#anyways he's doing the same thing over and over and over again

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt…. right? Pt. 2

WC 7.5k - daddy joel, but not in that way… is very persistent in his pursuit to get what he wants.

NSFW 18+ MDI !!!

- Warnings / content: explicit sexual content, no outbreak!au, husband!joel x wife!reader, domestic fluff, smut, pwp, unprotected p-in-v sex, breeding kink/ pregnancy kink/ impregnation kink, soft dom!joel, size kink, praise kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of going off of birth control, mild mention of a itty bitty lactation kink… after care, fluff, established relationship (reader & Joel are married), age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is late 40s), mentions of past pregnancy, results of pregnancy, etc.

pt 1 |

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

It’s been about a month since you and Joel started trying again, a month of him keeping you filled to the brim every moment he had you alone, and oddly enough… it seemed to be happening more and more.

Since the birth of your first, you’d both made a promise, spoken late one night over the soft snoring of a newborn tucked between you. A promise to choose each other, again and again, not just as parents, but as husband and wife, best friends and lovers. So every second Friday of every month, you carved out time to be just that. To have dinner alone, touch base, breathe each other in without any distractions and the ability to unapologetically be all over each other. Whether the kids stayed with your parents, your sister, or Tommy… who’d moved back in with Joel’s dad after their mom passed, it was your ritual now. Your rhythm.

Lately, though? It had become every Friday. Joel started arranging the hand-offs himself, and the moment the house was empty, he’d have you in his arms… pulling you close, whispering promises into your skin, leading you out the door with his hand low on your back.

He’d take you to dinner, always somewhere dim and romantic, with candles and wine… but recently only mocktails for both of you, and that look in his eye. The one that made your whole body ache with anticipation. The one that said, ‘You’re mine, and I’ll never get enough of you.’

He was never this intense about the other pregnancies. Never this deliberate. You figure it’s because you both know it’ll be the last. So now… it’s different. You swear the dinner’s just foreplay. Not in the way that it’s only the means to an end, but in the way that he uses it to tease you and work you up in a place where you can’t do a thing about it.

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place with soft jazz playing under the low hum of conversation. It smells like rosemary and something slow-cooked. Joel’s thumb rubs lazy circles against your hand across the table, your fingers loosely threaded as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug, endlessly soft look on his face.

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “You gonna eat that steak or just make heart eyes at me the whole time?”

Joel doesn’t flinch, “Can’t do both?”

“You’re the worst.” You don’t mean that in any true sense of the word, and he knows that.

He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world to worship you in tiny touches. “Well, you’re wearin’ that dress, so that’s on you.”

Your stomach flutters, heat pooling low in your belly.

Every Friday, it’s the same game. The same sly glances, the same brush of his shoe against your ankle, the same way his eyes dip to your lips when you lick butter off your fingertip. The way his eyes drink you in every moment you’re preoccupied with your food or taking a sip of your drink. The way he tilts his head, and the low hum in his throat when your knee brushes his.

“You’re just mad I order better than you,” you murmur, lifting your fork to steal a bite from his plate anyway.

Joel watches you chew with a grin that you think he does just to show off his dimples which drive you mad, “You touch my potatoes, you get consequences later.”

You click your tongue thoughtfully and return a lopsided grin, “Promises, promises.”

He groans quietly and shakes his head, like he’s physically restraining himself from hauling you to the bathroom right that moment, “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You sip your drink, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve known that since you bought me that coffee on that fateful morning,” You bite your bottom lip and stifle a laugh at the thought of it.

He leans back in his chair and chuckles deeply in kind, you loved reminiscing over your life together. On how it all came to be. “You were such a young thing… so eager, y’just couldn’t help yourself. Had me wrapped around your finger from the moment I met ya,” his gaze travels over you, to describe it as him ‘drinking you in’ wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Not with the way you see his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips as if in anticipation of tasting you… you could see that look in his eyes where he was mapping out exactly how he’ll do it.

You have to snap yourself out of that thought as he tilts his head and clocks your body language immediately. But he doesn’t push, he just lets it simmer. But just like you knew him… he knows you. Somehow, likely, even more.

“And I’d do it all again. Every side eye in public, every dollar I spent on coffee from that overpriced café… to every sleepless night with the kiddos, every goddamn blowout, every tantrum… Just to end up right here.” He presses his finger onto the table between you to emphasize his point.

A life chosen and never regretted. Every version of you and every version of him, every turn and every choice that led to this. Joel never says anything he doesn’t mean, when he gives you something, it’s because he needs you to know it. And that’s what makes every word of his so impactful and that hazy arousal caused by just him such an issue on a daily basis. But he loved it, loved the game of getting you all worked up over seemingly nothing, but he always knows exactly what he’s doing.

You press your napkin to your mouth, not to wipe it, but just to give yourself a second to breathe, the man was so well-versed with you and you with him, but he still never failed to take your breath away, to make you so desperate for more of him in every way.

You knew you’d never tire of him, of the way he makes you feel, of just everything about him. You loved him so much that the anticipation of him coming home every day felt like you were only half awake until he wrapped those strong arms around you and planted his lips on yours.

You settle into the heat of his gaze, let it wrap around you like the warm candlelight dancing in his big, brown eyes.

And then you say it, too casual for what it means, but with your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it across the table, “I missed my period.”

Joel stills mid-bite, fork suspended, “Yeah?”

You nod, slow. “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought it might just be late. But… there was some light bleeding last week. Not like a period. Just… spotting.”

His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing just a little in focus, “Implantation?”

“Could be.”

There’s a long pause like the air itself is holding its breath.

Joel sets his fork down gently, like he’s grounding himself. Then he exhales through his nose and gives you a look so full of love and want and need… like you hung the moon and he’s already cradling the possibility in his hands. It makes your ribs ache.

“Well, holy shit,” he says softly, his breath shakes for a singular inhale, then evens out again, “Guess I better keep doin’ what I’m doin’.” A flash of heat flickers in his eyes as his eyes slowly trail down your body and settle on the place a baby, your baby, his baby could be growing right that very second. It’s like the moment is suspended, his breath is slow and shallow like he’s really letting it settle.

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

He tilts his head, eyes locked on yours again like he’s seeing straight through to every part of you, heart, body, and soul. “You want me to say somethin’ other than I fuckin’ love you? That I want this?” He shrugs slightly, eyes going soft and dark all at once. “’Cause I do. And I just… I’m trying to process it but goddamn, this is big news.”

Your throat tightens, “I know,” you say quietly.

And you do. Because even across the table, even after years and kids and everything life has thrown your way, Joel Miller still looks at you like he’s choosing you for the first time.

You reach across the table again and trace his wrist with your fingertips, “You ready to not sleep for who knows how many more years?”

Joel’s lip twitches. He sets his drink down without looking away from you, “I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway. s’what coffee’s for, darlin’.” He eyes you up and down again as if imagining the changes already, “Worth it to see you all swollen and glowin’ again and I’ll be too goddamn gone for you. I’ll be at your every beck and call.”

You watch him for a beat, the curve of his forearms under rolled sleeves, tan and strong. The way the fabric strains just a little where it buttons over his chest.

He looks back at you, head tilted, “What?” he asks, his eyes studying yours, a toothy grin on that handsome face of his.

You shake your head, “Nothing. I just really like you.”

Joel’s smile deepens, but there’s something shy in it now, boyish almost. “Yeah?”

You rest your chin in your hand and nod, “Yeah. Like a lot. Think I’m falling in love all over again.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, like he can’t quite handle that, like no matter how long he’s been yours, you still catch him off guard too, “Think I’d say the same happens to me nearly every day.” His foot shifts under the table, nudging yours again.

You look at him with those doey eyes you never realize you’re doing until he points them out.

Joel clocks it immediately, and you see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his fingers tighten slightly around the base of his water glass like he needs to ground himself.

“There they are,” he murmurs, a little dazed, a little wrecked. “Those damn eyes.”

You open your mouth to play dumb, but he just leans forward, elbows on the table now, voice low and reverent.

“You look at me like that, baby, I start thinkin’ about forever all over again.”

The words settle between you like silk, weightless but impossibly thick with meaning. The air grows warmer, heavier, humming with something unspoken and ancient and so sure. That love that doesn’t need proving, just noticing.

You reach for his hand again, and he lets you lace your fingers through his like it’s instinct. Like it’s muscle memory. His thumb rubs along yours, slow, steady, and then he brings your hand to his mouth again, kissing the inside of your wrist this time.

“You nervous?” he asks, more serious now.

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, “Not really nervous. Just… aware. Like I’m scared to get too hopeful too fast, y’know?”

Joel nods slowly. “I get it.” He leans forward again, his voice soft. “But I’m already hopin’, baby. Been really hopin’ since I came inside you that first week you went off your birth control.”

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “Jesus.”

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, you knew what you were doin’,” he grins, those brown eyes lighting up and sending butterflies through your chest then… straight down, “You bent over the dryer that time, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

You pull your lip between your teeth as you smiled, a blush spreading on your cheeks.

“Knew it…”

You break into quiet laughter, warm and completely at ease. “Okay, fair.”

He lets the moment breathe, then reaches across the table again, hand warm over yours.

“We’ll be okay,” his eyes flicker in the candlight, almost golden. “However this turns out. You and me, we always figure it out.”

You nod, squeezing his hand, thumb brushing over the calluses that showed just how hard he works to provide for his family, for you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The restaurant hums around you, soft clinks of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, the gentle flicker of candlelight casting amber shadows across Joel’s face. He’s watching you the way he always does, like you’re a sunset, a firelight glow he can’t stop reaching for.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, then leans back slightly, just enough to really look at you. He takes his time, he always does. His eyes trace your face, every angle, every familiar shift of expression, “I just… I feel lucky, y’know? That we still get to do this. That we want to. That I look at you and know with everything I am that I want you, that I need you, and that you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

The tone shift sends a shiver down your spine as his grip on your hand tightens and that flicker in his eyes darkens.

You see it hit him again, the possibility and the reality that you might be carrying his child. You see the realization in the tick of his jaw and how his thumb brushes against the back of your hand like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your pulse. He’s watching you, studying you as if he’s trying to comprehend it, to let it settle deeper, and you can tell the thought is consuming him by the way his tongue glides across the front of his teeth, a telltale sign he’s deep in thought.

You swallow, pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.

His eyes dip to your stomach with a hungry, awed sort of longing. Like he’s picturing it, picturing the swell and the glow again.

And when his eyes return to yours, there’s no mistaking what’s behind them. You see his eyes flare with possession and devotion, with the unmistakable glimmer of ferality.

“You alright, baby?”

Joel shifts in his seat, shoulders tense like he’s holding something back, he nods once. “Can’t fuckin’ think about anything else right now, sweetheart.”

He leans forward again, eyes flicking to your lips. “Want you round and glowy and needy again. Want to take care of you every minute. Rub your back, kiss your belly, hold you at night with my hand right where the baby’s growin’.”

Your throat goes dry.

He huffs a quiet breath, shakes his head, “Ain’t right how bad I wish I could just keep ya pregnant, just round and full of my babies forever.”

But the way he’s looking at you says he doesn’t care if it’s right or not, because it’s real. And it’s clear to you that the moment he gets you home, he’s not going to be able to hold back. He never can and you truly hope he never does.

—

By the time you make it home and the front door clicks shut behind you, you’re already pinned.

Your back hits it with a soft thud, and Joel’s mouth is on yours before you can even catch your breath. His hands bracket your hips, possessive and warm, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress like he’s seconds from tearing it in half.

You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it whole.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” his voice is frayed at the edges. His thigh presses between yours, forcing your legs apart, rocking into you like he can’t get close enough. “All fuckin’ night I was sittin’ across from you, starin’ at your mouth, your fuckin’ eyes, thinkin’ about you soakin’ and needy for me, thinkin’ about you pregnant again…”

“I know… I was there..” you tease him as your fingers find purchase in his soft, greying curls at the nape of his neck. “You know what you do to me?”

He stills for a beat, his chest rising fast, eyes locked on yours like he’s clinging to every breath you take.

“What do I do to you?” he asks, his voice a rasp in your ear, wrecked and reverent all at once. His lips brush your cheekbone as he speaks, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a groan, and his hips jerk forward slightly like he needs the friction, needs your answer just to hold it together.

“You make me ache,” you whisper, breath warm against his jaw. “All day. All the time. You walk past me, and I forget what I was doing. I watch you roll up your sleeves and I’m wet. I hear your voice and I’m, god, Joel, I’m fucking gone for you.”

He exhales hard and his forehead drops to yours, and for a moment he’s still again, just holding you like he’s trying to regain some composure that was rapidly slipping away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost a plea. “Can’t get enough of ya.”

Then his mouth crashes into yours hungrily again and he walks you backward toward the couch without letting go of you for even a second.

“Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth trails down your neck, biting gently into the soft flesh there, marking you as if you could be anymore his. “We should, we should go to bed…”

“Nuh-uh,” He lays you down like he’s handling something fragile, even as his body covers yours with a need that’s anything but gentle. His palm splays over your stomach again, whispering something indiscernible to himself, “Can’t wait, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he presses you into the couch, his weight settling above you, heat and need emanating from him.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail higher, pushing your dress up and over your hips, then off entirely as you lift accordingly to assist him in his task, he’s quick to undo and discard your bra on the floor next to the couch. His knuckles brush your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Gotta be careful,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Gotta be careful so I don’t—But I need, fuck, I need…” you don’t know what the hell he was trying to say, or maybe you did, but what you really knew was that you needed him inside of as soon as humanly possible and you couldn’t have that beautiful brain of his thinking too hard right now.

You tug him down to kiss you, one hand in his hair, the other already fumbling with his belt.

Joel groans low and deep like it’s being torn from his chest, his mouth finding yours again as he shucks his pants down just far enough and basically rips your panties off. His cock is hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he presses the length of it against your core, sliding through your slick with a sound that makes you both groan.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, voice rough but trembling. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, the scruff of his jaw. “Always. Forever. I want all of you.”

Joel presses in slow, deep, and careful… but the grip he has on your hips is bruising, and his breath betrays the need that thrums beneath his skin as he pants against your skin, groaning softly when he finally bottoms out.

He stays there for a moment, buried inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other still gripping your hip in desperation.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs. “You, carryin’ my baby… Gonna take care of you. Gonna fuckin’ worship you forever.”

His words melt into your skin, heat and promise wrapped in every syllable.

You moan, soft and broken beneath him, your arms curling around his shoulders like you could somehow hold him closer than this. “Joel,” you breathe, “Please move.”

His hips snap forward, deep and steady, and you cry out, nails digging into the fabric covering his back. He groans again, louder this time, a sound that rumbles in his chest and spills into your mouth as he kisses you hard and messy and desperate. Every thrust is deliberate, full of something wild and possessive, like he’s branding this into both of you.

“I think about it all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, thrusting harder now, hand sliding up to cradle your head like you’re breakable even when he’s fucking you like he’s starving. “You round with my baby again. Knowin’ I did that. An’ everybody who looks at’cha will know I’m the one who fucked a baby into you again. The only one who ever will.”

“Joel…” You gasp his name, voice cracking on it, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He groans and shifts, angling deeper until you sob, his name the only word you remember. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it for me, sweetheart.”

His forehead drops to yours again, you can feel the slight dampness to his skin as he perspires. The heat of your bodies literally melting you together.

His hips begin stuttering with every squeeze of your pussy around him, “can feel ya squeezin’ me, sweetheart… gonna cum for me?”

Your body is unraveling around him, every nerve lit up and frayed. You nod, unable to speak, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. You reach for him blindly, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real.

Joel moans like the sound’s been punched out of him, his hips faltering for half a second before slamming back in even harder. “C’mon, baby,” he pleads, voice wrecked. “Need you to cum on me. Wanna feel you break on me.”

You let out a gasp that turns into a cry as you cum, your legs locking tight around him, walls clenching down so hard on his cock it forces a growl from his throat. His mouth crashing against yours, swallowing your moans like he needed to feel it in his bones. Then he’s picking up his pace again, breaking the kiss and panting hot against your skin.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your temple. “Goddamn, that’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

You’re still shaking when he presses in deep and stills, his own release hitting him like a wave, his hips jerk once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you with a broken groan, muttering your name like a prayer. One hand grips your hip so tight you know you’ll have an array of bruises to admire later, his other hand slides protectively over your belly again.

When he finally stills, when the tremors ease and his breathing steadies, he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, his beard dragging rough over your skin leaving it flushed and raw. His hand grips your thigh, keeping your legs wrapped tight around him.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice low and trembling. “You fuckin’ ruin me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s already moving again slow, instinctual thrusts that make you gasp and arch, oversensitive but needy still. He’s only half-hard inside of you as he comes down from his high, but you know he’s just making a point of fucking his spend deeper inside as if he needed to really solidify your potential pregnancy, as if it would change a damn thing if you already were.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his nose brushing yours. “How full you are? That’s all mine, baby. I’m the only one that gets to do this to you.”

You pull his head back gently by the nape of his neck, eager to just look at him. You’ve always been obsessed by the way he looks after sex, that sleepy, dreamy look when he gets what he wants.

“You really think you’re pregnant?” He’s coming back to earth now, and you can see it in his eyes and the way they’re searching yours.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth again and nod.

He watches with apt attention, and you know how he reacts when you do certain things. Even when they weren’t always intentional on your part, you’re always aware of what you’re doing by his reaction.

“Goddamn, hun… can’t fuckin’ believe you’re makin’ me a daddy again,” his eyes light up in the way you’d known they would when he finally let it settle in his mind.

“A whole other person growin’ inside ya, darlin’, you’re a goddess… creatin’ life.”

“You’re part of this whole thing too, you know.” You run your fingers through his hair and he hums in approval.

“Thanks for the credit, baby, but I’m just the guy who got to fuck you raw until it took.”

You shake your head and laugh lightly, “a little underselling yourself, no?”

He just shrugs and gives you that toothy grin you never tire of, “just happy to be here.”

You smooth the back of your fingers down his cheekbone and cradle his face in your hands, memorizing this moment.

“I’ll be the best daddy and doting husband as I can be.”

“You already are. I'm so lucky to have your babies, I’d have a million of ‘em if I could.”

He peppers your faces with kisses and groans as you knead your fingers into the tight muscles of his back, “You spoil me, y’know that right?”

You grin and simply pull him into another kiss. He hums against you again and you feel a twitch of his cock which was still inside you. You squeeze around him in acknowledgement and he groans.

“Dammit, darlin..”

“What?”

He just shakes his head and smooths the hand that was gripping your hip up your body until it’s cupping one of your tits.

Joel’s voice is hoarse, reverent even as he mouths at your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. He leaves marks all over your neck, you can feel the sting of his beard over raw skin, it makes you whimper beneath him but he’s not done, he’s never done… “Been thinkin’ about your tits bein’ full again,” he rasps, breath fanning hot over your skin. “Leakin’ through your shirt, swollen and sore… mine to touch, mine to take care of. You, feedin’ our baby in the middle of the night while I hold you… rub your back… kiss that sweet neck, ease the ache of this needy pussy whenever you need it, alright?”

You whimper, arching into his touch as he palms your breast, thumb grazing your nipple, and he groans like he’s starving for you again.

“Fuck, look at ya,” he mutters, gaze flicking between your face and where his hand works your body then drags all the way down your body to look at where you and him are still joined, “You’re all flushed, still squeezin’ me tight inside like you want it again already.”

He rocks into you, slow and deliberate, just enough to tease, to feel that wet slide of his once again hardened cock still buried deep.

You gasp, the overstimulation starting to blur into need all over again, hips instinctively tilting toward him. “Joel, please.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “You spoil me so fuckin much. Every day you give me everything. Your body, your time, our babies, your love… you’re a fuckin’ gift, that’s what you are.”

You breathe his name like it’s holy, his words, his hands… his cock, you could’ve sworn you were in heaven. Your body and brain felt elevated like the only thing keeping you down on this earth was his body pressed into yours and his cock rocking in and out.

His hands keep you pressed into the couch cushions, the bead of sweat dripping down his neck and you pull him in, pressing his face to your neck so you have access to his, dragging your tongue up his pulse point like you’d been dying to do all night.

He groans and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, enough to leave a mark, he lavishes your skin with his tongue in what he calls “scenting you”. You’re a mess of moans and sweat-slicked bodies and his shirt being on still is driving you fucking crazy, you need his skin against yours, you need to absorb him into you.

He can sense your urgency as you finally unbutton his shirt and he chuckles, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Something you need, darlin? Use your words.”

Oh, he was a goddamn menace. All you could do was whimper as he rolls his hips against yours again, the coarse hair above the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Cmon, baby, tell me what you need.”

You look up at him and his eyes are dark and intense as they look down at your desperation.

“Need to feel you… please.”

He laughs, and it sounds so maniacal to you, like he’s drunk on your body and your need, the slick heat of you wrapped around him. Like he knows exactly how fucking desperate you are and he’s savoring every second of it.

“All that whimperin’,” he grits out, hips still rolling slow and mean, “and you tellin’ me you need me? Baby, I’m already inside you.”

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a plea. “Joel,” you whisper, your voice breaking like you’re right on the edge, “your shirt… please..”

His jaw flexes and that little muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares down at you. His hands release your wrists but only so he can sit up and shove the shirt off like it’s offending him. His chest is flushed and heaving, and the moment it’s bare, he falls right back into you, finally giving his sweat-slicked body to your hungry eyes.

“Christ,” he breathes as his chest meets yours, skin to skin now, your nipples brushing his chest hair, your legs locked around his hips like you never wanna let him go. “You’re fuckin’ insatiable.”

You whimper again, nails dragging down his now-bare back like you’ve been waiting all night to do it. “You make me crazy,” you gasp. “I swear to god, Joel, you—”

“Yeah?” he cuts in, voice ragged and so full of affection it hurts. He presses a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, one hand tangling in your hair to keep your mouth near his. “Been sittin’ across from you all damn night thinkin’ about this… about how warm you are inside, how you fuckin’ grab at me when you’re close, how you look when I fill you up.”

You cry out as he thrusts again, somehow even deeper now, sweat slicking your skin and your bodies sliding together with every movement.

“Wanted to fuck you in that dress, baby,” he groans. “Was thinkin’ about tearin’ the damned thing in half.”

“You should’ve,” you rasp, clenching around him, trembling now as that wave builds again, heat flooding through your core. “Should’ve ruined me in the parking lot.”

Joel grins into your neck, voice low and wrecked, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. I ain’t above makin’ a scene for my wife.”

“Maybe next week,” you say, breathlessly, and that causes him to lift his head from where it was resting in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” his grip tightens on your hips as he continues his relentless pace, a curl of his grey hair falling in his face and your fingers can’t help but bury themselves in the damp curls. Your hands move to cradle his face between your palms, your thumbs trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones and his jawline.

His eyes meet yours dark and intense, with his pupils blown wide. There’s something feral beneath the softness, something possessive that flickers hotter every time you gasp, every time you tighten around him.

“Yeah,” you whisper again, weaker this time, and your voice catches when he shifts his hips just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes you clench and cry out.

Soon enough you felt that white heat building at the base of your spine and low in your belly, that simmering heat that has you arching into him involuntarily.

Joel groans, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “You say that like I ain’t gonna spend the whole goddamn week thinkin’ about it. Thinkin’ about bendin’ you over every surface in that house while the kids are outta earshot.” His lips brush yours and it’s barely a kiss, more of a taunt.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair again, and he growls as he slams into you harder, gritting his teeth as your back arches.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby. Can feel you gettin’ close.”

You nod, unable to form words, mouth parted and panting, completely wrecked beneath him. He’s everywhere, inside you, over you, looking at you like he owns you. Like he’s going to keep doing this until the goddamn stars fall.

Your eyes roll back as he thrusts deep again, and this time it hits that spot, that devastating angle, and your whole body tightens.

“J-Joel…” you stutter, voice strangled and high, your legs beginning to tremble. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, y’can,” he growls, hips pistoning now, relentless and so fucking deep. “Cum for me, baby… That’s it—my good girl, takin’ it like such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body breaks apart beneath him, a guttural moan ripping from your chest as the orgasm slams into you. It’s white-hot, full-body, and you go limp for a moment, spasming around him, legs twitching as your back arches into the air.

He watches it hit you, feels it in the clench of your body, the cry of his name from your lips, and he loses it.

“Fuck, baby…. fuck yes,” he pants, and then he’s gripping your hips tight enough to bruise again, holding you still as he pounds into you once, twice more, then buries himself deep and continues gently rocking his hips into yours, chest pressing you into the mattress as he spills inside you with a deep, broken groan into your shoulder. With a few more thrusts of his hips to really fuck his cum as deep as it will go, you feel the throb of his cock inside you as he empties himself.

His weight crushes you in the best way, heat rolling off his skin.

Finally, after a moment, he pushes himself up on his forearms again, studying your face as he slowly slips out of you.

You whimper at the loss of him, and he lets out a quiet hiss as his softening cock loses its warm sheath of pure bliss.

“So beautiful, darlin’.” He leans back, his big hands swallowing your frame as he massages the muscles of your hips and upper thighs, “My fuckin wife.”

You blush under his gaze as if he wasn’t just emptying his balls inside of you, as if this moment wasn’t something people usually got used to. Every time was like the first time with him, his heat simmered just as hot as that day he kissed you for the very first time.

Your hands find the hair on his firm chest, the sensation was one of your favorites, and you know you can’t keep saying that because everything about him was one of your very favorite things in the whole world.

His eyes met yours again, the deep brown settling from its darkened state, softening at the edges as he looks at you.

“I love you,” his hands come up to cradle your face, rough palms and calloused thumbs brushing across your flushed cheeks with featherlight care. You melt beneath him, aching and full and blissfully undone.

“I love you too,” you knew that with every fiber of your being you loved this man. From his morning coffee breath and the way he leaves socks on the floor, to the way he holds you and your little ones, to the way he loves with everything he is and holds nothing back. And for a million things about the man you’re lucky enough to call yours.

He hovers there for just a second longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, one kiss on each cheek. And finally… finally… he presses his lips to yours again.

It starts soft, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. His mouth moves against yours with a hum of satisfaction, deep and lazy, the kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. Your lips part for him automatically, and when his tongue slides against yours, it’s slower this time, like you’re both savoring the taste of each other.

You sigh into it, one of your hands sliding up the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the damp, soft hair at his nape. His body stays pressed to yours, chest to chest, skin to skin. You can feel the stickiness between your legs and the feel of his spend spilling back out.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss for just a moment, drinking in every small sound you make. His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again.

“I’ll never get enough of ya,” he breathes, barely more than a rasp of air against your lips.

You run your hands over his back, feeling every dip and line of him, mapping him with your fingertips as if you hadn’t already memorized every inch of him, your hands find his strong shoulders and trail your fingers up his neck and to the back of his head again, “I’m having your baby again, Joel.” As if you needed to remind yourself of the very real reality that neither of you could stop thinking about.

Joel lets out this soft, broken sound… half laugh of disbelief, half sigh… and presses another kiss to your lips, slower this time. Like he’s trying to write his love into you with nothing but his mouth and his hands and the way he keeps holding you like you’re something sacred.

His fingers trace the side of your neck, then down over your shoulder, slipping lazily along your ribs like he wants to touch every inch of you all over again.

Somehow, eventually, you both find the willpower to move.

Joel helps you up with steady hands, his touch still slow and lingering, like he hates letting you go even for a second. You’re both laughing softly, half-drunk on love and endorphins as you stumble your way to the bathroom.

The water runs hot and full, steam curling in the air as he sinks down behind you in the tub, pulling you between his legs like you belong there, because you do. His arms drape across your waist, his chest warm against your back, and you lean into him.

He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then another, then another, lips trailing wet warmth across your skin as you hum in contentment.

You close your eyes as he pours warm water over your shoulders, his hands massaging your skin with gentle, soapy circles. Every now and then, he sneaks kisses on your neck, your temple, behind your ear.

You stay there like that for a while, tangled in heat and soft laughter, letting the water rinse away the sweat and the ache, but never the closeness.

When you finally climb out, toweling off and slipping into something comfortable, Joel’s pulling on a clean pair of boxers and getting the bed ready for the two of you to climb into.

“Gotta say it, I miss our munchkins,” you say softly as you climb beneath the sheets.

“Me too, darlin’. I’ll go get them first thing, okay?”

You nod your head sleepily, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you and pulls you in closer, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm. You hum softly against his skin, letting yourself melt into the weight and heat of him. His scent. soap and sweat and Joel, fills your nose and surrounds you in a blissful haze of him, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could.

“Think they’re drivin’ Tommy and your dad crazy yet?” you murmur, smiling against his neck.

Joel chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Oh, no doubt. Bet they’re running the whole show.”

You grin sleepily at that, your fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest. “They’re good kids.”

“Yeah they sure are, darlin’,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and I make good kids. Can’t wait to see what this one becomes.” His hand slides protectively over your lower belly and you can’t help but sniffle and fight back a tear starting to form in your eye. Not from sadness, no, from the surreality that you get to have another little him growing inside of you. Knowing he’ll be there, right next to you through everything. Once again, you were reminded how damn lucky the two of you were to have found this love and to feel it so fully and so completely.

He pulls you closer and leaves a lingering kiss on your temple, his fingers trailing gently over the soft skin of your stomach.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the fan in the corner and the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” he says again, his voice already fading into that low, sleepy timbre. “Gonna go pick ‘em up… bring our babies home.”

You smile against him, already half-asleep yourself. “Can’t wait.”

Joel tightens his arm around you, holding you close, and you both drift off like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and safe and full of everything you’ve built together.

Tomorrow would be noisy and sticky and full of little feet and laughter, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning sun filters in slow and golden, the birds chirp outside, the same ones who greeted you and your family every morning.

Joel stirs first, he always does, his arms tightening around you like instinct before he even opens his eyes. You hum at the feeling, half-asleep, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

For a while, neither of you says anything. Just slow breathing, tangled legs, and the kind of heavy, warm stillness that only comes after loving someone so thoroughly they’re written into your muscles.

“Think it’s late enough to go get ‘em?” he finally murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing your hairline.

You smile against his neck. “It’s barely seven.”

“Still late,” he says, stretching slow, muscles rippling under your cheek. “Feels like I been missin’ ‘em for days.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at him. “Didn’t you say you wanted just one quiet morning for once?”

Joel grins, eyes still sleepy and soft. “Yeah… and I got it. Now I want my kids back.”

You lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet and full of that same aching affection that’s been burning in both of you since you met.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both dressed—Joel in jeans and one of his old, soft t-shirts, you in a loose sweater and leggings, hair still a little damp from your quick rinse in the bathroom.

The drive to Tommy and their dad’s place is full of soft country radio and Joel’s hand rests on your thigh the whole way there.

When you pull into the gravel drive, you can already hear faint giggles through the screen door.

Joel’s barely out of the truck before Tommy’s opening the front door, standing on the porch with his coffee in hand and a grin way too wide for this early in the morning.

“Well look who’s here,” Tommy calls, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flick between you and Joel, lingering just long enough to let the meaning settle, “have a good Friday night, kids?”

Joel shoots him a warning glare, but there’s no heat behind it, “Knock it off.”

Tommy just smirks. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just sayin’ you’re lookin’ about ten years younger this morning, big brother.”

You snort, trying to cover your laugh with a cough, and Joel immediately reaches behind him to swat your hip, muttering, “Traitor.”

Before you can retaliate, there’s a loud shriek from inside, “Daddy!!!” and then all three of your kids come barreling out the door, socks sliding on the wood floors, feet pounding the porch as they rush straight for Joel.

He barely has time to kneel before they’re on him. Sarah clinging to his neck, Artie talking a mile a minute, Ellie squealing and trying to crawl up onto his lap.

And god… the way Joel holds them, the way he laughs low and bright like they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, because you know they are to him… you swear your heart could burst.

You watch from the steps, smiling soft and full, and when his eyes find yours over their heads, warm and tired and still so full of love, you swear you fall for him all over again.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

I couldn’t stop myself, I’ve got some angst to write! I gotta balance myself out 😭

The baby fever is going crazy though thank god for my IUD or else i’d be making terrible decisions🙏🏼 that’s all I gotta say.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you do more of reader x rafe that involve Sofia.

Calm down || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @tetragonia

Summary: basically based off this scene in s4 ep 2 but ofc including reader

Warnings: none rlly!!

Word count: 1,986

MASTERLIST

The music was too loud, the air was too thick, and the vodka in your cup wasn’t nearly strong enough to make any of this bearable. “So… how have you and him been?” Ruthie asked, her tone loaded despite the way she lazily twirled the straw in her drink.

You rolled your eyes, already annoyed at the direction this conversation was heading. “Rafe and I?” you echoed, lifting your glass and swirling the half-melted ice like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Haven’t talked to him since that bonfire a month ago.”

Your voice was clipped, tone dismissive, but Ruthie was looking at you too closely. The kind of look only a friend who’s seen you at your worst would know how to give. You hated it. “I’m just so over it,” you added quickly, hoping it sounded convincing.

“Can’t believe he stooped that low,” she muttered, snorting into her drink. “A pogue, seriously?” You didn’t answer, but your jaw tensed slightly. You gave a loose shrug, feigning indifference. Like it didn’t burn every time you heard his name. Like you didn’t still dream about that night—his hands, his mouth, the way he said your name like it meant something.

The sound of laughter and shouting swelled around you, and you looked up just in time to see Topper sink a perfect shot into the last cup on the beer pong table. His friends exploded in cheers. “Let’s go, baby!” Topper bellowed, arms thrown up in drunken victory.

Ruthie squealed and immediately threw her arms around her boyfriend in exaggerated celebration “Oh man,” Topper slurred as he staggered over to the two of you, a goofy grin plastered on his flushed face. “It’s just a little harmless celebration, right?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how absolutely wrecked he already was.

“Oh, absolutely. You need another beer.” Topper laughed, leaning heavily against you. He slung an arm around your shoulder, the scent of cologne and whatever he spilled on himself earlier clinging to his shirt. “You know me so well, Y/n. Fuck, I love you.”

You rolled your eyes but let him kiss your head anyway, playing along like always. Ruthie giggled beside you, probably just as tipsy but much better at hiding it. Then—“Hey!” The loud voice cut through the buzz of conversation, music, and drunken laughter. You turned instinctively, and your entire body went stiff.

Rafe. Making his way toward the group with that same confident swagger like he owned the place. Your stomach dropped. “Yeah, my brother!” Topper hollered, practically leaping forward as the two of them pulled each other into a half-hug, half-clap-on-the-back. “There he is! How are you, baby?”

Rafe actually lifted Topper slightly off the ground before setting him down again, both of them laughing like this was any other night. Like everything was normal. You fought the eye-roll threatening to escape and instead focused on sipping your drink. Then Ruthie nudged you sharply.

You glanced at her and followed her gaze. Sofia. Standing just a few feet behind Rafe. Hair perfectly curled, but her posture stiff—like she knew she didn’t belong but was pretending otherwise. Her eyes darted around the crowd before finally landing on you. She gave you a small, awkward smile.

You stared for a second too long before mustering the fakest smile you could manage and looking away. Arms crossing tightly over your chest. “Of course she’s here,” you muttered under your breath, venom lacing every word. Ruthie raised her brows and leaned in. “I swear she follows him around like a lost puppy.”

You didn’t respond, because when you glanced back at Rafe—he was already looking at you. The smirk was gone now. No bravado, no cockiness. Just that unreadable look he’d perfected. The one that made you wonder if he regretted everything… or nothing at all. “Hey,” he said quietly.

And that was enough to make you snap out of it. Without acknowledging him, you picked up your drink, turned on your heel, and walked away. “Wait,” Ruthie called, rushing to follow you. You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to deal with him. Not tonight. Not with Sofia hovering awkwardly in the background like some replacement you never agreed to.

He knew it pissed you off—seeing them together, acting like what the two of you had wasn’t even worth protecting. And the worst part? He brought her anyway. You made it to the bar, needing something stronger than the half-warm cocktail melting in your cup. You pushed your way through the cluster of sweaty Kooks and grabbed a beer from the tub of ice, popping it open with a sigh. Ruthie stood next to you, her eyes scanning the crowd with laser focus.

“God,” she muttered, leaning against the bar as she sipped her drink, “she stands out like a sore fucking thumb.” You followed her gaze. Sofia. She was lingering near Rafe, too close for comfort but still visibly uncomfortable. Her posture was tense, her smile unsure. She looked like she was trying to blend in, but everything about her screamed not from here.

You took a sip of your beer, eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Wait—wait. Do you think he pays her to hang around?” Ruthie whispered, mischief dancing in her voice. But before you could even laugh, a sharp voice sliced through the bass-heavy music. “What did you say?” You both stopped. Looked up. The tone was unmistakable.

Rafe. He was standing near the entrance, voice raised, jaw locked, shoulders squared. Your chest tightened. “You got something to say?” He was talking to someone now—a girl who looked vaguely familiar. Local. Not a regular. Maybe a plus-one of a plus-one. Whatever he was, he clearly hadn’t learned one of the unspoken rules of Figure Eight: Don’t talk shit where Rafe Cameron can hear you.

“Hey, listen, if you want to say—” “Back off, Rafe!” The guy close by shoved him. Ruthie slapped her hand to her mouth. Your beer paused mid-sip. “Holy shit,” she gasped. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just shook your head slowly. “Typical. Always picking a fight.” You took another swig as Rafe’s voice rose, chest heaving as he advanced.

“If you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back, why don’t you say it to my face? I’m standing right here.” He stepped forward again, pointing aggressively. Topper lunged in, grabbing him by the shoulder with a grunt. “Rafe, chill, dude—” “You got something to say? Say it to my fucking face!” Rafe barked again, leaning in, slapping his own cheek like some unhinged invitation.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Here come the theatrics.” Topper finally got a better grip, dragging him back slightly. Sofia hovered awkwardly nearby. Her face was blank, expression unreadable. When Rafe stumbled back, she stepped in and helped Topper steady him.

She said something to him—probably trying to calm him down—but you couldn’t hear over the shouting. Then, as if the chaos couldn’t escalate further, Rafe’s voice boomed again. “He was a great man!” You blinked. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “He’s spiralling,” Ruthie said, half in awe.

Before you could agree, the clatter of bottles jolted you. You turned just in time to see Rafe storming toward the bar—your bar. “Hey,” Sofia said behind him, her hand catching his arm, gentle. “Don’t listen to them,” she murmured. You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Not really. He wasn’t exactly being discreet.

“Don’t listen to them? Don’t listen to them?” he echoed bitterly. “Kind of hard when they do it in front of me. I mean, I expect that shit from the Cut—but not here.” You exchanged a quick look with Ruthie. There it was. The line.You could practically see it hit Sofia in real time—the flicker of something breaking in her face.

She recovered quickly, but not before you caught the sting in her eyes. “Shit,” Ruthie whispered. “He doesn’t even realise he just insulted her.” Topper reappeared like a storm-drenched lifeguard. “What is this bullshit, man?” Rafe asked, exasperated. “Who do you have at your party?” Rafe shook his head like a wet dog, pacing, seething.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just—getting a drink.” And that’s when it happened. As he turned, his eyes found you. Locked. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t look smug. Just stared. Something unreadable flickering beneath all the anger—something dangerous. You raised your brows but didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.

Just took a slow sip of your beer, eyes never leaving his. Almost daring him to say something. He walked right past, close enough for your shoulders to nearly brush. Then Sofia stepped forward. Still lingering behind like she didn’t know where else to go. Her movements were stiff.

And when she looked up, her gaze met yours. It wasn’t awkward this time. It was deliberate. You stood there, holding her stare, bottle in hand. And then—Sofia started walking toward you. Ruthie leaned in, voice low. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me she’s about to start something.”

She stood beside you, just barely within arm’s reach, her presence cutting into the thick air around the bar like a cold gust through summer heat. You didn’t look at her at first—not until she said something. Not until she spoke. “How did you do it?” You paused mid-sip, the neck of the beer bottle still against your lips.

Slowly, you lowered it and turned your head, brows furrowing as your eyes met hers. “Do what?” you asked, voice even but laced with confusion. Sofia’s eyes didn’t move from Rafe—still visible a few feet away, his shoulders tense as he paced near the cooler, Topper doing damage control.

“Calm him down,” she replied, quiet but clear, the weight of the question hanging between you like smoke. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh through your nose. A snort, really. You and Ruthie turned to each other instinctively—your best friend’s eyes wide, eyebrows raised, lips twitching in amused disbelief like is she for real?

Was she seriously asking that? You blinked, looked back at Sofia. She was still watching Rafe like he was a ticking bomb she hadn’t figured out how to disarm. Like you were the only one who ever knew where the wires connected. “You think I knew how to calm him down?” you said, the edge creeping into your voice now.

“He’s Rafe, Sofia. No one calms him down. He decides when he wants to stop.” Her brows pulled together, and for a second, you saw something real flash across her face—something like defeat. Or maybe just realisation. Maybe she thought there was some secret you had. A trick. A formula. But there wasn’t. There never had been.

“It didn’t look like that when you were with him,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to her drink. You exhaled sharply, leaning one arm on the bar, facing her now. “Yeah, well,” you said, “that’s because he and I are alike.” Sofia blinked. Hard. And in that second, you almost felt bad for her.

Almost. But then Ruthie spoke, cutting through the tension with her usual bluntness. “He’s not a project you get to fix, babe. Trust me, she tried.” You didn’t correct her. Sofia stared at the condensation sliding down her glass. “He said he was different with you,” she murmured.

“He was,” you answered simply. “But he fucked it up so there’s that.” And for a moment, the silence between the three of you felt heavier than the party around you. The laughter, the music, the clinking bottles—all of it felt far away. Sofia nodded once, almost like a thank you—but more like a quiet resignation.

Then she turned, walking back toward where Rafe stood—his jaw still clenched, eyes wild, not looking at her. Not looking at anyone. Ruthie sighed beside you. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”You took another swig of your beer, finally letting yourself breathe again.“Nope,” you muttered. “Just another night in paradise.”

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[littlelamy]

finger sucking w Rafe… any version or whatever, I need it plzzz

after spending the entire day together, you still couldn't get enough of him. you were laying on top of him with your plush thighs slung over his solid hips. you even had on one of his old polo shirts, stretched tight across your chest, with a loose neckline that threatened to let something slip out. yet, rafe didn’t say a word—didn’t have to. his hand kept creeping closer to you anyway.

you were tracing nothing in particular across his restful shoulder blade when he suddenly caught your wrist, mid-air, almost like it was muscle memory. he brought your hand to his mouth, eyes half-closed.

your eyes didn't leave the tv when you ask, “what’re you doing?”

he hummed, lips already wrapped around your index finger, tongue flicking along the pad of it. his eyes opened a little more, but he didn’t pull away.

“dunno,” he mumbled, mouth still full of your finger. “feels good.”

your breath caught a little, “that’s not how fingers usually get kissed, baby.”

he sucked slowly, letting your finger slide past his lips, then back out again with a soft, wet pop. “you complaining?”

you felt your face flush, “noo…”

he grinned around your hand, then took your middle finger between his lips next, sucking it in to the knuckle. his tongue moved in slow little circles, like he was tasting you.

“you’re gonna make me squirm,” you whispered.

“good,” he murmured, releasing that one and pulling your ring finger into his mouth. “i love seeing it—you squirm so pretty.”

you wiggled on top of him instantly, your thigh pressing harder into his lap. you could feel the way he was already half-hard from just your fingers in his mouth.

“this is kinda dirty,” you say letting out a breathy moan.

he nodded, sucking softly on your pinky now. “yeah.”

“but not, like…too too dirty.”

“nah,” he agreed, pulling your hand away just enough to kiss your palm. “just hot.”

"God, rafe," you laughed, a little flustered. “you’re such a freak. getting hard from sucking my fingers.”

“hmm,” he shrugs, brushing your hair off your face. “you make that face every time i do something a little nasty.”

“it’s not nasty. just..new.”

with your legs still intertwined with his, he rolled you onto your back and held your hand up between your bodies. after rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his mouth returned, sucking your pointer deeper this time while maintaining eye contact with you.

you gasped, hips shifting. “rafe…”

“yeah, pretty girl?”

“you’re really good at that.”

he popped your finger out of his mouth with a grin. “i know i am.”

“cocky.”

“confident,” he corrected, kissing the inside of your wrist.

you touched his jaw with your free hand, nails brushing the edge of his scruff. “do you think about stuff like this when i’m not around?”

his eyes flicked up. “like what?”

“sucking my fingers.”

he smirked, “i think about sucking on your mouth, tits, that heaven sent body. now that i think about it, i think about the way you taste after a shower, or after i cum in you, even when your thighs shake when i do that thing with my tongue.”

you made a high, flustered sound and smacked his shoulder with your unsucked hand. “rafe!”

he laughed and kissed your fingers again. “and yes..i think about this too.”

you bit your lip, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “can i try yours?”

he raised a brow, “my fingers?”

"mmh," you nodded. “yeah.”

he offered his hand, fingers spread, and you decided to pick the middle one, pulling it into your mouth gently. you mirrored what he did to you—tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, sucking him the same way you take his cock.

he swore under his breath, “oh, baby.”

“see?” you said, releasing him. “kiiiinda hot.”

he was silent for a moment, simply staring at you. then, as if he wanted to feel his own skin on your tongue once more, he leaned in and kissed you passionately. “everything you do is hot,” he said against your mouth. “but this, baby…”

you kissed him back, slower this time, curling your now spit-shiny fingers into his hair. “i like this,” you said.

“me too, baby,” he nodded, “me too.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Emergency Contact | M Kesselring

summary: you never changed your emergency contact and he never stopped showing up.

⸻

You don’t realise you’ve still got Michael listed as your emergency contact until you’re half-conscious in the back of an ambulance, blood trickling down your temple, vision swimming in and out. The paramedic asks if there’s anyone they should call and you try to give them your sister’s name, or maybe your best friend, but the record they’ve pulled already has a name. His. And you never changed it.

You’re trying to explain that it’s a mistake. That there’s someone else. That he’s not—he shouldn’t be involved. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve already called. And when the hospital doors slide open and your bed rolls past the waiting area, he’s standing right there.

He looks older somehow. Or maybe just tired. Same frame, same face, same stupid hoodie you used to wear when it was cold and you didn’t want to ask for your own. When he sees you, he swears under his breath and follows without hesitation.

You come to fully in the hospital bed, surrounded by too-white walls and the low hum of machines. Your head is pounding but your body feels light, like it hasn’t caught up to the trauma yet. You hear a chair shift and your eyes flick toward the movement. He’s there. Michael.

You blink slowly. “Why are you here?”

“They called me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Emergency contact, remember?”

“I didn’t mean for that to still be you.”

“I figured.” He doesn’t sound offended. If anything, he sounds careful. “But I came anyway.”

He stays quiet after that, just sitting by the bed with his hands clasped in front of him like he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like maybe he hasn’t known in a while.

“How bad is it?” you ask, your voice thin and tired.

“Concussion. Needed stitches. You were unconscious for a bit but you’re okay now.”

You nod and let the silence wrap around you again. But it’s not the same silence that sat between you in the last few months of your relationship. That one was tense and bitter, full of things unsaid. This one is gentler. Sad, but not angry.

“I didn’t mean to pull you into this,” you say eventually.

He shakes his head. “You didn’t. I just… I needed to see for myself that you were okay.”

There’s something in his voice you almost don’t recognise. Not until he adds, “I was scared.”

You blink, and it stings. “Why?”

He looks at you like it’s the dumbest question in the world. “Because I still care. Because even after everything, you’re still the person I think about first when something happens.”

You want to say something back but you don’t know how. So you don’t. You just watch him as he leans back in the chair, his knee bouncing, his gaze fixed on the edge of your blanket like it might offer some kind of answer.

When the nurse mentions you’ll need someone to stay with you the first night back, he answers before you can. “I’ll do it.”

You shoot him a look but he just shrugs. “I want to.”

You don’t have the energy to argue. And maybe, deep down, you don’t want to.

The ride home is quiet. He drives your car like he used to. Left hand loose on the wheel. Right hand flexing on his thigh. You glance at him once, maybe twice, and it hits you how familiar this all still feels. Like no time has passed. Like the last fight, the last tears, the final goodbye, never happened.

He helps you into bed, finds the extra pillow without asking, even knows where the painkillers are. You hate how natural it all feels. You hate that you still know how he takes his coffee and that he still knows how you like your blankets folded.

“Why’d you really come?” you ask in the dark, your voice just above a whisper.

There’s a pause, and then he answers just as softly. “Because you’re still the first person I want to show up for. Even when I shouldn’t be. Even when it hurts.”

You turn your head on the pillow to look at him. He’s sitting in the chair beside your bed again, same as earlier, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“I didn’t change my emergency contact,” you say, “because I think I always hoped it’d still be you.”

His expression shifts. Not surprise. Just something softer. Something that looks a lot like hope.

“I never stopped caring,” you add.

Michael stands slowly, walks over, and sits gently on the edge of your bed. He reaches for your hand, pauses, then curls his fingers around yours like he used to. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t know how to fight for something I thought I was already losing,” he says. “I thought giving you space was the right thing. But I was wrong. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve tried harder. I thought I was doing the kind thing by stepping back.”

“You didn’t trap me,” you murmur. “You just let me go.”

He leans in then, forehead resting against yours, and for a second neither of you breathe. When he kisses you, it’s careful. Like he’s not sure if this is okay. Like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

But you don’t.

You kiss him back like your heart never figured out how not to.

The next morning, he’s in the kitchen, burning toast and swearing at the toaster like it personally offended him. You walk in, sore and slow, and he turns like he’s been caught.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You’re supposed to be letting someone else cook.”

He laughs, low and sheepish. “I wanted to make you breakfast. Still terrible at it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He looks at you for a moment, all soft eyes and sleep-mussed hair. “I wanted to.”

And this time, you believe him.

You believe he’s here because he wants to be. Not out of guilt. Not out of obligation.

Because he never stopped showing up.

And maybe this time, you won’t stop him from staying.

[aventurineswife]

thank😭 god😭 your req is open😭

Anyway, can i request AE Sunday x Cheerful reader who showers him with a lot of affection? Like a lot of pda(holding hand, hugging him, complimenting him, etc) and um, perhaps the reader love language is gifting gift and physical touch too. I think i just love AE Sunday so much

Love your works! Have a great dayy <3

“To Be Held, and To Heal”

Summary: Onboard the Astral Express, you find yourself drawn to Sunday—a composed yet quietly conflicted figure with a celestial air. With your cheerful nature and love language rooted in physical touch and gift-giving, you shower him with affection, praise, and unexpected joy. As your warmth gently unravels his guarded exterior, Sunday grapples with his ideals, past traumas, and the unfamiliar feeling of being genuinely loved. Through every hug, compliment, and handmade token, you remind him that happiness isn’t just a dream—it can be real, and it can be his.

Tags: Sunday x Cheerful!Reader, Fluff, Comfort, PDA, Gift Giving, Physical Touch, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soft Sunday, Protective Sunday, Love Language, Reader-Initiated Romance, Dreamscape Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of past emotional trauma and guilt, Brief references to religious trauma and disillusionment, Soft emotional vulnerability.

A/N: Thank you and you too!! <333

Sunday wasn’t used to this.

To the warmth. The hands that reached for his without hesitation. The arms that looped around his waist while the stars outside the Astral Express whirled by like fireflies in a jar. The little gifts you left by his door—handmade, thoughtful, wrapped with crooked ribbons and hope.

You were sunlight through stained glass. Brilliant, blinding at times—but never painful.

He often wondered what it was about you that made his wings tremble when you smiled at him like that. Maybe it was the way you loved so openly, without shame or fear. A kiss on the cheek when passing in the hallway. Fingers intertwined as if it were natural to be connected, anchored. You never asked him to change. You simply... gave.

And Sunday, for all his lofty ideals and celestial poise, didn't know what to do with that kind of love.

You caught him reading again, curled up in the observation car with the dim planetary glow casting gentle shadows across his features. His halo hummed faintly, eye-symbols glowing like quiet sentinels.

“Sunday!” You plopped down beside him, startling a soft flutter from the wings behind his ears.

His gaze drifted up to meet yours, calm as a lake. “You always enter like joy itself.”

You grinned, unabashed. “And you always talk like you're narrating a dream.”

You scooted closer. His tailcoat brushed your side. Then, without pause, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands seeking his like magnets. He hesitated—but only for a breath—before lacing his fingers with yours.

“Did you like the little gift I left you?” you asked. “The carved dove?”

His eyes softened. “It reminded me of home. And of you. Which... I suppose is the same thing now.”

Your heart did a flip. He had no idea the way your name sounded from his lips—like a prayer finally spoken aloud.

He wasn't perfect with touch. Not at first. His responses were tentative, awkward even. A wing that twitched when you kissed his cheek. A slow, stunned pause when you gifted him a handmade charm stitched with tiny stars.

But over time, he began to respond.

A hand placed gently on your back during conversations. A thumb brushing your knuckles beneath the dining car table. His halo tilting ever so slightly toward you—something you learned was his version of leaning in.

One evening, you found him alone in the observatory room, standing near the glass wall where galaxies stretched endlessly across the dark canvas of space. The starlight caught the edge of his halo, illuminating the soft lines of his face.

He was gazing at nothing—and everything.

You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking about. You knew.

“I used to think... if I could give the world peace through dreams, that would be enough,” he said quietly, eyes following the trail of a comet as it arced through the void.

You stepped beside him, the reflection of your silhouette joining his in the glass, and gently wrapped your arms around his waist from behind.

“But you forgot that peace means nothing if you can’t feel it for yourself.”

His breath hitched—just a little. He closed his eyes and leaned back into you, your presence grounding him like gravity. Trusting. Soft.

“I still don’t know if I deserve this.”

You kissed the spot beneath his halo, right where his hair fell against his neck. “Then let me keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Sunday wasn't used to this. But he was learning.

To love in the light, not just the dream.

To hold your hand and not look away.

To return your smile with one of his own—quiet, reverent, full of wonder.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe...

that joy wasn't something to protect others from.

It was something to be held. Given. Shared.

Like a gift.

Like a touch.

Like you.

I actually liked the ending wtf...

[bbyg4rl]

୨୧ ─ more than just friends . . .

cw: REQUESTED / bsf!jj x reader, friends -> lovers, fluff, first date.

JJ’s always doing things for you. Pulling a leaf out of your hair before you notice it’s there. Passing you the drink you were just about to ask for. Fixing the strap of your top when it slips with a casual, “Hold still, princess,” like it doesn’t make your whole brain stutter.

You’re used to it. Or at least, you pretend to be.

He doesn’t say much about it, just keeps orbiting around you, always too close, always right where you need him. Sometimes he twists the little woven bracelet on his wrist, the one that matches yours. It’s faded now, sun-bleached and fraying at the ends but he never takes it off.

You catch him staring sometimes. Not in a weird way. In a watching you laugh like he’s memorizing it kind of way. You pretend not to notice that, too.

It’s all the same, until one day, John B leans over to him and says, “Dude. Just ask her out. You already act like her boyfriend anyway.”

JJ scoffs, flicks a bottle cap at him, dismisses the idea like it isnt the one thing he wants most. “Shut up.”

But later that night, he’s stringing up lights in the backyard with shaky hands. Doesn’t tell you what he’s doing. Just mutters something about “a chill night, nothing big.”

You find it a couple hours later—blankets laid out, chips and candy piled on an old tray, two beers sweating in the grass. There’s a candle flickering in a jar. It’s stupid. It’s perfect. It’s JJ.

He’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, picking at a thread on his jeans. When he sees you, he grins, but it’s softer than usual. “Took you long enough.”

You sit beside him, heart thudding in a weird, slow rhythm. It’s quiet for a while. The night’s warm. Crickets. Distant waves. JJ leans back on his hands, head tilted up to the stars. He looks... nervous, his breath uneven.

You glance at his wrist. He’s playing with the bracelet again.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say.

He shrugs, eyes still on the sky. “Didn’t wanna do nothing.”

You don’t say anything. Just lean your head lightly against his shoulder. His voice drops. “You always wear it,” he says, like it surprises him. “The bracelet.”

You nod. “Yeah. You too.”

Another beat of silence. It’s comfortable, familiar.

Then he turns toward you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with his thumb. His hand lingers, warm on your jaw. He’s close now. Closer than usual. “You look really pretty right now,” he says softly.

You smile. “Yeah?”

He nods. His gaze drops to your mouth. “Yeah.”

And then, he leans in. His eyes flicker back and forth between your eyes and your lips. He’s nervous. More nervous than he’s probably ever been in this life. You swear you can hear his heart thudding against his ribs.

You meet him halfway.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not even sudden. It’s slow. Easy. Like breathing. Like the kiss was just waiting there, soft and patient, until the two of you finally caught up. It felt natural—like maybe this was what it was supposed to be this whole time.

When he pulls back, barely, he’s still smiling. Thumb still at your cheek. Voice lower now, “Should’ve done that forever ago.”

♡ requested by @melancohol1c for ꒰ ⑅ ๑  𝟖𝟖𝟖 : : BALANCE ꒱

check out my — masterlist / 2k celebration ૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

[lavenderangel111]

Heyyyy

I'm George's sister Valerie

I found loa in 2024 since then it's been a roller coaster. I was obsessed with changing my life but it was so hard to stay motivated. My family was poor and I was bullied for wearing old clothes and shoes. I have been bullied my whole life. My self esteem was shit. Deep down I didn't feel worthy of having a good life. I managed to manifest few things over the years but the thing I wanted the most is to enter void. When my brother started having problems with work I knew that I had to lock in. The breaking point for me was the day my brother called me from jail after he didn't come home which isn't something he would do. After that call I said f it all. I will enter void if it's the last thing I will do. I didn't sleep that night. I spent the whole night rampaging. I fell asleep what the sun rise. I woke up to my mom shouting and crying. My brother had come home looking like he had been to hell and come back. He was limping and had bruises all over his body. He had dried blood on his face and his clothes were torn. I'm crying just remembering. I'm so glad he got his revenge. Anyway, my mother and I helped cleaned his wounds and he went to sleep after taking pain killers. Both of my parents looked 20 years older. When my brother woke up from his nap he said that he would enter void. He said that if he enters he will manifest that we have always been rich and we have never suffered. I told him that I want to remember our old life and that he should manifest that I enter void. We were all so tired and we went to bed early.

The exciting part

I woke up in the middle pf the night to pee. Before I open my eyes I know that something feels different. My bed feels soft as a cloud. I opened my eyes and said oh shit. My room was completely different. I just sat there for 2 minutes crying because I couldn't believe that my brother actually did it. I wanted to run to his room to wake him up but I remembered that I had to pee. I put my feet on the ground and I felt this soft rug. I'm embarrassed to say that I got off the bed and rolled on the rug 🙈. I looked around my room and noticed that I had my own bathroom. I did my business and looked in the mirror but my face was still the same. I was almost disappointed then I remembered that I asked my brother to manifest for me to enter void so I ran to bed and lay on my back. I forced myself to stay still until I started to feel like I'm floating. I said "I am pure consciousness" until I fell asleep. When I woke up everything was black then I said "I have everything I want" then I just stayed there because it was so peaceful. I woke up and my room was different again. This time it was exactly what I wanted. I heard little feet on the floor and a bark. It was a puppy! A golden retriever. She's so cute and as soon as I picked her up she gave me lots of kisses. I stood up to check out the rest of my room and I was really impressed because I didn't have an exact picture of the things I wanted but I believed that everything would be perfect. I have a walk in closet full of so many things like expensive jewellery, shoes, clothes and purses. I also have a full length mirror. My jaw dropped when I saw my face and body. I look Unreal now. My skin is clear, my body is hairless, I have dark waist length hair and Hazel eyes, slim thick body. Everything is even better than I could have possibly imagined. I finished exploring my room and when I stepped outside my room, my brother was about to knock on my door and when he saw me and my puppy he said "Valerie what the hell???" Lol. I noticed that his injuries dissappear so I gave him a tight hug and thanked him a thousand times. I went to take shower and spent an hour in there playing with soaps shampoo and all the different shower settings 😂. I checked my phone and it was a Samsung S25. I saw that I was added to so many groups and I had a bunch of new friends 🧡. I went downstairs to have breakfast prepared by our new private chef with my family. My parents look so happy and carefree. I don't think I have ever seen them like this before. Later on i went to hang out wuth my friends and we took pictures for instagram. I saw that i have 95k follwers. I git home and cried again because i couldn't believe that me the girl who had no friends and was bullied has a perfect life now. I go to a private school and I'm the most popular girl in school. In tbe evening, my brother and i just sat in silence. I turned to him and said "is this what happiness feels like?" He said "Yes, we don't have to worry about anything ever again." I'm sorry for giving unnecessary details but I'm just so excited 😊. I'll end here.

I would like to thank everyone in the community. Your posts, advices and success stories kept me going. Lavender, I want to thank you for being there for my brother through the roughest time of his life. You're an angel 😇. Because of you we are now planning a family vacation and I'm going to have a sweet 16❤️. I love you so much 😘

Congratulations Valerie!!!

You guys have been through so much but everything worked out in the end. Some parts of your story made me cry and other parts made me laugh, I really enjoyed reading it and I love how detailed it was :) I could feel your excitement through the screen 💖

Have fun on your vacation! Love you too ❤️❤️

[bluebnny]

Can u make a luffy x reader smut friend with benefits?

monkey d luffy x reader

contents: luffy fucking you in the storage room at your work :) – reader has a vagina, but gender is not specified

warnings: smut, P in V sex, maybe slight voyeurism?, MDNI

a/n: yes, anon, yes i can :) thank you for the request! I didn’t make reader a pirate, as i always find that dynamic to be a little more interesting. Also, sorry if you wanted me to get more into the "friends with benefits" aspect of it. This is more focused on the smut than their specific relationship. Anyway, hope you like it! <3

(Dividers made by me)

word count: 1.020

Luffy is the same in every area of his life: messy, spontaneous, and carefree. But he is also the most enthusiastic person you know, burning with an intense passion that shines through in everything he does.

Even if that “thing” is you.

“Ahh- fuck. Luffy, more, please…” Here you are, in the storage room of the bar you work at, with your face pressed up against the wall. You’re doing your very best to keep your moans under control, trying to end the night with both your job and dignity intact. But he is not making it easy.

“Sure you can handle more?” Even when he’s breathless and panting, he somehow manages to joke around, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning.

Luffy snaps his hips roughly into yours, mesmerized by the way your ass and thighs shake with every harsh thrust. He’s impossibly deep now, using so much force that his hips still for half a second before pulling back again. You feel him pressing himself all the way inside, and the way it hurts so deliciously has your eyes rolling back in your head.

He goes on for what feels like forever and at the same time not long enough to your dizzy mind. All you know for sure is the pleasure building inside you, making you let out a string of whines and whimpers at the intensity of it.

He’s ramming himself into you from behind, keeping a steady pace. One hand is on the back of your head, the other on your hip to keep you from squirming away, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

You’re a whole different story. Hair messy and mouth half open, you’re barely able to contain your whimpers of pleasure. You have a hand on the wall, trying – and failing – to steady yourself, as your shaky legs are not helping much at the moment. Your other hand is placed on Luffy’s abs, whether to make him slow down from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, or to ask for more, you couldn’t even say yourself. All you know is that you’ve been craving this ever since you heard this morning that the straw hats had docked at your town again.

You and Luffy had met not too long ago but quickly considered yourselves friends. However, it didn’t stay like that for very long, as your friendship had swiftly evolved into something a little… more.

It had happened on a drunken night a few months back. Luffy and the straw hats had visited your island for a quick stop to restock and have some fun on land, going to your bar for a few drinks to catch up with you. You had joined them, seeing as you were off work that night. One thing had led to another, and you had found yourself under him on his ship, just about coherent enough to pant and moan out as the breath was repeatedly being knocked out of you by none other than the captain himself.

Ever since that night, you were addicted.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tightly.” He groans into the back of your head, bending over a little from the delicious feeling.

You honestly couldn’t tell anymore from how blissed out you are, no longer in control of your body. Retaining just enough sense to be aware that your boss is tending the bar on the other side of the door, and remembering that you were trying not to be too loud.

But Luffy gives a particularly hard thrust that has you gasping out despite your best efforts. You’re beyond grateful for the deafening music playing throughout the establishment. Without it, you’re sure everyone would hear exactly what you two are up to.

“Careful, or everyone out there will hear you.” He teases.

“I- I can’t.” You breathe out. How the hell are you supposed to keep any sense of control when he’s making you feel this good? But the mortifying thought of someone catching you like this sends a shiver down your spine and you clench down harder around him.

“Fuck, you like that?” He’s chuckling, but it’s coming out a little choppy from his rapid movements.

“Luffy… I’m close. Ah!” You let out another squeak when his hand moves from your head down to your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles that have you breaking on the spot.

Your mind is reeling from the orgasm crashing through you, your entire body shaking and convulsing from the intensity. Both your hands are now planted against the wall from the effort of holding yourself up.

Your pussy is helplessly spasming around his thick cock, which Luffy is still slamming into you. But you can tell he must be close from how desperate his thrusts are getting. It doesn’t take much before he’s cumming too. With a groan, he releases into you in thick spurts, his pace slowing down for the first time.

You both start to come down from the intense sensation, and you feel like you might actually fall now. Your legs start shaking even more violently as the tension leaves your body. But just as you’re about to collapse, you feel Luffy’s steadying grip around your middle, and he helps you sit on a spare chair in the corner of the room.

“You alright?” He asks you after a moment, his mind clearly still reeling from everything.

“Yeah. Just got to regain my breath.” How the hell was he already so energetic again? You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. At least your legs do.

“Yeah… fuck that was hot!” Is all he says, and when you look up to se his characteristic smile back on his face, you can’t help but mirror it.

“It was. Alright I’m good now I think.” You search for your pants which are somewhere on the floor of the storage, meanwhile hoping that your hair doesn’t look too much of a mess as you don’t have a mirror to check. But judging by how Luffy looks, your hopes are not too high.

Thanks for reading! And thank you so much for the request! Also uhhh this one doesn't have a title. It's midnight here and i am in no state to think of a good one lol.

(This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3) Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[dollkuna]

the digest. slutty car washer gojo cleans your car and wants to be tipped ?!

it was a million degrees out, and he was stuck in a sonic the hedgehog tank top. honestly, it wasn't his fault he was in this situation. thanks to his low-budget university, he was outside a gas station, washing cars to raise money for his robotics club.

in the grueling heat, he thought he might melt. and he actually did. not because of the sun, though. you pulled in, a fellow broke college student just looking for a cheap place to get your beat-up car cleaned. and… it was for a good cause, right?

so, was it still a good cause when you found yourself in the dinky, one-person bathroom of that same gas station, with gojo bending you over the (probably not-so-clean) sink counter?

maybe. maybe not. you were definitely willing to find out.

"ngh—gojo, fuck!"

"c—call me satoru. 's fair enough, if i'm fucking your guts out," he grunted, digging his fingers into your hips. his sweaty bangs were plastered to his forehead, a flush creeping up his neck. his thick cock filled you, and your knuckles turned white from the fists you'd made.

a choked whine left your throat, the closest thing you could manage to a 'yes.' his teeth sank into your shoulder from his position behind you, making you gasp. "go—s'toru!"

"shit, ah, yeah, that's much better," he grunted, his breath hitching at his name coming from your mouth. your back was arched, and his thrusts were deep. he was big, and you'd known him less than an hour, but he was hitting spots your long-term ex-boyfriend didn't even know existed.

"you're so tight," gojo groaned. "you ever even been fucked right?"

the right answer was "no," but that felt embarrassing. then again, the fact that you couldn't physically produce an answer anyway was also kind of embarrassing.

you figured that if it weren't for his strong arms keeping you in place, you wouldn't be able to stay upright. his hips slammed brutally against your ass, the cool slab of the sink digging into your skin. your palms were slick with sweat as you desperately tried to ground yourself.

his stamina was scarily strong — to the point where you wondered how many people he'd fucked — and even when you came, he didn't let up. not until he did too, shooting sticky ropes into your poor, overstimulated pussy.

gojo dropped his head onto the back of your neck, gently rubbing your thigh.

"um, do i still have to pay for the car wash?" you panted, a glimmer of hope in your voice.

"yeah, sorry. just consider this a tip?" a pause from gojo. "but, hopefully, i can pay for dinner."

[francislangdon]

omg. if you have the time. we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Samira turns from her charting, scanning Mel’s face before shaking her head and starting to type again.

“He’s not,” Samira says, “He’s married, Mel. He talks about his wife all the time.”

“Not to me,” Mel mutters. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You’re probably misreading the signals.”

“I…” Mel stutters. She has been known to do that. That’s why she wanted to bring it up to Samira. “…Guess you’re right.”

Married men don’t flirt with women who aren’t their wives. Mel knows this the same way she knows everyone waits until they’re twenty one to start drinking.

Langdon swings by their desks then, she can sense him coming. A weight hits her shoulders and it’s his hands gripping onto her, solid. Mel tilts her head up into his body, resting against his chest.

“Hey, babe, you wanna take a look at the guy in North 5 with me?”

“What happened to him?”

“Mandolin accident. Guess how many fingers he lost.”

“Most people just lose one.”

“Most people,” he agrees ruefully, “But guess how many this guy lost.”

“Three?”

“Cut the fingertips off of all five, sweetheart.”

Mel winces.

He pulls her up out of the chair. “Over under three that we can reattach?”

Samira pipes up, “Under.”

“Someone’s a pessimist. What do you think, baby?” He’s standing so close his chest is touching her back.

Mel tries to catch Samira’s eye, but she’s disinterested, focused on the computer. “Um, over? I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” he pushes her towards the hall.

“I know where North 5 is.”

His hand stays on her back. “I know.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Collins continues to stitch the laceration on their patient’s leg, but her eyebrows raise in a way that Mel can tell means she’s paying attention. “Why would you say that?”

“Um, he’s been calling me terms of endearment. And he touches me a lot? More than normal, I think. Oh, and he brought me breakfast this morning. It looked homemade.”

“Langdon’s pretty impulsive. He probably gave you his leftovers.”

“What about the touching?”

“Yes, he’s very tactile. Like a big puppy, really.”

“Is he tactile with you?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mel’s brow furrows.

“Dr. Langdon is married, anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You’re a great doctor, Mel, one of our best residents.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s just playing favorites. Robby does that too, sometimes.”

“…You don’t think there’s any reason I’m his favorite?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Mel says awkwardly.

The curtain to the room opens then, Langdon’s head popping up. He winks at her. “What do we have here?”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he heard their conversation before he walked in.

“Belligerent drunk,” Collins says, “Had to knock him out so I could suture him.”

“And it seems like you’re doing a fine job. Can I steal Mel?”

Collins hands her over without a second thought. “Go ahead.”

“Great.” Langdon tugs Mel out of the room by the wrist.

“What did you need me for, Dr. Langdon?”

He shrugs, “Dunno yet. Let’s go find something interesting.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Robby slowly closes the drawer he’d been digging in, a packet of nicotine gum halfway to his mouth. Mel had caught him in between cases. He’s a good teacher, albeit very hands off. Mel’s spent a latent chunk of her shift trying to catch up to him.

“Okay…?” Robby trails off.

Mel’s hands flex. “Do you…”

This is embarrassing.

“Do you think that he is?”

“Flirting with you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mel wants the ground to swallow her.

“Langdon’s been on his best behavior since coming back.”

It’s true. He’s sharper now than he was before, she thinks, more attuned to the needs of the ED. Robby has been trying to wrangle him back into his role as the heir apparent.

“I think he was smelling my hair the other day? It was hard to tell. We were talking by the lockers and he just leaned in.“

“Langdon would never be inappropriate with any of our residents. He knows better than that.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything I just—”

“Good. If he’s not bothering you then we have nothing further to discuss,” Robby houses a few pieces of gum and shoves the rest back in the drawer. “C’mon Dr. King, we’ve got patients waiting.”

Mel takes the dismissal.

She shuffles over by the board to see what needs done, but Langdon’s standing by the ambulance doors, waiting for something to come in.

“Mel! Motorcycle accident coming in five. You in?”

She can never refuse him.

“Attagirl,” Langdon grins. He slaps her ass and gestures to a trauma room, “Go get gowned up, baby.”

Mel jumps at the impact, blushing, stealing a few glances back at him as she goes to follow his directions.

“Dr. Langdon?”

He pulls himself away from her lips, “Yeah, Mel?”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

“Little bit.”

He retracts his thigh out from between her legs. There’s a wet spot where she’s been grinding on it.

“Honestly, I thought you’d chicken out before we got here.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mel says, lips kiss-swollen. She glances at the obvious erection in his pants.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“I’m not good at social cues.”

“Ah,” Langdon says, “Alright, let me be more direct.”

He shoves her up against the wall again, kissing her intently, the press of his hard length into her thigh undeniable.

[lohotine]

``The Want to be Wanted.``

Chance x Reader (Forsaken)

Cw: Mentions and usage of: Cigarettes, Alcohol. Not proof read.

The night had been long. It was filled with loud activities, risky bets, money, alcohol.

Things that were commonplace for a casino.

Chance had you by his side the entire night. You were his quote-unquote lucky charm. Though you're pretty sure he was only saying that because you were a nice piece of eye candy for him to flaunt around the casino.

What is a crown without its jewels, after all?

He'd have you seated on his lap while making irresponsible bets that he somehow never ended up being punished for, leaving kisses along your neck and rubbing their thumb over your hip.

It was honestly quite boring, but you couldn't deny that the attention was nice.

Feeling wanted was nice.

Of course, he'd make it up to you by buying you drinks and complimenting you the entire time. About how nice you looked that night, or how good you smelt.

Cheap, basic compliments like that; but compliments nonetheless.

Compliments that, despite your best efforts, replayed in your mind over and over.

But all good things have to come to an end eventually.

The two of you would call it a night, and Chance would bring you to his expensive car parked outside, and he'd hold the passenger door open for you, like the gentleman he was.

As Chance drove, you'd look out the window to see all the city lights filling up the streets. You'd see all of the people who have yet to retire for the night.

Chance was rambling on about a jackpot he won earlier that night. You already knew about it, of course. After all, you were with him the entire time. Yet you continued to listen despite this.

You always listened.

Nobody else really did.

And eventually, you'd reach the apartment complex he had booked for the night. It was a different one from last week, though no less expensive.

Chance could never really sit still, after all. They were constantly chasing after that thrill. Asking things like, what kind of complimentary wine will be served this time?

Or, will there be white bedsheets or black?

Small things like that. Things that made him seem like even more of a gambling addict than he already was.

He'd know the answer to these questions if he simply checked the website a little more thoroughly. But why would he do that when he could just leave it up to fate, right?

The lobby was empty. It was late, after all. Chance took this as a sign to wrap his arm around your waist and walk you towards the elevator. Not like he wouldn't have done the same thing anyway if there were people.

"So, fun night, right?" He muses, that signature grin brandishing his face as you approach some random suite. You say nothing. You just want to lie down.

"I'll take that as a no," he notes, sliding the apartment keycard along the sensor. The inside looks nice. Everything Chance owns is always like that.

Refined, minimalistic, expensive.

Chance starts to take off his coat, but you don't help him. You only wander off to the balcony. To the first moment of solitude you've been offered this entire day.

Solitude isn't really what you're after, though.

The entire city stirs beneath you. Cars speeding down the street, apartment lights serving as your substitute for stars.

It's something you have to get used to. How everything is constantly in motion.

How it can never seem to sit still.

And eventually, after staring at the view from the balcony and being lost in thought, Chance reunites with you once more.

And once again, your thoughts have circled back to him. The one person who probably could not care less about you.

Not really.

Not in the way you'd want.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his suit. It's an exclusive, nameless brand that's probably worth more than your entire life's savings.

Another reminder of just how little your life is worth in comparison to his. For some reason, this night just seemed full of them.

Chance lights one cigarette and brings it up to his lips. You watch silently as he breathes it in, and eventually breathes it out.

It's sort of mesmerizing; how pretty he is.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." He grins at his own joke, because of course he does. "But seriously. What's up with you? You've been acting off all night."

You say nothing. You're not even sure what you'd say, anyway.

The only sounds that remain are the sounds of cars driving by and the sound of Chance's breathing as he continues to smoke.

If he were feeling a little more generous that night, perhaps he would have allowed you to remain silent.

But he'd long since become bored of your little silent treatment. Even the most patient of people grow tired of waiting after all.

He leans over you, smoke swirling around the two of you like a veil. Chance smells of alcohol and expensive cologne. The apartment smells like antiseptic.

An unfamiliar mixture of scents.

A mixture that just so happens to set off all of your nerves in a way that makes you feel like something is wrong.

You can't see their expression under the sunglasses, but even if you could, you doubt you'd be able to decipher it.

Is there something wrong?

"Come on now, use your words. Tell me what's on your mind," Chance says, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip.

He looks at you with that small, charming smile. The one he's constantly wearing. Though this one, you admit, is slightly softer.

It manages to make you fold. Instantly.

"Why do you even keep me around? You... have no need for me..." you mumble.

The atmosphere gets more suffocating with those words, and Chance's movements seem to still, if only for a moment.

Then he sighs. He removes the cigarette from his lips and flicks it out over a nearby ashtray.

"Of course I don't need you."

His hold on your chin tightens. An act of desperation, perhaps?

"But I want you," he exhales, the words sounding breathless on his lips.

"I want you so badly."

"And more than that... I want you... to want me too."

Chance never thought he'd admit those words.

After all, Chance had everything he could ever need.

He had money. Connections. Luxuries.

And yet,

you remained all he could ever want.

That's why he did all that he did, after all.

He bought you anything you even vaguely looked at. He kept you near him always. He'd hold open doors for you, pull out chairs for you.

All so that, maybe, you'd want him, like he wanted you.

He wanted you to want him.

He really,

truly,

did.

And so, when Chance felt your hand slowly trailing upwards, before resting on his shoulder, he could not help but lean into you more.

You were careful, and perhaps even a bit reluctant in your actions, yet not unwilling.

Never unwilling.

"I want you."

Those were the words Chance heard from you.

A quiet exclamation. Almost a whisper, that threatened to be whisked away by the night breeze.

But he heard it anyway.

Of course he did.

And then he'd shift, once more, closer to you. Closer to your lips

And you'd do the same, until you two met.

A careful interaction, being tread lightly by both of you.

This kiss was different from the others.

Not as demanding. Not as bold.

Just there. Simply being. As it is.

"I think I love you," he'd murmur, never quite breaking the kiss and simply mumbling the words into your mouth.

"You're not sure?"

He'd pull back at that, shaking his head slightly.

"No. I am sure... I love you."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were back on yours. His tongue swiped your bottom lip, before shoving its way into your mouth.

He still tasted like the smoke from his cigarette. It was bitter. But it tasted like him.

It tasted right.

"I love you, too," you'd say in-between kisses.

The words left you effortlessly.

You've been meaning to say them for a long time, after all.

Been meaning to kiss him like this.

Like you meant it.

And you did mean it.

As did he.

And you wanted it.

As did he.

[nerdyscouttribute]

First Look (Modern Au Smoke x Annie)

Summary:Smoke see's Annie for the first time at the club

Warning: none ,just something cute and short

An: I might come back and add more to this ,but I just wanted to get it out my mind, so it's a little rushed. I got the idea from @partylikemajima

“Man, why you brought me here?”Smoke said. Irritation was written all over his face,as Stack was dragging him through the loud club. Lights flashing everywhere, people skin to skin dancing, drinks in hand. Music blasting through the speakers.

We said now drop it like a thottie, pop it like a thottie

Church girls acting loose, bad girls acting snotty

Let it go, girl-let it out, girl

“You too damn stuck up,need to get you a girl to dance with”, Stack said , a wide smile on his face.

Before Smoke could say anything back Stack said"I'm about to talk with a few people I see, I'll be back”. Walking off leaving an irritated Smoke standing in the middle of the club.

If he was going to make it through the night, he needed some liquor in his system. Fighting through the crowd to get to the bar. “Aye get me old fashioned”, Smoke said to the bartender.

He hated environments like this. Too loud , and too musty. Seeing the bartender set his drink down , he passed her the money ,and turned to look over the club.

Surveying the area, looking for exits -incase shit popped off. That's when his eyes froze on her . She was in a white corset that put her breast in the perfect view. A brown skirt that hugged her in all the right places.

She was dancing in the middle of her friends. Bending over as they hyped her up. Smoke was too caught up in staring at her that he didn't notice Stack standing next to him.

“Damn, you staring hard nigga”, Stack said laughing , snapping Smoke out of his trance.

“Nah just looking”, Smoke said , but it wasn't true. He wanted to know more about her , what her name is , maybe if it sounded good with his last name.

“ oh so you wouldn't mind if I went to talk to her”, A sly smirk set on Stacks face. Smoke shot a glare towards Stack,” Nah, don't go bothering her”.

But that went to deaf ears ,as Stack still made his way towards her.

———————————

Annie was having fun for the first time in a while. She was stressed with running her restaurant, she hadn't taken time to hang out with her friends. So when they called ,she answered,no questions asked.

She had few drinks in her , cause that was the only way her friends were going to get her to dance like this. Her hips moving wild , ass moving right along with every movement.

Until , he walked up trying to get her attention. She was trying to ignore him , but her friends weren't trying to do the same. “ What you want”, Grace said ,raising her eyebrow at Stack. “I wanted to know if your friend right there wanted to dance with my brother “, Stack said as he pointed at Annie. She didn't even get a chance to answer for herself when Pearline spoke up,”what does he look like”? “ Just like me ,but I'm cuter” , Stack said with a smirk on his face.

“ Mmm-go get him”, Mary said, eyeing Stack up and down. Stack said he'll be back , before running off. Annie spoke, reminding them she had a voice, “ how y'all gonna decide for me “.

“Girl you need to get you some ,and he might just be right for the job”, Pearline said.

—————————————

Smoke watched the whole thing. How she didn't speak ,but observed. Stack ran back over to him , once again a big smile set on his face. “If she says no you got three other girls to choose from”, Stack said trying to convince Smoke to follow him. Smoke didn't agree with that statement ,but he followed anyway .

Making it to where the girls were standing ,he kept his eyes zoned in on her , the one whose hair was pulled out her face. Letting him get a view of her big brown eyes, pouty lips,as she stared back at him.

Stack talked first as always, “ This my brother Smoke”. All the girls introduced themselves to him , saying their name . That's when she walked up. Gold heels adorning her feet. Making her eye level with him. When she spoke Elijah thought the time froze. “ I'm Annie , what's your name”, she said in a soft voice. It sounded so sultry to Smoke.

He didn't know how she did it ,but she got him to reveal his birth name with only one sentence. “Elijah”, he said almost breathless.

“We'll you wanna dance Elijah, this my favorite song”, Annie said head tilted to the side. He didn't respond, just held his hand out for her to take.

He forgot about everyone else, just wanted to have her near him.

So this must be something special

'Cause you could be anywhere you wanted

But you decided to be here with me

No coincidence, it was meant to be

Don't be shy, come let your boy get in

So you can tell all of your friends

Annie turned around in his arms. Swaying back and forth. His arms gripping around her waist, a bit tighter. Moving side to side with her.

Annie tilted her head back on his shoulder, breath hitting his neck. It made Elijah shudder, grabbing her hip bringing them even closer.

She knew what she was doing, and she wanted him to loosen up. Grinding back on him harder, left arm reaching back to grip the back of his neck to lean down. He allowed her to bring his head down into her neck.

Lips hitting her soft brown skin. Leaving soft kisses until he got near her ear. “You know you can capture someone's attention in a crowded room”?. A smile appeared on her face. Lifting her head up to turn around in his arms.

Arms now resting on his shoulders, his arms resting around her waist. “No I didn't know that, I just came to have fun with my girlfriends”.

“Well I'm sorry for my brother, for interrupting yall night”, Smoke said. He wasn't really sorry, he was glad his brother had the courage to do what he couldn't . “It's alright I want to get to know you more Elijah”.

[sugurusgurl]

Love, Eventually (Part 1)

☾𖤓 Synopsis. She marries Satoru Gojo for the money—enough to keep her brother alive. He marries her to shut his clan up—no love, no strings, just a deal. But living together makes it harder to remember what’s fake… and what’s starting to feel real.

☾𖤓 Pairing. AFAB!Reader x Gojo Satoru. ☾𖤓 Warnings. Hurt/Comfort, Fake marriage, emotional suppression, slow burn, unrequited feelings, mentions of critical illness (sick sibling), power imbalance.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You’re acting like I’m torturing you,” Satoru says flatly. “Relax—it’s barely even a real date.”

He didn’t ask you so much as hire you. You’re being paid to pose as his future wife. The whole thing’s just a performance—an easy fix to get his clan off his back about settling down. He has zero emotional investment in it. All he needs is to parade you around, keep the elders happy, then stage a clean breakup. No complications. No feelings. Just business.

“You’re not torturing me,” you say with a small smile, tucking your hands into your lap. “I’ve had worse company.”

You glance at him, amused. “Though you do talk a lot for someone who claims this isn’t a real date.” He grins, but you don't let him derail the moment.

“Look… I said yes because you needed someone, and I—” you pause, eyes drifting to the skyline behind him, “—needed the money. That’s all. I’m not expecting candlelight or grand gestures.” Your voice stays soft, steady. “Just clarity.”

You turn back to him with a gentle kind of humor. “So don’t worry. I’m not secretly in love with you or hoping you’ll fall for me during dessert.” A beat. “I’m just here to play my part... and maybe get through this without embarrassing either of us.”

You smile again, quiet and genuine this time.

“But I do appreciate the view. Even if it comes with a side of sarcasm and sunglasses indoors.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, lips quirking into a smirk. “Wow. So polite. So composed. And yet—somehow—that still felt like a read.”

He taps his fingers against his glass, eyes never leaving yours. “I offer you luxury dining and the honor of my stunning presence, and all I get is ‘thanks for the view.’ Brutal.”

But there’s no real sting in it. Just amusement.

Then—something shifts. His voice lowers, just a touch, like he’s actually paying attention now.

“You’re different, y’know. Most people either try to impress me, flatter me... or avoid me like the plague.” He leans in a little. “You’re doing none of that. Which makes me wonder what your story is.”

He doesn’t push, though. Just shrugs, looking away for a beat. “Anyway. Money or not, you showed up. That already makes you better than half my clan.”

He smiles again—this time a little more genuine. “So I guess I owe you... dessert?”

The laughter and city lights from the restaurant fade as the two of you step out onto the quiet rooftop terrace. It’s colder here, wind brushing against your arms. You hug yourself lightly. Gojo slips his hands into his pockets, then glances sideways at you. The teasing in his voice is gone. He’s serious now—well, Gojo-serious.

"Alright, Y/N," he starts, tone smooth but grounded, "it’s time I stop dragging this out and tell you what you’re really signing up for."

You meet his eyes. Calm. Waiting.

"You’ll move in with me. Officially. The clan needs to see you under the same roof. They’re old-fashioned like that—marriage only counts if it looks the part."

You blink, once. Not surprised, just taking it in.

"We’ll get married. Legally. It doesn’t mean anything," he adds quickly, waving a hand. "It’s a show. A performance. And when the elders finally give up on the heir obsession—or if I find someone I actually want to marry—we’ll file for divorce."

His voice doesn’t waver. Not once.

"You’ll be paid. Generously. Monthly allowance, full coverage for whatever your quiet little secret is," he adds, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s inviting you to confirm but won’t ask out loud. "And when it’s all over, you walk away with enough to start over. Clean."

You’re silent. Processing. He knows you’re smart enough not to answer too fast.

Then, finally, "There’s one rule, though." His gaze sharpens. "No falling in love. With me, obviously. This isn’t some fairy tale. We’re not friends, we’re not soulmates. We’re partners in a business deal. You hold up your end, I hold up mine." He lets the quiet settle, his face unreadable now. "So—do we have a deal, Y/N?" You don’t answer right away. The wind pulls gently at your hair, and for a moment, you just watch the city below—distant, alive, and far removed from the strange little arrangement that’s about to shape your life. You breathe in. Then out. “Okay,” you say softly. No dramatics. No bargaining. Just that.

Gojo studies you, like he’s waiting for a catch. A reason. A flinch. You give him none. “If those are the terms... then yes.” Your voice is steady, polite. Professional. But your eyes don’t meet his for long.

He opens his mouth, maybe to ask something—but you step away from the railing and straighten your coat.

“Just send the paperwork.” You don’t wait for his reply. You’re already walking back inside. And Gojo, for once, doesn’t follow right away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The door swings open with a soft click. Gojo doesn’t bother to help with the bags.

“You can take the guest room upstairs. First door on the right,” he says without looking back, already halfway into the penthouse.

His place is exactly what you’d expect—open floor plan, expensive without being flashy, clean in a way that feels… unused. Like no one really lives here. You nod, not expecting a warmer welcome. You pick up your things and head up. He doesn’t offer to show you around. Doesn’t ask if you’ve eaten. Doesn’t make conversation.

By the time you come back downstairs—suitcase tucked neatly away, shoes lined by the door—he’s sprawled on the couch, a pair of sunglasses still on despite the dim light from the windows.

“We’ll have dinner with the clan on Friday,” he says, scrolling through his phone. “Formal. You’ll be briefed beforehand.”

You nod again. Quiet. Steady. He glances at you just once.

“You don’t have to hover. We’re not roommates.” His voice is light, but the implication is clear: don’t make yourself too comfortable.

You give a small smile—not offended. Just... unsurprised.

“Noted.”

You turn and disappear into the kitchen, silently opening cabinets, learning where things are without asking. Gojo doesn’t ask what you’re doing. Doesn’t say thanks when you place a cup of tea beside him ten minutes later. He doesn’t even look at it. He only speaks again as you’re walking away.

“Oh—and if anyone asks, we’re disgustingly in love.” There’s a smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t look up. You pause in the hallway, just for a breath. Then keep walking.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The guest room is tidy. Spacious. More than enough for one person—but not warm. Not lived in. Like the rest of the place, it feels like a backdrop for something performative. Temporary.

You sit on the edge of the bed, coat still on, your bag at your feet. For a long while, you don’t move. Then, slowly, you reach for the zipper and begin to unpack—neatly, efficiently. One folded shirt after another. A worn sweater. Travel-sized toiletries in a pouch you’ve clearly used a hundred times. It’s not much. You didn’t bring much. You slide open the drawer of the nightstand and tuck something inside—a small framed photo. It’s turned face-down before the drawer closes. Next, your phone. You check it. A message sits unread, and you hesitate before opening it.

From: Nurse He had a bad night. Still stable now, but the fever hasn’t gone down. Let us know when the next transfer can be made.

Your fingers hover over the screen. Then you type:

I'll send it before Friday. Please tell him I’m okay.

You stare at the words for a beat too long before hitting send.

When the message is gone, you set the phone on the nightstand, face down beside the drawer that holds your reason.

And you exhale. Not shakily. Not dramatically. Just tired. You lie back, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Letting the quiet press down. You knew what this would be. Cold arrangements. Polished lies. No space for real things. But that’s fine.

It has to be.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Three days later.

The morning sun filters through the penthouse windows, too bright for how little sleep you’ve gotten. You’re already seated at the long kitchen island when Gojo finally walks in—coffee in one hand, his phone in the other.

He doesn’t say good morning.

“We’ll leave at six. Dinner starts at seven sharp. Don’t be late.” His voice is clipped, matter-of-fact, like this is a meeting, not a marriage.

You nod. “What do I need to know?”

He slides a folder across the counter toward you. You open it: photos, names, brief descriptions—members of the Gojo clan. Their roles. Their expectations. The alliances they’re trying to broker through him. You skim silently, taking mental notes.

“They’ll be watching everything,” he adds, sipping his coffee. “How you dress, how you speak, how you look at me.” His tone turns slightly mocking. “So try not to look too bored. Or terrified.”

You don’t react. Just turn the page.

“Pretend we’re disgustingly in love, right?” you say mildly, recalling his words from the other night.

That earns a glance from him. Brief. Amused. “Exactly. Light touches, soft looks, subtle affection. They eat that stuff up.” A beat. “You can act, right?”

You give him a soft smile, the kind that could pass as adoring if someone didn’t look too closely.

“I agreed to this, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t respond. Just moves on. “My father will do most of the talking. Don’t interrupt him. Ever. If anyone asks how we met, we keep it simple: a chance encounter, turned whirlwind romance.” He says it like it’s a joke, but there’s no humor behind it.

“And if someone corners me privately?” you ask.

Gojo raises a brow. “Say something vague. Gaze longingly in my direction. Maybe brush my arm on your way out of the conversation. I’ll take it from there.”

You nod again, silent as you absorb every word. You don’t write anything down. You don’t have to.

Finally, he stands.

“There’s a dress in your room. Picked it out yesterday. Should fit.” He starts to walk away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re good at this. The calm, collected act. Makes my job easier.”

You smile faintly. “It’s not an act.”

He doesn’t respond. Just disappears down the hall.

And you’re left alone again, fingers resting on the folder full of strangers—people you’ll need to fool into believing you belong in a life that isn’t yours.

You close it.

And get to work.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the dress he left for you.

It fits perfectly. Of course it does.

You’ve done your hair the way the clan profile suggested would “photograph well.” Your makeup is soft, elegant. Nothing too loud. Everything about you tonight is meant to look effortless, like you were made to stand beside him.

Like you belong beside him.

The door to your room creaks open slightly—Gojo doesn’t knock.

He leans against the frame, dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look even more untouchable than usual.

He whistles low.

“Not bad,” he says. “They’re going to eat you alive.” You smile faintly, then turn away from the mirror. “Good. That’s what you’re paying me for.” He watches you for a second longer, unreadable. Then—

“One more thing.” His voice shifts—lower, quieter.

You pause. Waiting.

He walks into the room and reaches into his jacket pocket. When he pulls his hand out, he holds something small, metallic. A simple gold band.

A wedding ring.

“Put it on,” he says. “From this moment on—you're my wife.”

You take it without a word, sliding it onto your finger. The metal is cool. Heavier than it looks. He watches the way your eyes linger on it just a moment too long. And then, softly, like it’s nothing, “Just don’t forget it’s all fake.”

You meet his eyes, steady. “I won’t.”

[m-robinavitch]

Soft thoughts only today

Jack is the kind of man who makes you chicken soup from scratch when you are not feeling to well, including the noodles. Yes he is a doctor. Yes, he studied medicine. But nothing beats the hot soup and fresh brewed tea every few hours for comfort and getting fit again (and lots of forehead kisses). You dont need a heatpad. He has his hands, has he not?

Michael (I fucking hate how American speak that name. It's so harsh sounding to me) is the kind of person who fills up your tank without you asking. Who has your snacks of choice stocked at his home and a box with period products. Not exclusively period products tho. There are also toothbrushes, deodorant, travel sized shampoo and conditioners of all sorts. He likes to be prepared when friends are over or his son.

Two very large heavy warm hands that make your back feel so nice. And tea just tastes so much better when he makes it for you even if he does nothing more than add some honey and lemon. But it’s his grandmothers recipe. Same thing she made him when he was sick as a kid a million years ago. He’ll prop you up on the sofa so he can be close in case you need him- watching one of your comfort romcoms that he swears he hates but finds himself paused while kneading the dough to watch the scene unfold. He doses your meds for you and makes sure you’re drinking water while he also runs you a bath so by the time you get out the soup is ready and perfect.

He’ll let you lay on his chest while running his hands up and down your back as you sleep- watching that romcom that you turned in before you fell asleep from the combination of delicious warm soup, hot tea, and your husband’s solid chest to rest on. Forehead kisses or soft lips on your temple before he checks if your fever has gone down some.

But when Jack is sick he continues to work himself like a dog and-

“I’m fine honey- no no I just need a quick power nap before work, wake me in 15.” While draped halfway over the sofa, shirt partially on because he got dizzy while trying to get dressed. He’s already snoring- maybe because you gave him the nighttime version of his meds instead of the non drowsy one. Oh well.

“Okay Jack- take a quick nap.” You roll your eyes- having already called Robby to let him know that under no circumstances should anyone bother your husband in the next few days while he rests. It was inevitable that if you were sick then he’d follow suit. Luckily there’s still plenty of soup left over.

MY LOVE MICHAEL-

You have no idea how much I love that please because the idea of him being that acts of service lover I-

Anyway so-

He knows you haven’t got gas in a week- knows you hate doing it and will end up being late to work one morning because you forgot about it. He nearly has a stroke when he takes your car- the entire dashboard is lit up like a Christmas tree. Oil needs to be changed, tire is low on air and need to be rotated, windshield wipers need to be replaced, fluid needs to be added, engine needs to be checked- you’ll get around to it okay, you’re busy. Totally not projecting or anything. You scream when you turn in your car the next morning and the dashboard is empty save for your mileage. He didn’t even say anything about it- doesn’t have you pay for anything.

And when you first started dating he always had snacks you liked at his place. He was just observant, had seen what you ate while at work when you got a moment to actually eat. He had seen what you kept at your own place. So when you dug around his kitchen for something sweet one day- your favorite ice cream was in his freezer. When you had a craving for something salty and you raided his pantry- your favorite chips were stocked and waiting for you. He noticed the first time you have over that he didn’t have anything for you to use really. So next time he made sure he was stocked in case you or Jake or even Abbot came over. It was sweet. Especially since you were struggling that first night. No brush for your hair, no conditioner, no makeup remover, not even real face wash. Dammit you know he’s a man but come on Robby. At least he had a toothbrush for you.

[aventoru]

Hello 👋 im new to your blog and saw that one post, i really liked it XD, if not a bother, could i request like a simp reader of dan heng/phainon/aventurine/loucha ? Like the reader is such a big simp with them to the point of forfeiting all their mortal possession even if they're broke

Preferably the reader is married to them, this is also my first time requesting, and feel free to ignore no worries! That's all and wish you great luck and day! 🤩💞✨

when you go broke for them

ft. dan heng, phainon, aventurine, luocha

tags : unresponsible financial decisions, reader goes broke, excessive spending (help)

a/n : this was kind of fun to write considering i went a bit out of control in 2018 to collect bts merch...reader and i can be broke tgt LOL anyways enjoy reading!!

DAN HENG

he’s very concerned at your lack of financial responsibility

is always speechless when you pay for everything and buys anything he briefly glances at, after all he’s not used to being spoiled like this

“you deserve all the love in the world!!” you say as you give him a stack of treats your bought from the xianzhou luofu. he can only stare in shock.

will definitely reprimand you for your crazy spending habits and even pull out some info from the archive for you to read

at the end of the day, he makes sure to reassure you drill into your head that he doesn’t need all this material stuff and he still loves you even if you don’t spend money on him

“you don’t have to do all this for me” “i know, but i want to”

once you actually go broke broke, he decides to step in and put the reigns on your money

tells you he’s gonna handle all the finances from now on and you gladly hand it all over to him (he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened at your compliance)

eventually you tone down the gifts and he even spoils you sometimes, although you still go overboard for special events and anniversaries<3

PHAINON

he’s broke, so to have someone spend money and dote on him makes him feel special and super grateful

you love seeing the blush on his face every time you give him a cute keychain or small trinkets you’ve bought

also, you’re the first ever person to buy him FLOWERS (yes, FLOWERS) and he lowkey tears up omg

anyways, what he doesn’t know is that you’re slowly going broke due to your excessive spending on him, and you don’t tell him either because you know he’s going to be unhappy

he finds out eventually once you’re unable to afford present for him anymore

does reprimand you for spending so much on him while reassuring you that it’s okay to cut down on the gifts, just your love and company is enough for him anyway

you two spend time with each other, finding things to do that express your love without having to spend so much money

once you’re financially stable again, you do give him presents but only once in a while, and he’s learned to do the same for you

AVENTURINE

you two spoil each other; it’s a back and forth in your relationship, and you both love gift giving

you buy him jewelry, matching fits, amazing food and he buys you luxury goods and takes you on vacations

the only difference is that he’s got infinite money and you don’t…

so, you go broke eventually (💔) and now you feel bad because you don’t have anything left to give him

he’s slightly concerned by your spending habits but let’s be fair, his habits are probably worse since he has more money than he knows what to do with

his solution? he tells you to use his black card to buy him gifts 😭

you comply, because it was never about flexing or showing off money, it was always about seeing his face light up after receiving your surprise gifts

of course, you make sure to pay him back properly after your salary starts coming in again

and to avoid such a situation from repeating, he teaches you how to manage your finances (although, you don’t need to worry that much since he has SO MUCH money)

LUOCHA

i feel like he’s definitely the type to use luxury items, like you can feel the designer on him

he’s very subtle about his wealth, but you quickly find out once you date (and then marry) him

you’ve always had this unresistable urge to spoil him, so what better way than to shower him with designer goods?

he doesn’t say it out loud or express it very well but you can tell he’s happy (at first…)

eventually things get overwhelming since you keep giving him new gifts before he even touches the old ones

he does NOT want to know where you get the money to buy him such things

and he definitely becomes concerned because he knows how expensive these items are

when he asks interrogates you about it, you crack and admit that you’ve fully gone broke due to your uncontrollable love for him

he sighs and reprimands you firmly, making sure you understand how to be financially responsible

“if you keep doing this, i won’t accept your gifts and return them instead” “i understand…”

seeing how serious he was, you definitely tone it down from now on, and he buys you designer instead (so it’s a WIN-WIN!!)

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