever apologized to each other) instead of another person. He could react to a message of yours from two months ago just to try and see if you would comment on it.

He could even call you by Haein’s name just to purposely piss you off because he’d settle for anything if it meant breaking you out of your silent treatment, yet you don’t even move an inch whether he calls you on your phone or lingers in the coffee shop you frequent at in your workplace.

Yoongi can pull a hundred different reasons with most of them involving how he’s running errands with the children he looks after. He can say that Hwayoung knows your name (and he’s not lying about it either) and that she asked where you worked, and the both of them just happened to be in the area during their morning walk. He can say every excuse under the sun just to try and get you to talk to him, but you won’t budge.

Yoongi doesn’t like change but he likes the days wherein you rant to him about your day and ask how his went, just like every week before this one. He doesn’t like growth in the guise of everything he’s comfortable with being stripped away, but he likes the nights wherein he could call you and ask you to look after the children in the living room while he goes to the bathroom, when really, he’s just standing from a distance to look at you coo at them.

So when Yoongi got the call from your brother, asking him for a favor to look after your nephew if only he was free for the day (he wasn’t, but he made it work nonetheless), he immediately jumped at the chance of maybe, just maybe seeing you drop by at your family’s home.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says under his breath when he locks eyes with you in the nursery, your presence only being a surprise to him alone because he didn’t think you were staying with your parents the entire week when normally, you’d be a little high-strung staying with them after three consecutive days.

“Just been busy. Sorry,” you reply quietly, your apology only being an afterthought because you’re unsure who’s at fault.

“Me too,” Yoongi clears his throat, bouncing your sleeping nephew on his arms as he indiscreetly makes his way to you. “I’m sorry too, I mean.”

It’s weird for the both of you to apologize to each other.

It’s weird for you to see Yoongi in your childhood house and have no one question his presence, because the scene of him cradling your brother’s baby with a cloth strewn over his shoulder and your sister’s headband on his head to keep his hair away from his face, only looks right.

It’s weird for Yoongi to see you so torn up over him, and it’s even weirder that all the anger he had towards you for ignoring him just immediately dissipated.

Yoongi puts your nephew down on his crib with a precise gentleness to him, his hands cramping up not because he spent so long trying to get him to calm down, but because he doesn’t ever know what to do with them whenever you face him.

“You didn’t have to do this for my brother, y’know? You shouldn’t feel pressured to say yes just because he asked,” you clear your throat, filling the silence in with your voice that Yoongi has missed so badly.

“What are you talking about? I’m not on the clock right now,” Yoongi furrows his brows, the frown on his face evident. “I’m not here as a manny. I’m here as an uncle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he snorts, the snarky expression from him cutting through the tension between you. You could just throw your head back out of relief, knowing that Yoongi’s not that mad at you, but the both of you know you’re far from the clear.

You’re far from the clear when you don’t make a single move to come towards him across the room, even if it’s the only thing you wanted to do the past week.

You know you’re far from the clear and even further from moving on when it’s Yoongi who comes to you, his pace slow yet definitive, his fists unclenched for once as he practically leaps towards you in the end.

It takes one, two seconds for you to realize that although it’s Yoongi who made the first move to get close to you, it’s you who puts your hands on his cheeks, forehead rested against his with your eyes closed, tightly. Painfully.

Yoongi opens his eyes when you do, staying in your grasp even if he realizes that you almost kissed.

“You can read my mind, Yoongi, right?” you whisper, pulling apart briefly to look up at him, yet close nonetheless because you could still practically hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah,” he swallows the lump in his throat, the hand he has around your waist loosening for just a fraction of a second, yet you don’t need it— you don’t need him to unravel further to confirm what you’ve always known.

“So I don’t need to say it out loud,” you smile tightly, the shaky sigh that leaves you making Yoongi’s lips purse out of guilt. “So I don’t need to say it out loud that I love you,” you say in your mind, eyes already stinging even if Yoongi hasn’t let go of you yet.

“You don’t,” he affirms, his voice hoarse as his hand on your waist still doesn’t budge, the other cradling your wrist because he can’t decipher if it’s him wanting to keep your hand on his face, or if it’s him keeping you away. “You can read my mind too, right?”

You nod earnestly, the smile that he gives you even being tighter than yours.

“Right,” he clears his throat. “So I can’t— I-I don’t have to say it either,” he whispers. “I don’t need to say out loud that the feeling isn’t mutual,” you read in his mind, the silent admission effectively relieving you of the weight you’ve carried ever since you knew him.

Yoongi’s phone ringing is the only thing that snaps the both of you from your daze, your immediate composure being shaky despite having prepared for this for so long because you knew it anyway.

You know that no matter how much Yoongi looks like he belongs to you, your life, and everything in between, you still won’t stand a chance against the person who’d make him drop everything new for the promise of coming home to everything he’s familiar with.

“It’s uhm— it’s Haein,” he explains, the nervous grin he has on face being infectious despite your very own appearing for a much different reason. “She wants to talk about things.”

“You don’t have to let me know,” you shake your head, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Go, Yoongi.”

You’re not ignoring Yoongi anymore.

Apropos of nothing, Yoongi and Haein are talking again.

They’re not together, yet, but you know how it always ends between them anyway, so you steel yourself for the worst despite it being Yoongi’s best.

( ♡ )

You badly want to change.

You badly want to change and although it’s not Yoongi’s fault, the way he hovers around you makes you feel otherwise.

You already made well on your promise of not shutting him out whenever things get tough for you, but even then, no part of the way you’ve been acting recently ever appeases Yoongi.

He’s accustomed to you growing like you always have been, yet he didn’t even think that you changing bit by bit could ever impact him this greatly, Sure, Yoongi’s happy that you’re no longer ignoring him intentionally, but his stomach still turns every time you do reply to him at an ungodly hour and he’s reminded of your little joke (he hopes it is) that you’re more active at that time of night because of your extracurriculars.

Yoongi’s happy that you still turn to him, but a large part of him, if not the entirety, grows bitter when he sees you looking happier nowadays and he can’t tell if it’s because of something you’ve already told him or if it’s because of something totally unrelated and how he could never know, because the one thing that he made you promise is for you to keep being his friend.

You’re still Yoongi’s friend before, during, and after your confession, and he doesn’t know if that placates him.

Yoongi doesn’t want to amount to anything less than a friend to you but he doesn’t want to be your family either. He wants to be whatever it is in your life that knows why you’re smiling so much and why you barely rant to him.

He wants to be whatever, whoever, it is your life in order to know that you’re seeing Taehyung right from your mouth and not from your brother’s like he’s a jaded suitor that’s been anticipating bad news.

Yoongi wants to matter enough, as if he already doesn’t, to know about you having a boyfriend.

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?” he spits, the way he barrels into your apartment with his own keycard being unceremonious.

Yoongi knows today’s your rest day and he knows that by this time, you’d be on a call with him to ask about his day and entertain Hwayoung who keeps butting into your conversation. By this time, it would’ve still been you and him, whether or not Haein and Taehyung were in the picture.

“You’re hooking up with the guy that talked shit about me, and you didn’t bother telling me?”

“Taehyung didn’t talk shit about you,” you scoff, closing the door after him as you follow him into your living room.

Yoongi’s eyes widen comically, heart clenching when he realizes that you have no comeback for anything else he’s said, jaw clenching as he points a finger at you.

“He fucking looked down on me-…”

“He was just shocked!”

“Are you seriously defending him instead of being on my side?!” he exclaims, the sarcastic chuckle that leaves his lips rubbing you wrong because for any other person and any other instance, you’d laugh with him too.

“Do you not expect me to?” you snarl. “You’re dragging my boyfriend’s name to an argument that you started, and you don’t expect me to defend him?”

“You’re being a hypocrite,” he grits, nostrils flaring in sheer anger.

“And if I am, then what about it?!” you throw your hands into the air, poking your finger at his chest yet he refuses to get out of your face. “Have you not ever been a hypocrite when it comes to defending the person you love?”

It’s not your glare that gets him to back off.

It’s not your hostile, defensive nature towards Yoongi, in defense of Taehyung, that makes him deadly silent.

It’s you, holding up a mirror for the same blind defensiveness that he’d always carry whenever your words just barely graze Haein’s honor.

You’re guilty of judging Yoongi, but not of dissuading him from pursuing Haein like he’s always done — Yoongi, however, can’t say the same for himself.

“I hope Taehyung’s worth it,” he spits. “I hope he’s worth treating me like this, because not once have I ever made you less of a priority even when Haein was still in the picture.”

The use of was makes you pause, the past tense making you blink owlishly and finally take a step back from Yoongi as if it’s just your proximity to him that was the raging problem.

“Haein was my girlfriend but I never, never turned my back on you. I never made things awkward for us. I never stopped showing up for you, even if it costed me with her. I never made you feel the way you’re making me feel now,” Yoongi heaves, jaw clenching from how hard he’s ignoring the lump in his throat.

You chuckle sarcastically, the briefest glimpse you have of yourself in Yoongi’s words making you feel utterly pathetic. “Yeah? And how am I making you feel now?”

“Like we haven’t known each other our whole lives.”

( ♡ )

It’s been months since you and Yoongi properly talked to each other.

Life got in the way between the two of you and as much as Yoongi didn’t want to push, you didn’t want to grow out of the comfort that you already had with Taehyung either.

There were still texts and calls, but in between Yoongi getting whisked away for his employers’ vacation for a change and you being content with your job and your boyfriend as your comfort, neither of you made any drastic moves after your fight.

The only apology that Yoongi could get out of you after storming off from your apartment was you asking if he had already eaten dinner two nights after your fight, while the only apology that your close friend could ever give to you was that he hadn’t (even if he actually did), just to get your conversation rolling.

You feel guilty reserving parts of you from Yoongi, namely Taehyung and how he fits into your life, even if it’s always been established that there’s no use hiding. You know a terrible lot of information about how Yoongi and Haein are in bed against your will, and Yoongi has an awful amount of knowledge about your preference for condoms and how you like your men.

There’s guilt in your chest and you don’t think it would ever disappear for as long as Yoongi’s still in your life. Being defensive about anyone outside of your family and Yoongi, specifically because neither are synonymous no matter how much Yoongi keeps recurring from your family’s mouths, is something entirely brand new.

Taehyung is new to your system, just as Yoongi was all those years ago, and it scares him more than it scares you.

The concept of lagging behind someone who had just been a casual topic of interest (more specifically because he had seemingly offended you and him) then became your boyfriend overnight feels like a giant slap on the face because Yoongi, not once, has ever entertained the possibility that you’d be as lovesick as him.

He didn’t think that you were also capable of being defensive about a loved one who isn’t him, just like he is over Haein.

He didn’t think about how angry and offended he’d feel seeing you become so protective of someone who doesn’t know you like he does, because in Yoongi’s defense, Taehyung doesn’t know shit about you.

Taehyung does not and will never know you like he does, because he never trailed after you and idolized you in everything that you do, so much so that he only pursued his degree because you did before him.

Unlike Yoongi, Taehyung never had to be taught by you how to drive and what it means to have his family’s manual transmission car stall right after the stoplight turned green, because it meant you having to comfort Yoongi who was in tears after being honked at, and you lying straight through your teeth to his parents by saying that he was excellent and should definitely be trusted with driving the car alone with Haein to take her on dates.

Unlike the person you know the most, Taehyung never had to have the conversation with your dad about looking after you in college despite being younger, yet puffing his chest out nonetheless to agree because he made it his personal mission.

Taehyung will never be Yoongi and the latter takes pride in it, except now, he feels that Taehyung doesn’t ever want to be in his position—

Why would Taehyung vie for his position when it’s clear that he’s at an advantage?

Yoongi ignores his feelings and grievances the best that he can, yet unlike the old him who could endure so much shit because it meant having you to lean on, he can’t help but explode now that it’s you whom he can’t see eye to eye with.

“Taehyung and I were thinking of eloping,” you say out of the blue, your admission feeling appropriate (in your eyes, atleast) because you and Yoongi have so much to catch up on after being apart and he strayed the topic towards your sister who’s expecting her first child.

You thought it was your turn to say something equally as life-changing, because with the way Yoongi hasn’t talked about Haein once and you assuming that it’s because they were back together and he was just shy to talk about it, you bit the bullet first.

You thought wrong, clearly, because the happiness completely drains away from Yoongi the moment you finished your sentence.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, don’t be stupid,” he repeats, eyes narrowing at you in anger. “You’ve only been in a relationship with him for months-…”

“I’ve known him for years-…”

“And that still doesn’t justify you marrying him just because you feel like it,” he spits, your revelation far from making him happy like you thought it would. “Stop being stupid, Y/N. You’re not marrying Taehyung just because you’re in another one of your impulsive moods.”

Your mouth falls open at that, scoffing in disbelief because Yoongi isn’t letting up in the slightest with the way there’s no hint of his outburst just being a sick joke.

“I’m not being impulsive. I really do want to marry him!”

“Oh yeah? How’s married life going to work out for you when-…”

“I only told you because I wanted to let you know. I wasn’t asking you to weigh in, Yoongi,” you snap, crossing your arms in defense while Yoongi only steps towards you.

The thought of eloping with Taehyung crossed your mind once after a weird dream, and you thought nothing about it at first so you texted him and went right back to sleep. What you didn’t expect was that he didn’t hate the idea at all (in fact, he was even happy that you thought about it), and Taehyung’s confirmation for something unlike you, for something that resembled to settling and being comfortable, changed you completely.

“You don’t expect me to interfere when you tell me you’re going to make the biggest mistake of your life?” Yoongi huffs, his eyes widening over your seeming indifference.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that getting married to Taehyung would be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make?”

“I’m your closest friend! I know you better than you know yourself and-…”

“You don’t,” you retort. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all or even respect me when you think the worst of Taehyung when you barely even know him!”

“I could know Taehyung for a decade and still think the fucking worst of him!” Yoongi raises his voice, laughing humorlessly as he runs his hand through his hair. “I could know Taehyung or any other guy for a lifetime and still think that they won’t ever be good enough for you!”

The laugh that escapes you is offensive.

It’s as offensive as Yoongi making your graduation about him by crying to your sheets because Haein broke up with him, and it’s as offensive as you scoffing to his face when he said that having his job serves as his practice for a future with her.

“What, because you’re in love with me?” you spit, trying to trigger something in him just so he could leave you be, for good, because everything that’s he’s saying to now– with the defensiveness you’ve only heard from yourself whenever he rationalized trying to get back with his first love — takes you right back to your previous pining.

Yoongi’s only silent, trusting that you could read his mind, and you’ve never hated knowing him as much as you do than now.

“You’re telling me that you’re in love with me, right when I decided I was sick of loving you my whole life?” you whisper, the tears stinging from the corner of your eyes making your heart clench. You’ve been called too stubborn. Too calculating and too heartless, even by your own family, and for you to unfold in front of Yoongi this easily makes you wail. “Are you shitting me, Yoongi? Are you— are you out of your goddamn mind to tell me this?”

Yoongi looks down in shame, the truth of him being over his first love not relieving the weight on his shoulders like he foolishly expected, because everything he falls short when he sees you crying.

“I didn’t want to get back to Haein with something weighing so heavily on my chest,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to get back with her because you just ignoring me for a fucking week hurt more than any breakup I’ve had with her.”

Yoongi, vividly, can remember how distraught he was. He can remember how he can’t recall a time wherein he didn’t have you to depend on, as if he didn’t ever outgrow the phase of him idolizing you and following you wherever you went.

As if he’s still the seventeen year old him asking to borrow your slippers for Haein, while deep down seeking your approval for her because he didn’t want to do anything without you beaming at him.

“I-I felt… I felt like I was losing my mind, Y/N.”

“Can you read my mind right now?” you ask, shakily exhaling as you look down on the floor.

“That’s a really stupid thing to bring up right now,” Yoongi breathlessly chuckles, letting his hair brush past his eyes because he’s a little terrified of looking how distraught, how disappointed, you are. “But no.”

“Do you not want to say it out loud?” he asks, making you laugh silently as you gathered the strength to sit next to him, yet not as close as you always did. “Whatever it is, it’s not like I’m going to give up now,” he mumbles, looking down on your hand that’s rested on the cushion, your pinky finger just centimeters away from his, yet he can’t move to hold you like he wants to.

You wanted Yoongi and he wants you, and there’s only so much points where you could intersect until you say what’s been lingering in your mind, just like every other apology the both of you have passed up.

“We need some time apart, Yoongi. We need space,” you mumble. “We need to figure it out on our own before we figure it out together because-…”

Yoongi finishes your thought for you, head tilted down and hand outstretched with the hope that comes with being a little too late for someone who’s waited a little too long.

“Because we’ve known each other our whole lives.”

Yoongi refuses to break even if he comprehends exactly what you’re saying, because there’s no point in it when he knows he’ll never be angry at you. You can defend him and you can hurt him all at once, yet he’ll never curse you, simply because there’s no point picking at wounds he’ll keep on licking anyway.

“Do we just-…” he shrugs lightly, pinky finger painfully close to yours until he makes the heavy move of lifting it, just enough to to cover yours. “Do we find our way back to each other? Is that it?”

“That’s the plan, hopefully,” you smile, sucking in a breath you never thought would be this heavy. “I’ll find you if you find me.”

“I’ll find you when you find me,” Yoongi corrects. “We’ll find our way back to each other.”

You resent comfort and Yoongi abhors change, but there’s only so much the both of you could take until you realize that the only thing constant in your lives is each other, no matter how many seasons pass you by.

For Yoongi, it’s you.

Despite everything, it’s still you.

( ♡ )

The year that you spend with Yoongi flitting every once in awhile like he’s only a friend, and not the man you’ve first loved, is a year you didn’t think you’d ever spend.

Despite you and Taehyung separating amicably, he still took with him the love that you sincerely invested. He wasn’t the first boyfriend you’ve ever had, and although you were no stranger to heartbreak, he still imprinted a large chunk of him onto you.

At one point in your life, you did want to marry him; and at several points in your life after him that you don’t even think of denying, you really thought it would be him if not for the life that you led.

You don’t resent Yoongi for loving you a little too late because there’s no point in it, as much as Taehyung doesn’t even hate you in the slightest for letting him let you go in pursuit of the change that the both of you badly needed.

Yoongi could never bring himself to hate you either, even if being apart from you gnawed at him from the inside. Making something out of himself had been his biggest plan outside of pursuing you from a distance, because as soon he tendered in his resignation letter to his employers and cried right in front of the children he looked after, Yoongi won’t ever lie and say that he wasn’t scared.

Yoongi resents change even if you’re someone who yearns for it, and even with the terror that wracks his bones of starting new without you being there for him as his safety net, Yoongi does it scared anyway.

He does it scared with one eye closed as he puts the degree he’s only learned to love because of you to work, developing an app for families to look for certified, trustworthy nannies.

He does it scared anyway with his heart barely into himself and fully into you when he shows up a full night early before your family’s thanksgiving party, donning his reserved suit as he clutches a new pair of house slippers, which again, like always and just like he is, is only for you.

For you, it’s Yoongi.

Despite everything, it’s still Yoongi.

#first fic of 2025 :D YIPPEEEEE #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi oneshot

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sincerelyneo · 1 year ago

Note

could i request a mark smut 😣😣 where reader and mark just had an intense argument but in the end, they cant be mad at each other for long so they just fck it out of each other 🤐🤐🤐🤐

mad at you | l.mk

“then i try to leave, but baby i just can’t stay mad at you”

💿now playing: mad at you by why don’t we

❯ summary: Mark learns that you’ve made a ‘selfish’ decision that’s bound to put a strain on your relationship. Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in an argument that somehow ends with you sprawled out beneath him; because, let’s be honest, he’s never really been any good at staying mad at you.

❯ pairings: idol!mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, smut, established relationship, make up sex

❯ words: 4.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, lots of arguing, swearing, reader is lowkey dramatic, makeup sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), nipple play, dry humping, brief clit play, slight needy mark bc i can't help myself, creampie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader and mark argue and resolve it by fucking.

an: i love writing angsty arguments (testament to my real relationships lol) so thank you so much for this request. it lowkey brought me out of writer’s block.

The honeymoon stage lasts approximately thirty months or two and a half years – which would make sense considering you and Mark were approaching your third year together and have argued more recently than you ever had.

But this time it’s different. You’ve never seen Mark like this, so angry that his face is bordering red and his jaw ticks so hard it might crack as the both of you drive in complete silence from your work dinner. He doesn’t even bother sneaking his usual glances at you when he pulls up at stoplights, the hand he likes to place on your thigh is gripping the wheel instead, and the only noise in the car is his rugged and frustrated exhales.

You could feign ignorance about why he's upset, but you know the reason all too well. And while a part of you acknowledges his right to be angry, another, more prideful part, resists the idea of apologising, especially when you think his reaction seems so disproportionate to your mistake.

So you sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed and body frozen, contributing to the cold silence settling between the two of you. You prepare yourself for the earful of a lecture you’re about to get when he pulls up outside your shared apartment.

He parks the car, slams the door shut, and strides towards your building without a backward glance. You scoff at his pettiness; he's never been so angry that he wouldn't at least wait for you to get out of the car with him. He doesn't even slow down when you trail behind. And when he nearly lets the elevator doors close without you, any chance he has of receiving an apology from you flies out the window, you think.

He does, however, show some decency by leaving the front door open for you as you both step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment – how chivalrous.

The chivalry doesn’t last long because the minute he hears you clasp the door shut, he’s glaring at you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you can't help but notice that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in frustration. If he weren't on the brink of yelling at you, you'd be tempted to make him do more than just roll up those sleeves — you'd want the fabric torn off and thrown on the floor in an instant.

“Paris, Y/N?!” Mark seethes, voice deep and uneven. “You signed a fucking contract to work in Paris?!?”

You pause, attempting to gather your thoughts, but the momentary silence doesn't offer much clarity. Eventually, you settle on, "It's just a six-month gig..." – a statement that seems to send him into a frenzy.

“Just six months?” He rubs his jaw repeatedly in disbelief, “That’s six months that we won’t get to see each other, did you even think about that huh?”

You scoff, “You’re one to talk, need I remind you that your job takes you away from me for months at a time.”

"That's not fair," he protests. "You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. I didn’t agree to not seeing my girlfriend for months because she’s gallivanting away in Paris without me."

Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare, “So what? If you would have known, you wouldn’t have wanted to be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hands fly to his hair and he tugs at the strands as he huffs out a breath.

“How the fuck did you get that conclusion from what I said?” He asks, voice sounding baffled. “The reason I’m so mad is because I like being your boyfriend, but I’m not going to see you for the next six months.”

“You’re being a hypocrite right now.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Right, because I’m always the one being unreasonable.”

“Yes, you are,” you scorn, “This job is my dream, don’t you see how selfish you're being?”

“I’m selfish?” He gasps, “That’s rich considering you didn’t even consult me when making this decision, I had to find out from your smug little co-worker in front of everyone. You were thinking solely about yourself, Y/N.”

You're on the verge of screaming. How is he not seeing things from your perspective? He's usually so understanding, so open to hearing your side. But the razor-sharp look in his eyes tells you that there's no getting through to him. He's convinced you're wrong, and nothing will change his mind.

“It’s for my job, Mark,” you cross your arms and shrug.

“And how many times have I told you that you don’t need to work? How many times do I need to tell you I can look after the both of us?”

“And how many times have I told you that I don’t want that? I don’t want to have to always rely on you!” You snap.

Your teeth grit as the words spit out of your mouth. They seem to hit Mark, deep, his eyes softening for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He swallows thickly and blinks before running a hand through his hair.

“Then what are we doing, Y/N?” He asks deflated, “What are we if you don’t want to rely on me?”

You're not sure what compels you to say it – whether it's the way you're all worked up, the entire context of the argument, or some inner recognition that you're the one who's fucked up this time despite you both having stuff to apologise for. Still, you escalate the situation from zero to one hundred without a second thought.

“Oh, so you want to break up?”

He shakes his head and tongues the inside of his cheek, “When did I say that?!”

The fight only gets worse after that, the two of you blowing up after every sentence. You run around in circles, throwing accusations and insults at each other to the point the original premise of the argument is lost along the way of a thousand new arguments. It’s like every little thing you’ve both done to irk each other over the last month is brought up; and by the end of it, the two of you swear you’re done with each other.

Sure, you've had your fair share of arguments, but the biting finality of the word "done" as it leaves his lips sends a sharp pang through your stomach – it hurts like hell. You've reached your limit with this endless cycle of back-and-forth; you've had enough of him. Storming past him, you head towards your shared bedroom.

Mark sighs and reaches out for your arm, but you pull away. He doesn't like this, doesn't like the chilliness he feels from you. He doesn't want to end the argument like this; it's never gone this far without a resolution before.

“You can’t just storm away when we argue Y/N, it’s childish.”

“If you don’t like it then leave!” You slam the door shut after you and lock it.

Mark hates this more, not being able to talk this out because you’ve put a wall between the two of you. Then your words register in his mind and he’s the most hurt he’s ever felt. You want him to leave. Fuck that, he thinks. He’s not going to watch his relationship go down the drain over a petty argument.

He knocks on the door a few times, then jiggles the doorknob, calling out your name and pleading for you to let him in. But you remain unmoved, denying him even the satisfaction of hearing your voice telling him to go away. This only adds to his frustration. He's the one you've upset, and yet here he is, begging for you to open up so he can fix things.

After a few more tries he scoffs, your words echoing in his mind once more. Leave. It crosses his mind as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He swings it open, ready to clear his head and crash at Johnny's for the night. But just as he's about to step out, he catches sight of a picture of the two of you on the coffee table where he keeps his keys.

It’s from your honeymoon phase when it was easier for the two of you to say you’d never let anything come between you – when love seemed to blind you both. Mark picks up the photo, memories flooding back to the day it was taken. It was the day you met his parents and shared your aspirations of becoming a fashion designer. You reassured them that you had your own dreams and weren't just with their son for his wealth – though his parents wouldn't have minded either way; they would have been content with any girl that made their son happy. And you made Mark happy – you make Mark so fucking happy.

Which is why he can’t believe he’s even considering leaving you in this apartment on your own after a fight. He shuts the front door and makes his way to the couch. He's eager to resolve things with you now, but both of you are too caught up in emotions, spouting shit you'll likely regret in the morning. So he opts to grab a few sofa pillows and a blanket from the storage closet instead. He strips down from his dress shirt and pants, throwing them to the floor before lying back and resting his eyes with a heavy mind.

Regret doesn't hit you until 2:00 am the following morning, when you're met with the chill of an empty space beside you as you reach out to cuddle your boyfriend, only to find him absent. Sure you thought he was overreacting to the news, but you're also painfully aware that your own words were uncalled for. You shouldn’t have asked him to leave – you didn’t want him to.

As you heard the front door open and then close with a clink, a thick lump formed in your throat. The realisation that you had driven him away hit you hard, and you lost all motivation. You lay on your bed, makeup still intact, as you sniffled and sobbed quietly into your pillow. And even now, after tossing and turning from your mind running laps, you’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes.

You stretch your stiff legs and reluctantly leave your bed, unlocking your bedroom door with sleepy eyes. You're taken aback when you see Mark sleeping soundly on the sofa, his breath steady with his eyes closed. You thought he had left, but there he is, covered only by the blanket from the storage closet. It breaks your heart to see him like this; he's likely cold, and he'll probably have a stiff neck in the morning for practice. And you know it's all your fault.

The guilt eats away at you, and without hesitation, you rush to the bedroom to grab his pillows and an extra blanket. Realistically, you should wake him up and insist he sleeps in bed, but the fear of his lingering anger keeps you from doing so. Instead, you kneel in front of him, attempting to swap the sofa pillows for his own bed pillows.

However, your efforts prove futile because Mark is a light sleeper – a detail you foolishly overlooked in your worried state of mind. He blinks as he wakes up once, then twice, appearing confused to find you in front of him in the living room instead of beside him in bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, his eyes hazy as he tries to make sense of what you're doing. It doesn’t take him long once he spots the sofa cushion in your hand to put the pieces together.

You bite your lip and sigh, “I know you're mad at me, but I didn’t want you to wake up stiff in the morning.”

Mark's chest constricts. How could he possibly stay mad at you when you're so cute, fussing over him like this? He notices the smudge of black makeup beneath your eye, and his heart tightens once more – this time with sadness rather than affection.

His hand reaches out to touch your cheek, and you’re shocked at the touch. “You’ve been crying?” He asks and you bow your head.

"I thought you left..."

Mark wants to laugh at the irony. You asked him to leave, and yet here you are, upset at the idea of his departure. He swears if he weren't so in love with you, he'd rant about how much you mess with his head, pushing him to the edge only to pull him back again.

“Would never leave you, baby, you know that,” his voice is soft and comforting as the rough edge of his fingertips finds your jaw.

You can't control it; tears fall freely from your eyes. He's being incredibly considerate and gentle with you, even after you acted like a bitch. Honestly, you almost wish he'd just yell at you instead. But he doesn’t, his eyes widen and he immediately sits up straight letting the blanket fall to the floor as he pulls you up to sit on his lap.

He shushes you, his hands finding your waist where he rubs soothing soft circles into the fabric of your tank top, “Hey, why are you crying? I’m here…please don’t get upset, Y/N.”

His kindness only amplifies your guilt.

"I'm so sorry," you stifle in short sobs, your voice almost cracking. "I should've talked to you about the job offer before signing the contract... I-I didn't mean to act so selfishly. I just... I wasn't thinking."

Mark gives you a half-smile as he runs a hand through your hair. "It's okay, baby... You got caught up in your dream. I'm sorry for not realising that. I'm the one being selfish by always expecting you to put me first."

"No—"

He interrupts you to continue his apology. "You were right, you know. I always expect you to wait for me while I'm on tour. I never considered it from the other side, with me waiting for you... But I will. I'll wait because I know how much this job means to you."

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck as you cry even harder, and he tuts gently while rubbing your back.

"Please don’t cry, Y/N," he murmurs softly. "I hate seeing you upset."

"Can’t help it," you muffle. "I hate that I upset you…"

Mark pulls you away from his neck, needing to look into your eyes as he speaks. "It's normal for couples to argue, baby. We just need to promise to communicate better, okay?"

His fingers stroke your cheeks again, and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his hand feels so comforting as if he was made to soothe your skin, the only person capable of bringing you relief. You bite your lip and nod against his palm, because you're more than willing to work on your communication if it means never feeling like this again.

"Now, give me a smile. You know, the pretty one I like," he says with a laugh. "If I'm not going to see you for the next six months, I don’t want one of our last moments together to be so... sad."

You smile at him and press your forehead against his with a whisper. "Me neither.”

You’re so close to each other that you’re practically sharing the same breath, if you had said that two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed yourself. But here you are, lips so close that your heavy breathing practically begs him to kiss you.

Mark feels it too, so when he does, it's like the softness of his lips is a bandage, mending the angry tension between the two of you. It patches up the last few hours that have transpired, and when he pulls away, it feels as if nothing even happened.

His hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers pressing down as he guides your body to grind against his clothed crotch. His lips find yours again, accompanied by a groan that escapes into your mouth. It's only when you feel him harden beneath you that you remember he was half-naked on the sofa – clearly after you locked him out of the bedroom.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by your own clothes, you pull away from him to strip off your tank top, tossing it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. You yearn to meet his lips again – the only place you truly feel safe – but Mark wants to savour the way you look. Your clothed cunt eagerly grinding against his hard-on, hips chasing a high so eagerly that your bra strap has slid loosely down your arm.

You're a vision, Mark thinks, one that has him salivating and desperate to fuck you. He almost curses at himself for nearly ruining it all, for nearly walking out on the most beautiful person on the planet, the best sex he's ever had – and not only that but also the funniest, sweetest person he knows he'll ever meet.

He leans into your neck, his nose nuzzling into you as he whispers softly, "I'm sorry... so sorry, Y/N." His hand leaves your hips to cup your breast over your bra, massaging the mound with just enough pressure to elicit soft moans from your lips.

“‘s okay,” you whimper.

Your head falls back as his hand snakes around to unclasp it. He wastes no time brushing his intrusive fingers down your chest, wearing a filthy smirk because he knows just how sensitive you are there. The tip of his finger circles around your nipple until he’s right in the centre, feeling it harden under his touch. He pinches it, and you jolt forward on his cock, making his boxers tighten, and he groans.

He loves how responsive you were to him, watching you writhe over him as he touched you in torturous pleasure. Just the way you arch your back into his touch has pre-cum leaking out of his cock.

He leans in this time, sucking on your nipple and opening wide to get as much of the tender tissue of your breast in his mouth as possible. He holds your waist in place to keep you grinding on him to entice enough friction for him to feel good too.

And when he looks down to see where the two of you meet, he moans when he sees the wet patch leaking through your shorts onto his boxers.

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby. Just for me.”

You whimper, and his hand slips into the hem of your shorts. You’re glad you never wear panties to bed because his fingers find your clit immediately, relieving you of some of the neediness you’ve been feeling from grinding down on him. He rubs small circles as his mouth licks and sucks and nips at your bud.

“Mark…”

“Shhh baby,” he coos, “wanna make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.”

You whimper with a nod of your head, humping into his hand, legs opening wider to give him easier access to the place you’re most sensitive. You let out mild pants, hips bucking more aggressively from the stimulation on both your nipple and clit.

And when Mark notices you getting close, he pulls off your tit to look up at your face. It’s his favourite part — watching your features contort when the bliss is at its highest. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing he’s the one making you cum, knowing his touch is enough to make you shake and moan. And if he wasn’t such a selfish lover, he’d think the sight is something everyone should see at least once.

As you come down from your orgasm, your eyes flutter open to meet him. Mark doesn’t know whether it’s from seeing your orgasm paired with the argument from earlier but he’s the hardest he’s ever been.

You notice it too, looking down and giggling. “Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.”

He lets out a soft huff, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nods. You free his cock from his boxers and shimmy yourself out of your shorts. You let out identical gasps when your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his cock.

Slowly, you sink onto him, fully feeling him inside of you. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you take in the size of him, the way he fills you just right — the way he always does.

The stretch as you take him in never gets old, eliciting the same whimpers and whines. You can feel his hands resting on your hips, then slipping to the bend of your waist, silently urging you to move as he presses you downwards.

You lift your hips, slow and steady as you let the sensations wash over you, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. His grip on your body tightens as you sink back down, blunt nails digging into your skin. The sounds he makes only drive you further into finding a teasing rhythm because his voice is just so pretty. The sounds are soon muffled to your disappointment when his mouth presses into your skin, so his tongue can slide along the top of your breast — making the disappointment fade away real quick.

You let out a breathy cry, hands rising from where they’ve been resting, flattening against his chest, to wrap around his shoulders. The slow pace you’d adopted was becoming not enough. And you could tell from the way Mark is rutting his hips up to meet you, he shares the same sentiment.

Your mouths collide as you pick up the pace, using his shoulders to leverage yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. When he breaks from the kiss, an unrestrained groan slips past his lips, low and rough, followed by another, and you have to bite back a whimper of your own.

Mark can’t help the noises, he just loves the way you swivel your hips in a way that makes him see stars. He loves watching you work yourself on him for pleasure – he loves when you ride him.

And right when you squeeze around him, he rewards you with a loud, obscene groan, a sound that makes you dizzy and limp. Everything about Mark is intoxicating and downright addicting, and you were in no hurry to kick that addiction. In fact, you craved more of it – needed more.

You grab his hands and guide them across your body. He squeezes them at your hips, smoothing across your thighs, your stomach. His hands were everywhere, eyes dark and desperate, wordlessly begging for you to give him what he needed, the same thing he’d been kind enough to already give you.

So you rock yourself forward, providing a new type of friction that makes you whine helplessly into his skin. Blunt nails mark into the plush of your thighs, a futile attempt at grounding himself. The upward thrust of his hips and the strained catch of his breath tells you that he's growing impatient. You know the pace was slow, but damn it, it felt so fucking good to feel him like this, every inch of him sliding into you, hitting all the spots that makes your brain stop working. It also felt like a sick little way to get revenge...

“Faster,” you hear him say. “Please baby, need it faster.”

You could feel his hips bucking up to meet you. Then his thumb finds your clit, working in circles and making you squeeze around him with a shrill, gasping cry. It was his attempt at bargaining with you, doing anything to make you speed up and shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock. Maybe if he pleases you, you’ll let him cum.

“Please fuck me properly baby, need it,” he rasps, “You want me to forgive you right?”

And then you remember what led you here in the first place. You’d upset him and now you’re teasing him – you suppose it’s only fair if you pick up the pace a little more, fuck him messily and desperately enough to have him dizzying towards his climax.

And once you do, his thrusts grow sloppier, and your thighs start aching. It feels too fucking good so all that you can do is cling to him and let him take the lead, strong hands guiding you as he sucks against your neck. And even though you’re supposed to be the one making him cum, you find yourself buried in the crook of his neck, gasping as your walls clench and nails dig into the skin of his strong back.

The slight stinging sensation is enough to work Mark over the edge, and you feel him twitch inside of you, sending shock waves up your spine as he fucks his cum inside of you with a final powerful thrust. You roll your hips to help him along, taking all you can get from him and he moans his appreciation as you do.

You remain tangled up in one another as you come down from your respective highs with foreheads pressed close. You wrestle to find his hand, lacing your fingers with his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He kisses your nose, then your lips, with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed.

You don’t want to move just yet, so you release your hands and wrap them around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his before you speak.

"Mark?" You mumble, your voice tired and hazy. He hums in response.

"I’m sorry," you say softly.

You feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses your lips. "It’s okay, baby. I don’t even remember what we were fighting for."

#🏷frompaige #mark lee smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #mark lee x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #kpop smut #nct hard hours #nct oneshot

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ak-vintage · 11 months ago

Text

Work of Art

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Prompt: Marcus Acacius & Nose

Summary: Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, established relationship, arranged marriage, POSSIBLE DUBCON (sex in an arranged marriage with a patriarchal power structure), hefty age gap, pregnant reader, inexperienced reader, insecurity, body worship, nose worship, face-sitting, oral (f! receiving), discovering that you’re in love with your spouse, SO MUCH FLUFF, high likelihood of historical inaccuracy (aiming for vibes, not perfection)

Written for @joelmillerisapunk PPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

It is barely sunrise when the messenger arrives at your door.

Coated in a layer of dust from the road, mounted on the back of a well-lathered horse, and bearing the colors of the empire, the young man demands your staff wake you to receive him – that he is under orders to accept no intermediary, that his message is intended for the lady of the house and no one else. The news of his arrival sends ice into your veins the moment you open your eyes; even as the wife of a general, you do not often receive messages from the front lines, and you could not resist fearing the worst. Curls loose and mussed with sleep, tunica tied almost haphazardly in your haste, you rush to the atrium as quickly as propriety will allow and take the messenger’s sealed scroll with trembling hands.

My dearest wife, it reads. The skirmish on the southern border has been quelled for the time being. In recognition of our efforts, and out of respect for our recent union, I have been granted leave to return to Rome for a period of respite. If the sea is calm and the road is easy, you can look to the horizon for my return in one month’s time. Prepare the household for my arrival. Faithfully yours, Marcus Acacius

The relief you feel at those words is so powerful that you sink into the nearest chair, weak-kneed. Thankfully, your staff are more than competent enough to manage offering food, a bath, and a fresh horse to the harried messenger without your guidance, for you have not the capacity to play hostess. It had been your greatest fear, you realize as you sit there reading and re-reading the general’s letter until your eyes begin to burn with fatigue. You had had such little time as husband and wife before Marcus had been shipped out to the border, and you dread nothing more than the prospect of joining the ranks of the widows of Rome before you even have the opportunity to fully know the man you had married. It would have been such a waste, you think, like a flower cut from the vine when it was barely a bud, cursed never to bloom for the rest of time.

The truth is that although yours had been an arranged marriage, one of convenience, you feel (perhaps naively) that it held great promise. The general had never married, choosing to prioritize his military ambitions over his personal life. However, now that he was getting older, he had determined that it would be wise to seek a wife who might give him an heir to the prestigious station he had earned for himself over the years. Your father, a wealthy, prominent senator, had brokered the match, and a mere fortnight after you had been introduced for the first time, you had been wed.

Marcus had proven to be a gentle husband, a great contrast to what you had believed based on the tales of his ferocity in battle. He had spoken kindly to you and listened patiently, giving weight to your words, treating you like a partner right from the start. He had given you free reign over the household and encouraged you to mold his domus and his staff to suit your tastes. You had had very little time in each other’s presence, but he nevertheless struck you as a man of honor, a man of principle. As a woman in your position, there was little else you could ask for in a match, and the thought had comforted you as you stood side-by-side with this near-stranger and signed your marriage contract.

On your wedding night, he had been as tender with you as he could. You had been able to tell that he was holding himself back, restraining himself from taking you as savagely as he might have wished, but for that, you thought him compassionate. Of course, there had been some pain to start; this you had anticipated. However, toward the end of your coupling, as the general had begun to growl muffled curses into the soft skin of your neck and thrust himself so deeply inside you, you swore you could feel his manhood in your belly, you thought perhaps that it might have begun to feel…good?

He had spilled his seed within you shortly thereafter, bringing your union to a sudden and dramatic end and leaving your tentative, blooming pleasure to fizzle and die in your veins.

You glance down at the swell of your belly at the recollection, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. The fruits of your union that night – and the nights that followed for the brief month he had been permitted to remain by your side – had made themselves apparent shortly after his departure. That had been five months ago now, and it had been an incredible relief to know that you had managed to fulfill your duty to the general so quickly. You had fully expected to give birth on your own, to share the joyous news with him via special messenger like so many other soldier’s wives. Now, to know that he is set to return so soon, that relief is compounded. Barring any emergencies on the front, he likely would be home long enough to be present for the birth.

Birthing was a woman’s business, of course. You knew there was little Marcus could truly do to aid you in your labors. But a part of you, perhaps a very foolish, girlish part of you, could not help but feel safer when he was near. You would sleep better at night knowing he was once again within the walls of your domus.

Easing yourself back onto your feet, you get the attention of the nearest member of your staff.

“Once our guest has been seen to, gather the others in the courtyard,” you command. “We have much to prepare. The general is coming home.”

General Marcus Acacius rides into Rome on a sunny afternoon astride a handsome black stallion. Escorted only by a small retinue of guards and vassals, he travels light, with the economy and efficiency of a man who has spent the majority of his adult life in an army camp. The servant boy you have stationed at the city walls every day for the last week eagerly tells you that he looks well, that he has been asked to report first to the emperors’ palace but that he expects to be home by nightfall.

The news of your husband’s imminent arrival has a riot of butterflies rising in your chest, and you feel the child you carry respond almost instantly, fluttering and twitching against the walls of your womb at your excitement. A smile pulls at your lips, and you smooth your palms over the rounded surface of your belly as if to say, “I understand. I feel it, too.”

You send a message to the kitchen staff with orders to ensure that the general’s favorite meal is prepared for this evening, as well as for his preferred wine to be brought up from the cellar. Perhaps it is a bit silly – this is his home even moreso than it is yours – but you have an odd desire to make him feel welcomed. You want him to know that you have given thought to his needs and his preferences, that you have managed and looked after his home with proficiency in his absence, that you have anticipated his return.

You want to make the general happy, you realize with a flush. Not only for him to be happy, but you wish to be the cause of that happiness. Does that make you proud, you wonder? Or selfish? Perhaps. All you know for certain is that in the brief time spent by his side, all those months ago, you had begun to associate Marcus Acacius with feelings of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. Even perhaps…affection. You like him. Was it so wrong to wish for him to like you, too?

You are in the ostium waiting for him when the general arrives. The sun sets behind him as he approaches on horseback, still in full armor from his travels, and your first thought is that he is even larger than you remember. Blotting out the golden light with the incredible breadth of his shoulders, you think he looks almost otherworldly, like some mythical hero of old returned from a harrowing quest. You can feel your heart speed up behind your ribs, galloping like the hooves of his horse on the cobblestones, and you are thankful no one can hear it but you. You are a woman grown, wedded and bedded and carrying a child, the head of your own household, the wife of a prominent, respected officer of the grand army of Rome. The idea that you should become so flighty, so unmoored at the sight of your own husband is absurd.

When his gaze falls on you, your trembling hands find your stomach, a gesture that has become more and more instinctual as the bump has become more and more visible, and before he can even greet you, his eyes drop to where they rest.

Marcus pulls his horse up short, the soft expression in his dark irises sharpening, intensifying. You watch as his prominent brow draws up, something between shock and awe and hope washing over his face, and then he is swinging his leg up and over his mount, dropping to the ground, closing the distance between you in a handful of long, powerful strides. His eyes do not leave your stomach until he is a mere handful of inches from your body, and you catch sight of his broad, thick-fingered hands clenching at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

“Dearest wife,” he rasps, his throat dry as he finally, finally flicks his eyes back up to meet yours. “Have you something to tell me?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly overcome with the intensity, the intimacy of his attention. “Welcome home…husband.” Your voice sounds tremulous to your own ears, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you wrap both of your hands around one of his and bring his dry, scarred knuckles to your lips. Dropping a kiss onto the center ridge, you add, “It is a blessing from the gods to see you well after so many months apart.”

Your name is a sigh on his lips. “It is a blessing to be permitted to return home after so short a time,” he counters. “Now, if my eyes deceive me, I will beg your forgiveness and claim fatigue from the long journey as my excuse. But are you…”

He trails off, as though hesitant to speak the words aloud, and you could swear that someone had reached into your chest and taken hold of your heart for how tight it squeezes at the thread of hope woven into his words. Unable to bear it anymore, you finish his incomplete thought on your own.

“Yes…General Acacius – ”

“Marcus,” he interjects immediately, and you feel yourself flush at the familiarity.

“Marcus,” you echo. “I-I am with child. You are to be a father.”

The breath he releases is long and slow, his dark eyes shining in the setting sun, and if you did not know better, you might think that your revelation had rendered him speechless. However, it takes him only a moment to collect himself, and then he is reaching for your belly with both hands, palms outstretched almost pleadingly. “May I – ?”

You nod readily, feeling a grin split your face, and then his hands are on you, cupping your swelling bump with his sword-calloused touch. His skin catches on the fine material of your tunica, but you are unbothered. He is warm and vital against you, his touch more than welcome after so many months on your own, and as though the precious thing had been waiting for their cue, the child in your womb kicks against their father’s hands.

The general’s brows shoot up at that, his forehead crinkling beneath his dark, gray-streaked curls, and he lets out a rough, strained laugh. “By the gods. It’s true.” Keeping one hand on your bump, he brings the other to the side of your face, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, stroking your jaw with his thumb. It’s the most tender, intimate gesture he has ever shown you, and the heat of his palm has your knees weakening beneath you.

“You honor me, amica. Thank you,” he says, husky voice thick with emotion. He presses a brief, dry kiss to your forehead, and you cannot help but wish it had been to your lips instead.

Dinner passes in a blur of sumptuous foods and peppered questions, both from you about his time at the border and from him about how you are settling into your new home, your new role. This is one thing about your relationship that has been easy from the moment you met – it is clear to you that Marcus cares deeply about your perspective on the world. He never rushes you, never cuts in when you are speaking, never attempts to correct you in some demonstration of superiority. It’s a unique experience for you coming from a man, particularly one of his age and rank, and it makes you feel cherished in a way you never would have expected in a marriage like yours. You are under no illusions that yours was a love match, after all, but something about the intent way that Marcus holds your gaze, the way he nods along as you speak, the way he asks such thoughtful questions – it has you all but convinced that he cares for you as you are coming to care for him.

The two of you linger over dinner long past nightfall, but eventually, he stands from his chair at the head of the table, offers his hand to you, and leads you to the privacy of your shared chambers. He beds you that night, as you had expected he would after so long without the touch of a woman, and you go to him willingly. His touch burns with barely-restrained fervor, the expression on his handsome face twisted almost as if in pain, and just as you had on that first night, you feel something building within you as he takes you.

You have no name for it, and yet it feels altering in its magnitude. You feel like lightning, like lava, like some elemental thing ablaze with fire and light, and just when you are certain that the feeling is about to consume you, just as you know in your bones that you cannot take any more or you will surely die –

Marcus spills himself inside you, withdraws, and collapses onto the bed next to you.

The feeling recedes. You catch your breath. Your husband plants a kiss on your hairline, and under his lips, he finds the sweat of your exertion, of your truncated pleasure. He whispers “good night, amica” against your curls, and then he rolls away.

Moments later, soft snores fill the room. The general is fast asleep, but you…

You are going mad.

It is many days later before this madness finally comes to a head.

Every night since his return, Marcus has sought his pleasure in your body. He never forces himself upon you or hurts you in any way; he asks before touching you, always. But as you approach a full week of night after night of thwarted pleasure, you cannot help but begin to find ways to…delay the inevitable question. You have taken to engaging him in conversation as you lay in bed, asking him about the many visitors he has received over the last several days, or about his journey home from the border, or about his favorite horse, Tempestas. He takes this in stride, seemingly happy to indulge you, and the two of you spend long minutes talking softly by candlelight, warm and close under soft, shared sheets.

This night, you decide to ask him about the baby and how he feels knowing that you carry his heir, that his legacy is secured.

You anticipate the smile he gives you, the fond look in his eyes as he reaches out to feel the curve of your belly, as he has done now hundreds of times over the last week. What you do not expect is the earnestness of his words as he tells you, “I have never been a father before. At my age, I did not expect that I would ever have the privilege. Now that you have made it possible, I find that I care much less for legacy or inheritance than I do for…safety. Stability. Peace.”

You soften at that, and on instinct, your hand goes to his hair, brushing his graying curls back from his forehead with gentle, soothing strokes. You have found that this is something he likes, and he leans into your touch like a barn cat in a sunbeam. He seems pensive, and you allow the silence between you to linger while he gathers his thoughts.

“I mourn that this child should have a general for a father,” he admits after a moment. “I will be absent for much of his life. I will disappear for stretches of time that could number in years, and when I return, I will be like a stranger to him. Were it in my control, I would be more present. I wish to know my child. And for him to know me.”

“Him?” you echo, a bit impishly, and Marcus smirks.

“Or her, of course. I cannot claim to know whom you carry in your womb. I shall leave that mystery for the gods.”

You grin back him, enjoying the good humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “I am sure that however much time you are permitted to spend with our child – be it months or weeks or days – it will be enough.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, the general fixes you with a skeptical frown. “How can you be so certain?” he asks.

“Because it does not take long to see who you are, Marcus,” you reply earnestly. “To see your nobility, your strength, your power. Your kindness. These are all things I learned about you in the mere fortnight before we were wed. Your child shall know these things about you, as well.”

Tucking your hands beneath your cheek, you stare up at him from your pillow. The warmth of the candlelight casts shadows across his golden skin, highlighting the soft crinkles around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Besides, even when you are away, I shall be around to teach them,” you add with a shrug.

“Amica…” He seems a bit overcome at your sincerity, and his low voice rasps like a sword on a whetstone in the darkness. “You are very generous.”

That riot of butterflies returns to your belly as the intimacy of the moment stretches on. Gods, but he is so beautiful like this. No one has ever looked at you the way he does – not with base lust for your body, not with envy for your wealth, not with dismissal for your sex. Marcus looks at you like something precious, like something to be valued. That look makes you foolish, makes your cheeks hot and your tongue loose.

When you speak again, it is without thought.

“When I think about our child…I hope that they look like you, so that even when we are apart, I might have some comfort in seeing your face every day.”

At that, the general lets out a full-bodied laugh and rolls his eyes. Flipping over onto his back, he shakes his head fondly at you like one might a mischievous child. “Now I know for certain that you are flattering me, wife.”

Your brows nearly reach your hairline as a flush of embarrassment races up the back of your neck, darkening your cheeks in an instant. “Wh – No, sir, I would never!” you insist. “I am being entirely earnest.”

“My face? My face upon an innocent babe?” He says this with a scoffing laugh, sounding amused, but when you catch sight of the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, you think that there might be something…authentic beneath his jesting words. “No, my dear wife. It would be far better if the child were to share your visage. Then they might truly be comely to look upon.”

Is it possible…have you stumbled upon a true insecurity, you wonder? It seems unlikely. This is General Marcus Acacius, commander of the emperors’ armies, a man two decades your senior who fought wars on behalf of Rome before you could even walk on two feet. He exudes power and strength and intelligence, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence and self-assurance that comes along with experience. He is a skilled strategist, an indomitable warrior.

Does he truly not see…

Scooting closer to him on the bed, you allow yourself to cup his bearded jaw, to turn his face toward yours. “There would be no greater gift than a child with your eyes, Marcus,” you say softly. “Or perhaps your smile.”

“But not this nose, surely,” he replies, tapping the end of his prominent, hooked nose with one calloused finger. He shakes his head with a wry smile, as though the idea is too preposterous to consider. “I would not willingly inflict such an eyesore upon a child.”

By the gods. He means it, you realize. He has truly surprised you. To your knowledge, the general is not a vain or self-conscious man. You have never known him to care overmuch about how he looks; it was quite a contrast to the pampered upper-class boys you grew up alongside, something you had found refreshing when you had first met. Had you misunderstood? Misinterpreted his lack of self-regard as a lack of care?

You decide it does not matter. All you know for certain is that your husband appears to be under the impression that his appearance leaves something to be desired, and as his wife, you feel it is your duty to demonstrate to him just how wrong he is.

The thought has your heartrate picking up again.

“Do you know…what I thought,” you begin haltingly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “the first day I met you, at my father’s villa?”

His dark brows knit together in a small frown, as though your words have surprised him. “Tell me.”

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you confess, “I thought you the most striking man I had ever seen.”

“You flatter me, dear heart.” His words are soft, as is his answering smile, but you can hear the platitude in his voice. He does not believe you.

“No, no, it is not flattery.” With some effort, you push yourself up off of the bed, too emphatic to remain lying down for this discussion. You haul your pregnant body up to kneel at his side, tucking your knees into the warmth of his thick waist, and your long hair dangles over his broad chest as you look into his eyes. “I know that…the circumstances of our union were not exactly romantic, and I know that we do not yet know each other well, but I hope you will heed my words when I tell you that…I count myself extremely fortunate to have been married to so handsome a man.” Glancing down at your hands, you fiddle with one of the many thin, gold rings on your fingers in self-consciousness. “My father could have selected anyone he liked. The fact that it is you who shares my bed, you whose child I carry… It is a blessing.”

It is silent between you for a time, your words hanging in the air like a declaration, but then Marcus’s body shifts against you. Curling up to sit at your side, one of his thick, broad hands comes into your line of vision and wraps itself around both of yours, stilling your fidgeting.

You risk a look up, meeting his gaze through the length of your lashes, and you feel your breath leave your body as you take in the softest, warmest, most tender expression you have ever seen on his handsome face.

“It pleases me to hear that you are happy,” he murmurs, running one of his thumbs along the back of your hand. “And that your affection for my look is genuine. It would not do for you to say such things in an attempt to…endear yourself to me. There is no need. I am already quite fond of you.”

You are quick to shake your head. “Not at all! If I have ever given you such an impression, you have my deepest apologies.”

Now that your true feelings for your husband have been revealed, you feel as though you can no longer contain them. Under the affectionate weight of his dark eyes, more comes spilling forth, unbidden. “The truth is that even in the short time that we have known one another, I have spent many hours at my easel attempting to recall your likeness in detail so that I might recreate it. Your nose in particular, I find to be most…attractive.”

Your hand moves of its own accord then, slipping from his grip to float across the narrow space between you as though possessed by some covetous spirit. The very tip of your middle finger lands in the space between his eyebrows, and although you make no conscious decision to do so, you trace down the steep curve of the bridge of his nose with a touch so delicate it might as well have been a breeze.

Your own voice sounds breathless and far away to your ears as you whisper, “You look like a sculpture, Marcus. Like the great marble warriors along the garden path. It makes you look stately and…masculine and…commanding.” Between your thighs, you feel your most intimate muscles clench. You have grown swollen and sensitive there, a feeling you have become increasingly familiar with since your husband’s return home. It’s sweet and delicious and utterly torturous, making you want to squirm in your seat, but you resist.

At least…until Marcus traps your hand in his and brings your wandering fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes snap to his, and you watch as he presses slow, lingering kisses across each of your fingertips. The sensation of his hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin has you trembling, and gods, but his lips are so soft. Turning your palm up to the heavens, the general places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tender center of your palm, and you feel yourself swaying toward him as though under a spell.

The plush of his lips dances gently across the thin skin of the inside of your wrist, and your pulse thrums beneath his touch as he growls, “There is perhaps…one advantage of such a face.”

“Tell me.” Your echo of his earlier words comes out like a whine, like you are pleading with him, though what you are pleading for, you cannot say.

Marcus appears to consider your request for a moment, his eyes going sharp and calculating, and then he says, “Perhaps it might be better if I showed you. Do you trust me, dear heart?”

You are quick to nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

Inclining his head at you in acknowledgment, he releases his grip on your hand and pulls away entirely. He lays back on the bed then, scooting down so that his head is flat on the padded surface rather than on his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit, shifting back and forth, but once he is comfortable, he looks back at you and pats his chest with both hands. The sound is muffled by his soft linen sleep tunic but nonetheless audible in the silence of your bedchamber.

“Mount me,” he says without preamble, and you swear you can hear the whirring gears in your brain grind to a halt.

“W-What?”

“I want you to sit astride my face, as you would a horse.” No matter how intensely your face burns at the wicked suggestion, you cannot seem to look away. His deep brown eyes are bottomless in the dark, the depths of them reflecting the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well. You can feel yourself falling into them, can feel something at the very core of you tugging toward him, answering his call. If you were to glance down at the rest of his body, you would see the evidence of the general’s own arousal tenting his tunic, but your gaze is trapped, held fast by the magnetism of him.

“Come, amica,” he says after a moment of your silent, scandalized staring. “You may rest your ass upon my chest, but I would have that sweet cunt on my mouth.”

You swallow audibly, still making no move to obey. Wetness begins to pool between your thighs, slicking your skin and staining the fabric of your sleep clothes, and you lose the battle against your urge to squirm. Your thighs clench together, and you shift upon your calves in search of friction, but you find none. You need his touch…but what he is suggesting is –

“M-Marcus, I couldn’t possibly – I shall smother you, how will you – ”

He cuts off your protests with a growl of your name, and in that moment, you see not your noble husband staring up at you. Instead, you see the Roman General Acacius – sharp jaw clenched, nostrils flared, dark eyes blazing.

“I shall not ask again, wife. No harm will come to you or to me. Now do as you’re told and sit on my face.”

You hesitate for another beat, then two, and then you shuffle forward on wobbly knees to obey. Your husband’s eyes burn a path across your body as you approach him, tracing from your parted, panting lips, to your heaving breasts, to your swollen, pregnant belly. You feel the look like a physical touch, and the sensation has your skin flushing, has sweat breaking out at the small of your back and the nape of your neck. With shaking, uncertain hands, you reach out and brace your palms against the gold-filigreed headboard for stability.

“That’s it, nearly there now,” Marcus sighs as you clumsily, awkwardly swing one of your legs over his body. Your knee lands on the other side of his shoulder, and you feel the heat of his touch on your naked thighs almost immediately. With slow, deliberate motions, he pushes the hem of your sleep tunic up to your hips, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the cool air of the bedroom.

You draw your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a whine, and gooseflesh breaks out across your skin. You’ve started to shake, though whether in fear or arousal, you couldn’t say. Gods, you’re so exposed now. The wetness between your thighs is fully on display, mere inches from your husband’s face. It’s mortifying; if you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, you know you would.

Marcus, however, clearly has no such compunctions. His thick fingers knead the soft, lush flesh of your hips and thighs, using his grip to draw your forward, to draw you down. The groan that oozes from his lips into the hot slip of atmosphere between you sounds exactly like the one he makes when he first slides inside you, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily at the tremor of it now sounding between your legs. He must catch sight of this, your body’s own betrayal happening right under that stately nose that started this whole ordeal, for one moment he appears to be watching you settle in with rapt attention, and the next, he is releasing a dark, sinister chuckle and yanking you closer.

You give a thought for resistance then, consider pulling yourself from his hold, but –

Oh, you can feel his breath on your cunt, can feel your dripping curls shift beneath the current of air as he laughs.

You shift a bit on your knees, settling so that your weight rests just above each of his shoulders with his hands gripping your hips from behind you. The lower curve of your ass brushes the fine fabric of his tunic, and you are certain that if you could see his face, you would find his chin mere inches from the part of you that pulses and throbs for his attention. As it is, the roundness of your bump nearly eclipses his head, leaving only wisps of the thick, graying curls on the top of his head to peak out around the edges.

“Marcus?” Your voice trembles with nerves around his name, and beneath you, he sighs.

“Well done, amica, you are right where I want you,” he assures you with a groan. You feel the well-trimmed stubble of his silvered beard brush your lower lips; the feeling startles a gasp out of you, and on instinct, one of your hands flies from the headboard to the top of his head. “Mmm, yes, that’s it – sink your fingers into my hair. Hold yourself steady on me.”

You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice as you whimper, “Marcus – Marcus, please.”

“I know what you need.” His touch on your hips is warm, gentle, soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Now rest your weight on me and let me taste you.”

The joints in your limbs feel like water at the general’s words, at the hot wash of his breath across your swollen center. The embarrassment at your precarious position above his face still fizzes in your veins, making you lightheaded, but molten desire has begun to drown it out. Your mind doesn’t fully understand what is about to happen or what he is asking of you, but it seems that on some level, your body does, because it is absolutely thrumming for it.

There is nothing for it anymore. You cannot refuse him. You do not want to refuse him. Whatever he is about to do to you, your body needs it, craves it in the same way it does air or water or food. When you sink your cunt down onto your husband’s waiting mouth, it feels both like a surrender and like a victory.

“Oh – gods, Marcus – ”

Marcus groans deep in his chest the moment you touch his tongue, and then he is bracketing his arms around your thighs and forcibly seating you even more firmly against him. Dragging the slick, pink muscle of his tongue through your folds in one long, languorous stroke, it doesn’t take long before your thighs begin to tremble around his ears. He is focused, meticulous, thorough in his exploration of your most intimate flesh – sucking delicately at your lips, dipping the gentle tip of his tongue into your soft, quivering hole, using the flat of it to dance around that swollen nub at your apex that pulses with the thunderous beat of your heart. The thick arms locked around your thighs angle you this way and that, and through the sound of your own gasps and whines, you can hear the way your wetness drips at his touch.

Every lick, every suck, every swirl of his tongue serves to drive you higher, and you find yourself mindlessly running your hands over your body to ground yourself – stroking your belly, gripping your hips, cupping your breasts. The latter has you accidentally brushing your hardened nipples with your thumbs, and even muted as it is through your tunic, the sensation has you crying out into the dark room.

And that tongue never stops. Marcus is relentless – inexorable and yet unhurried. You can feel all of the tension in your hips and thighs melting away under the heat of his touch, and yet deep within you, something has begun to twist, to pulse, to squeeze. It feels like it does when Marcus beds you – pleasure stirring, burning, building within you as he grows more and more intent, more and more hungry, oh, gods…

It is miraculous. It is unbearable. It is tantamount to torture.

“Marcus,” you gasp helplessly, your fingers knotting in his hair, gripping the headboard. “I – I need – ”

The general pulls away from your cunt with a growl like an animal, and the sound rumbles through your body as he rasps, “That’s it, beautiful girl. Ride my face. Grind those hips into me and ride my face.”

You understand each of his words individually, but they do not coalesce in your mind. How does one “ride” a face? For a moment, you feel self-consciousness and shame begin to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. There are others who would understand the general’s instructions, surely. Others who would know what he wanted and would do it for him in an instant. For the first time, you allow yourself to consider the women that follow the army camps, the women whose services you were certain your husband had partaken of throughout his extensive career. They would know, certainly. Was there truly anything you could offer him that they could not?

Just as you begin to lose that delicious curl of pleasure in your core, as the fog of desire begins to clear from your brain, Marcus flexes those thick, strong arms around your legs and encourages your hips to thrust, dragging your tender flesh across the stubble of his beard, the plush of his lips, the slick of his tongue. That tongue, suddenly firm and pointed, thrusts into your sex, lapping at your wetness, filling the place that clenches for his cock. With the hitch of your hips, that swollen bundle of nerves just at the top glances across the bridge of your husband’s nose.

“Ah! Marcus!”

Beneath your cunt on his face, beneath your hand in his hair, you feel him nod emphatically, and understanding crashes over you like a wave. “Riding” his face. “Mounting” him, like a horse. This is what he wants. He wants you to thrust your hips against his face, as if in the saddle of a warhorse. To rub yourself against his nose and his tongue.

He wants you to find your pleasure with his body.

As though all your joints and muscles had been waiting on this realization, your hips begin to move of their own accord almost immediately, thrusting against that relentless, ever-present tongue, driving it deeper into the hot clutch of your cunt, and fuck…that nose, that big, strong, curved, perfect nose, glancing off of that most sensitive spot with every thrust. Head thrown back, hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pulling your tender nipples through your tunic, you experiment with different speeds, different pressures, different depths, but if you are honest with yourself, you are so far gone that it has all begun to feel equally intense, equally delicious.

And so you move with abandon – leaning heavily on the headboard for balance, gripping his hair, you grind your swollen, dripping cunt across your husband’s handsome face, fucking his tongue deep into your body, riding the hard curve of his perfect Roman nose. You feel yourself pulse and twitch and tremble with every thrust, feel him lap and slurp and suck at you with new fervor, feel his thick fingers dig into your hips so deeply you know you will bear his bruises in the morning. You had not known pleasure like this existed, had not known it was possible for you to achieve it. You feel drunk with it, the way it seeps into your veins like one too many glasses of wine, and Marcus drinks you down like the finest vintage.

Your clitoris drags across his nose once again, and you cannot smother your moan at the feeling. “Gods, Marcus, your nose – ”

Against your wetness, the general’s face vibrates with something like a chuckle. “I know, dear heart, I know – I told you, this face has one advantage.”

You shake your head fervently, feeling your long curls brush your back as you grind. “It’s perfect. Perfect, Marcus, I – oh, gods, I feel – ”

Another animalistic growl ripples through your husband’s chest, and you feel him nod beneath you. “Jus’ let it happen, amica. Take your pleasure,” he slurs, mouth full of you.

And you do. You take and take and take, clit grinding, hips thrusting, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and with every pass, that bright, hot, vicious spiral in your abdomen winds tighter, tighter, tighter. Gods, it feels as though it is going to consume you – to swallow you whole and drag you under, to drown you in your own dripping sweetness, your own savage pleasure.

And then it plateaus, the sensations holding, holding, staying at precisely the same level, dangling you over the edge, and in a far away voice, you hear yourself whimper, “Marcus, please!”

Releasing his grip on one of your hips, the man beneath you lands a single, sharp smack to the meat of your ass, and over the edge you fall.

It’s everything you thought it could be – lightning in your veins, lava in your lungs, something primal and elemental and raw that rips through your body like a tidal wave that leaves you hiccuping whines and shaking like a leaf atop the general’s face. You spill your pleasure down his chin, into his mouth, along his jaw. It slips down his neck and dampens the embroidered collar of his tunic, and the way he groans into your twitching cunt, you would think that it had caused him pain. But no – he feels your ecstasy as though it is his own. You have left your body to soar among the clouds, and he joins you, overcome with the particular joy of being responsible for making his wife – the mother of his child – reach such heights.

When you come back to yourself, you are utterly spent – limp and boneless and sweating as though you had just run at top speed from here to the city gates. You start to collapse, and Marcus’s strong hands are there to catch you, to slide you down from his face to his lap. Gathering you into his arms, he brings you back down onto the mattress and tucks you into his side. His broad shoulder cushions your flushed cheek, and his fingers brush your disheveled hair back from your face as you catch your breath. Through bleary eyes, you catch the way his face shines in the candlelight. He’s covered in your slick.

For a few moments, you simply gaze at each other as the silence stretches between you. It is only punctuated by the sound of your labored breaths as each of you settle, but somehow it isn’t awkward, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself. He’s so perfect like this, your Marcus. Hair mussed, face pink, everything from his chin to his nose glowing with your pleasure.

There’s a softness around his eyes you’ve never seen before, an earnest warmth that burrows its way into your chest and makes a nest there dangerously close to your heart. It’s an emotion you have a name for, if you are brave enough to say it, and the thought has you gripping tight to his tunic.

You are in awe of him.

You…you love him.

“And what is your verdict, my wife?” he asks after a beat. His voice is a low rumble that travels through his chest and into your body, warming you inside. “Does this Roman nose still please you?”

A tired grin tugs at the corners of your lips, pulling you out of the seriousness of your thoughts, and you nod as enthusiastically as you can manage. “Indeed, I am not certain I have ever been quite so…pleased before, husband.”

“Hmm. Good.” Marcus tucks the arm around your body into your waist, pulling you even deeper into his embrace. “Then perhaps the thing may serve a purpose after all.”

You reach up and cup his cheek in your palm, feeling the stickiness of your spend in his beard on your skin. “The purpose it serves is that it is my husband’s nose, and as such, is a part of the dearest face in the world to me.” His dark eyes soften at that, and he turns to place a warm kiss on the heel of your hand.

“Though…should you find yourself forgetting,” you add with an impish grin, “I would not object to a…repeat demonstration of its value. If it would be of any help to you, of course.”

This startles a laugh from his chest, his dark eyes crinkling with mirth, and you cannot help but join in. Gods, he is gorgeous, you think to yourself as you chuckle together in the dark. Both in his soul and in his body, your husband is gorgeous.

A hand drops to the place where your child rests, safe and protected inside your womb, and you feel a little flutter against your palm.

You decide then that you care not whether your child bears your face or Marcus’s. Either way, they will be beautiful, for how could they not be, when they have come from this?

Latin Translation:

amica - darling, sweetheart

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