#make a fidget bloom with me

[themandalabloom]

Someone told me that fidget toys would never succeed long-term. I guess it kinda makes sense that the target audience for fidget spinners lost interest in them so quickly... as these 3D wire mandalas shared the same fate back in the early 90's.

❗️Giving Away this Fidget Bloom to one random commenter/reblogger! Winner chosen on Sunday! PS: What should I name this funky pink colour? Suggestions welcomed!

However, this is different now cuz it can do more than just fidgeting. My handmade fidget blooms are great for wearing as a bracelet, hair bun cage, fairy trap, ornamental piece, desk toy, and more. Multi-functional for everyday use.

New silver styles are available on my shop thanks to endless requests for silver! Just search Meraki Sphere on Etsy, or visit this link:

[undyingdecay]

cnc with bob is driving me insane

(foaming at the mouth rn)

you’re annoyed.

not at bob—never at bob—but at val, for dumping another endless file of disorganized data across your inbox, half of it from missions that predate even the original avengers. it’s a mess, unreadable, and somehow you’re expected to sort and annotate it by tonight?

unfuckingbelievable.

you’re sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop perched against your thighs, jaw tight and brows furrowed. the low hum of frustration crackles beneath your skin like static.

and bob?

bob is whining.

you love him—sweet, needy bob—but right now, his sighs and restless fidgeting are chewing away at your already-thin patience. every few seconds he shifts closer, brushing his thigh against yours, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. when he exhales near your ear, you tilt your head away sharply, voice clipped: “no, bob. not now.”

he stills. quiet for a beat. you don’t look over.

you hear him shuffle off the bed. the bathroom door clicks shut behind him. then, after a few minutes—so few it’s obvious he didn’t manage anything—he comes back, towel half-draped around his neck, face flushed. you don’t acknowledge him. you don’t have to. his energy is practically vibrating.

you expect him to whine again. instead, he slips behind you on the bed. you open your mouth to protest, to push him off—but he beats you to it.

“not gonna do anything,” he breathes, voice soft like a promise, or a lie. “i just… i just wanna be close. miss you. miss you so much.”

you sigh, tablet already charging on the nightstand, and swap your laptop out for it. “fine. just don’t start anything.” you allow your back to fall against his chest.

bob nods. obedient. you feel the way his chest expands behind you like he’s finally breathing for the first time all day.

but you also feel his hard-on. thick and heavy under his sweats, pressed up against your ass.

you say nothing.

you try to focus, but ten minutes pass and he starts shifting, small and slow at first. a gentle rock of his hips. the quiet puff of breath against your neck. he presses his nose to your shoulder, inhales deep. and that’s when you realize just how wet you are—soaked through your panties, heat pooling low in your belly, your body already betraying you.

he notices.

“you’re wet,” he whispers. “you’re wet, so you do want it—right? don’t lie—please, ‘jus wanna make you feel good.”

“bob,” you warn, voice tight. but it’s already too late.

his arms tighten around you. strong. unmovable. he doesn’t shove you or slam you down—he doesn’t have to. he’s too strong. all he has to do is hold you in place, one palm slipping under your shirt to press flat over your ribs, the other moving lower, grabbing at your hip.

“just wanna feel you,” he breathes. “you’re always so warm. i missed this. i missed you.”

“don’t—” you start, but then he moves, grabbing you under the thighs and flipping you easily.

but, now you’re in his lap, straddling him, face-to-face. and the look on his face? like he’s about to cry.

“you’re not listening,” you hiss, trying to shove at his chest.

“you’re not either,” he says, voice trembling. “you’re so wet. i felt it—you want it. please, just—just let me.”

you try to slide off his lap but his arms wrap around your waist, iron-strong, keeping you caged against him.

your nails dig into his shoulders in frustration, sharp and angry—scratch marks blooming along his skin. it makes him groan. his cock twitches under you.

and then he does it too—reaches up and drags his fingers down your back, not deep enough to draw blood but hard enough to sting. like he wants you to fight. like he likes it.

you glare at him, nails dragging across his chest this time in a sharp rake. he shudders, breathing hard, voice cracking—

“fuck—do that again—please—”

you try to climb off him again and he just snaps his hips up. you choke on a gasp, the head of his cock catching on your soaked panties, your whole body jolting forward with the movement.

you don’t even realize when he’s pulled your panties aside—don’t feel it until he’s in, sliding into you with one smooth, devastating thrust that steals the breath from your lungs.

“bob—” your voice comes out high, strangled.

you try to pull back, body instinctively resisting the sudden stretch, but bob just grabs your hips tighter, scratches from your nails glowing red against his shoulders now.

“so tight—please,” he pants. “just a little. just for a second. i’ll stop if you want me to.”

but he doesn’t stop.

“fuck—oh my god—bob—”

he’s gasping now, breath hot and frantic. “feels so good, you're so pretty—been thinking about this all day—don’t stop me—don’t tell me to stop—”

he’s brutal. he’s desperate. thrusting up into you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, his strength terrifying and intoxicating all at once.

your nails scratch down his back—again, again—and he moans like it’s divine.

his lips press wet and sloppy kisses to your chest, his tongue flicking against your nipples, suckling in a way that makes you arch involuntarily even as tears sting the corners of your eyes.

“‘m sorry,” he chokes. “i tried to be good—but i need it—i need you.”

when he cums, it’s with a strangled cry of your name, arms crushing you tight as he holds you down on his cock, hips grinding, driving his spend as deep as it’ll go.

you’re gasping, dazed, clinging to his forearm as he buries himself inside you one last time.

his voice is a broken whisper at your temple, like a prayer or a confession. “i love you ‘s much.”

[shariasweet]

ANYTHING ABT KJUNGWON PLEASEEEEEEEEEEESBKJSABHJBJSF

y.jungwon 𝒙 f.reader

𝓦c ::: -1k 𐙚𝓢harinote ::: oh how I yearn for jungwon, sigh 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: kissing · pet names · fingering (f) · oral (f) / spit · humiliation (slightly, he's sweet) · squirting · not proofread as always.

this was beyond embarrassing.

if embarrassing was even the right word—this was humiliation and the heat rushing to your cheeks was undeniable proof.

“squirting videos… how to squirt… how can my boyfriend make me squirt?” your boyfriend let a teasing laugh echo across the bed. his voice was lilting with amusement as his eyes glanced up at you from your laptop screen. “baby, this is filthy.” jungwon grinned, continuing to explore the iceberg of your search history.

now more than ever, you wished that the earth would crack open and swallow you whole.

he sat at the edge of your bed, your laptop resting on his lap and his dark eyes flicking between the screen and your flushed, blown-out expression.

you hadn’t meant to leave those tabs open.

or your browser history untouched.

so when jungwon asked to borrow your laptop earlier—just for a second to check something—you didn’t think twice. not until now… you could hardly remember your ovulated haze anyhow, let alone anything you'd desperately searched up in attempts to get off.

your heart pounded in your chest.

jungwon let out another low laugh, biting back a grin as he closed the laptop slowly, setting it aside with the same care he used with anything delicate.

then, his attention returned to you fully—warm, playful, but sharp with an underlying seriousness. “so,” he said, asking you if it were the most casual thing in the world. “have you tried it?”

“tried… what?” you murmured, already fidgeting with the hem of your shorts.

“making yourself squirt.” his eyes flickered, dragging down your body slowly, as though he could see the wetness seeping through your cotton panties and shorts. “i mean, clearly you’re curious.” his voice softened, dropped—inviting. “want help?”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, warmth blooming in your belly from just the idea of trying to… then the thought of him making you do something like that.

jungwon stood and took your hand, guiding you toward the head of the bed like it was nothing. his grip was gentle, his expression unbothered. “lie back,” he instructed, already pulling his hoodie over his head to reveal the toned muscles of his abs. your throat bobbed—dry. “don’t overthink, just let go f'me angel. i’ll take care of the rest.”

you settled into the pillows, nodding as your limbs were buzzing with nerves as you settled. he climbed over you slowly, careful and calm, brushing your hair from your face with a tender touch.

“relax for me, baby.” he smiled against your mouth, pecking you on the lips. he trailed kisses down your body... each one trailing lower and lower. he began working on your jaw, the curve of your throat, to the center of your chest… then beneath hem of your shirt. his tongue carefully traced each spot he kissed, teeth nipping and grazing your skin.

and then it was off… he carefully peeled the material of the shirt over your head, hands creeping up your sides to cup your breasts before removing your shorts. he stripped you down piece by piece, kissing every new inch of bare skin like he had all the time in the world.

when he sat back to look at you, it was with reverence—admiring you as though you were the most fragile, delicate thing in the world.

“so pretty,” he murmured, hands parting your thighs. “already wet too… is it from earlier? or just from me?” the teasing tone hinting in his voice returned and you felt that embarrassing heat creeping back up your body.

his fingers dragged through your folds, "agh!" you gasped, feeling them play with the slick already sticking to his skin.

he spread it around slowly, opening your glistening folds to reveal your puffy, aching clit.

“gotta get you wetter,” he murmured. “so wet you can’t hold it in…” his brows knit together in concentration as he continued to thumb at your clit—rubbing the bundle of nerves in small circles.

then he leaned in, kissing down your stomach before spitting, hot and heavy on your clit. you let a small yelp bubble past your lips, hips jolting—and he chuckled, thumb circling through it lazily.

“there we go.”

two fingers slid in soon after. slow. deep.

he didn’t rush. in jungwon fashion, he just eased them in, curling them gently, his eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“feels good?” he asked, voice steady. you nodded, already breathless. “yeah… yes…”

“good girl… just breathe.” he adjusted his wrist slightly. “i’m gonna hit a spot that’s gonna feel weird at first. but i need you to let go, okay? don’t hold it back.”

his other hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer and forcing your hips to grind deeper into his fingers.

“ah—o-oh! oh, fuck…!” your jaw fell slack, his free hand rode up your thighs, applying a firm pressure onto your stomach as his fingers continued to coax an orgasm out of you.

he had found it—that spot he'd sworn to find—and dragged his fingers over it with devastating precision… your body twitched and your thighs trembled. “right there,” he whispered, low and husky. “you feel that?”

“f-fuck, yes—” then your tears began forming, pricking your eyes and blurring your vision.

he kept going. kept pressing, rubbing your clit with his thumb in slow, perfect circles whilst prodding at the spongy spot buried into your cunt. your sounds got louder. messier. lewder.

the slick sounds between your thighs became obscene as slick lathered around the base of his fingers. “wonnie, i—something’s—i think i’m—”

“don’t stop it,” he breathed, focused completely. “don’t fight it. let it happen.”

your stomach clenched tight. something inside you coiled, thick and hot… "shit! mpf, stop..!" your hands flew to grasp onto his triceps. "'feels like i'm gonna pee—ungh!" your hips bucked and your voice cracked—and then it hit.

your whole body went limp, releasing all at once and jungwon didn’t stop.

he moaned, latching his mouth onto your cunt, tongue lapping at your juices as your body kept releasing, cunt pulsing around his fingers, his lips sealed over your clit to catch every drop.

you gasped, clutching the sheets as your fingers tangled into his hair.

jungwon swore under his breath, stunned. “fuck. you squirted.” he looked almost dazed, staring at the mess you made. the white sheets of your mattress? soaked.

“angel… that was so fucking hot.” he looks up at you, awestruck with slick and wetness dripping from his face.

he leaned in, kissing up your knee, your thigh, your trembling stomach. not stopping until he's kissing your lips, the taste of yourself evident and reminsent on his lips. he didn’t stop praising you as you came down from your high, taking deep breaths as your eyes stirred open once more.

“so pretty,” he whispered, kissing your temple now. “so good for me. i told you i’d take care of you.”

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ i’ve got you

part 1

➤ summary: after leaving you with Sarah, Rafe decides to deal with your ex and make sure that he would never have the power to hurt you again

➤ w/c: 2k

➤ warnings: mentions of SA and being filmed without permission, violence, blood, threats with a gun, protective Rafe

➤ a/n: for those who asked to write the continuation of the first part. also i’m accepting request for Rafe, so if you have anything interesting to share, feel free to send it to me🪼

masterlist

Rafe didn’t say much when he left you in the living room of Tanneyhill, only threw a blanket over your body and left a soft kiss on your forehead, as you both knew exactly where he was going. Only Sarah stood speechless in the doorway, looking from her brother to you and being absolutely lost about what was going on. 

A few hours ago you came in normal, greeting Rafe the way you usually did—shy, hesitant. The way that made Sarah always tease you about it. She didn’t notice anything weird. And after you disappeared in the bathroom for an hour, coming out of there with her brother, shaken and clearly after crying there the whole time, Sarah didn’t know what to think. 

She had never seen Rafe like that before. Sure, his temper had always been over the top, but an absolutely cold and murderous look on his face when he brushed past her and ordered her to look after you? Well, that was new.

“What happened? Is there… anything going on between the two of you?” She asked softly, sitting at the edge of the sofa near you. You shook your head, not trusting your voice to speak and knowing damn well that if you open your mouth, you will burst into tears again. She let out a sigh, for a moment debating calling Kie or Cleo to ask for advice, but eventually she let go, settling near you while you slowly drifted to sleep. 

Rafe’s knuckles twitched against the leather wheel as he drove with one hand. He knew where Ethan lived, remembering that busted apartment off Madsen Street, the third floor, the one with the shitty balcony and peeling green door. He parked crookedly and didn’t even bother locking the car, knowing that it wouldn't take him long. 

He didn’t knock, he slammed his hand against the door a few times. Ethan opened it with the usual, sleazy grin on his face, holding a phone in his hand, as if he was waiting for something. His eyes widened for a split second before he puffed his chest to make himself look bigger and taller than Rafe was, looking him up and down dismissively. 

“The fuck do you—“ Rafe didn’t let him finish, shoving him back into the apartment and slamming the door behind him so hard it felt like the whole building shook. 

Ethan stumbled back, barely not tripping over the sofa, trying to look tough and cool, but Rafe saw that fear in his eyes. The one he always had around him, as if knowing that Rafe could snap him in half if he really wanted to, and Rafe definitely thrived on that feeling. 

“Get the fuck away, Cameron!” Ethan mumbled, backing away with every step Rafe took, fidgeting with his phone and helplessly looking around. 

“You know why I'm here. Though you could scare her into crawling back to you, huh?” Rafe’s voice came out low and dangerous, the feelings about you being hurt finally getting a release. Ethan’s grip on the phone tightened, the screen lighting up, making Rafe’s eyes zero in on it and jaw clench. 

“I didn’t—man, it wasn’t like that, I swear—” Rafe didn’t let him finish, throwing a punch right into his jaw. Ethan fell on the floor, crying from pain, as blood trickled down his lip, trying to get up, face red and twisted in a mix of pain and fake bravado. 

“You don’t know what she’s like, man—she—she wanted it, alright? She was moaning my name—”

That earned him another blow. This one knocked a tooth loose. Blood bloomed across his lips.

“Say that again.” Rafe snarled, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him upright like he weighed nothing. “Fucking say that shit again. Tell me she asked for it. Tell me she wanted you to touch her, to drug her, to film her like she was just something for you to use and toss away.”

“I didn’t drug her!” Ethan spat, his face bleeding now, splotches blooming on the floor and light wall behind him. “She drank too much, okay? It wasn’t my fault! What do you want me to say?”

“That you're worthless.” Punch. “Pathetic sack of shit.” Punch. “Who’s about to lose everything.” Punch. Rafe threw him back down like garbage, breathing heavily, before connecting his boot with Ethan’s ribs with so much power that it was enough to break them. 

Rafe finally was satisfied enough, seeing that piece of shit hunched on the floor and covered in his own blood. He reached behind him, pulling a gun from the back of his waistband, and held it steady, cold metal glinting in the hallway light. Rafe wasn’t shaking. His hand was terrifyingly still, aimed right at the forehead.

Ethan coughed, whining on the floor, trying to lift himself on shaking hands, still oblivious to what could happen at any moment. When something metal clicked near his ear, Ethan’s eyes went wide, head snapping towards the sound. He scrambled backward, palms scraping against the floor. “What the fuck, man… What the fuck?!” 

Rafe thrived off the look in Ethan’s eyes. That pure and pathetic fear, the moment he understood that he was absolutely alone and unable to protect himself. And Rafe would’ve pulled the trigger. Oh, he really wanted to. But he knew how much it would hurt you to know that he got blood on his hands, he could imagine you blaming yourself for it.

“Phone. Laptop. Drive. Whatever shit you have, you’re gonna delete everything. Every video. Every picture. Every fuckin’ copy on every drive, every cloud backup. All of it. And you’re gonna do it with a gun to your head so you don’t get any bright ideas. You better pray I believe your ass, or otherwise I’m gonna blow a hole in your fucking head just like you deserve.” His voice was cold and steady. Ethan started nodding, fidgeting with his phone and unlocking it only on the third try. 

Rafe stood there and watched everything. He watched Ethan open the files, show the videos, show the backups, and delete every last one. And then, with the gun still trained on his face, Rafe made him reset everything to factory settings. Wipe. Everything.

“And the drive.” Rafe said again, voice flat.

“It’s gone, I swear—”

“Drive. Now.” The barrel of the gun touched Ethan’s temple, and he slid down the wall, on which he was leaning while sitting, to the floor, crawling towards the desk and pulling it from a drawer. One last backup. Rafe smashed it with his boot, again and again, until it was nothing but plastic and wire guts. 

“You show your face again, you text her again, or you look at her again, and I swear to God I’ll bury you alive after breaking every bone in your body. Do you hear me?!”

Ethan was choking on his own sobs now, snot mixing with the blood, face pale and eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. He nodded frantically, hands raised like a white flag, but Rafe didn’t move. He crouched down, slow and measured, keeping the barrel grazing Ethan’s forehead, his eyes full of rage but clear and sharp.

“If I hear one rumor, one whisper, one goddamn trace of her name tied to what you did…” His eyes locked with Ethan’s, voice stone cold. “You’re dead.”

He turned, leaving Ethan curled on the floor, the door hanging crooked on its hinges behind him. 

Out in the car, Rafe gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went bone-white. He didn’t start the engine right away. He just sat there, breathing hard, his shirt clinging to him, his heart almost jumping out of his ribcage.

Rafe returned back to Tanneyhill an hour later, feeling that he had to calm down before seeing you. He took the longest road to clean his mind, to think about what happened and about what it meant for the two of you. 

His feelings for you were clear and sincere, they always had been, since the moment he finally accepted that there was a reason he felt different whenever you were around. So now, when all the cards were on the table, he had to be careful. He could never forgive himself if he fucked it up. Not this time. Not with you. 

He moved through the house slowly and quietly, going through the big rooms to the one where he had left you. 

Sarah was in front of him the same second she heard the soft steps. Her eyes got wide at the sight of the blood, his and clearly someone else’s, on his split knuckles. Hair messy and eyes still slightly distant and cold—clear indicator that something had happened that disturbed Rafe deeply. 

“Rafe… What the hell happened?” She hissed as loud as she could, looking back for a second to look at your sleeping form. “Tell me you didn’t kill anyone…” Her voice dropped lower, an unsettling feeling creeping into her. 

“I didn’t.” Rafe mumbled, not even looking at his sister. His eyes were on you, slightly softer now. 

“I don’t— I don’t fucking understand. Why was she crying? Where have you been? Why the hell are you looking at her like a lovesick puppy?” Sarah got desperate, her hands flying to her head, running them through her blond hair, and groaning when Rafe still didn’t pay any attention to her. 

“If she wants to, she’ll tell you.” That was everything he said before brushing past Sarah, moving towards the sofa, and dropping to his knees in front of you.

You were asleep, but it was clear that it wasn’t peaceful. Your hands were gripping the blanket and keeping it close to your chest. Blow slightly furrowed and lashes fluttering against your cheeks. 

Rafe brought his clear left hand to your face, sliding his knuckles down your jaw. 

The gentleness of his touch made your eyes open slowly, a quiet and tired sigh escaping from your lips. Everything was blurry at first, until your eyes focused in the dim room and saw Rafe’s face in front of you. 

“Rafe.” You whispered his name softly, lifting your hand to touch his. 

“I’m here now.” His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and grounding. “I handled it. It’s all gone. I promise.” You stared at him, stunned, trying to process everything, to understand that it all was not a sick nightmare. Your lips slightly trembled, but you were too tired to cry again. “You don’t have to worry. He won’t come near you ever again.” 

You nodded slightly, and something inside you unclenched, just enough to let the exhaustion come crashing in all over again. When you shifted and, instinctively, reached for him, Rafe caught you before you could even sit up fully.

“C’mon.” He said, rising with ease, one arm sliding beneath your legs, the other behind your back. “You’re sleeping in my room tonight.”

You didn’t protest. Just curled closer against him, eyes falling shut again as the motion of his footsteps rocked you softly, lulling you back to sleep. 

“Are you serious right now?” Sarah’s voice echoed faintly behind you. “She’s staying with you?”

But Rafe didn’t answer her. He didn’t even turn around. He just carried you upstairs like you were the most precious thing, and it was his work to protect you. And for him it was. From now on he promised himself to keep you close and safe. 

When the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, Rafe laid you down gently on his bed, tucking the covers around your body. 

You were half-asleep, but when you sensed him moving away from you, your hand caught his wrist as if on instinct.

“Stay.” You whispered, barely audible.

Rafe stilled, unsure if it was really what you wanted to. Then nodded, slow and reverent.

He climbed in beside you, not caring about changing his clothes or about the dried blood that caused him discomfort. If you wanted him, he couldn’t say no. The moment the mattress dipped under his weight, you rolled toward him instinctively, curling into the curve of his chest. His arms came around you without hesitation, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. 

Rafe didn’t fall asleep right away.

He laid there in the dark, listening to the soft sound of your breath and the quiet thrum of his own heart. Every now and then, he’d press the lightest kiss to your temple, not to wake you, just to remind himself you were real. That you were safe. That you were his.

[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Whispered in Russian. Natasha takes you to meet her family for the first time.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, Russian translations from google

Words: 4990

You fidget with the ribbon on the container nestled in your lap, your fingers adjusting and retightening the bow for what has to be the fifth time since the car ride began. The satin already lies perfectly in place, but your nerves won’t settle unless your hands stay busy.

From the driver’s seat, Natasha casts a quick glance your way, catching the subtle tremble in your fingers.

“Rasslab’sya, detka,” she murmurs, her voice calm and low as her hand reaches over to still yours. Her touch is warm and grounding.

You exhale slowly, relaxing like she tells you to, trying to ease the anxiety fluttering in your chest. You turn your hand beneath hers, intertwining your fingers with hers, but the tension doesn’t quite fade.

After a moment, you groan and let your head fall back dramatically against the seat. You twist to look at her with exasperation, eyes wide.

“Oh, this is bad. Not even your Russian is helping me calm down right now.”

A small, knowing smirk plays on Natasha’s lips. Without taking her eyes off the road, she lifts your joined hands and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles.

“I thought you said my Russian does the opposite,” she says with a teasing lilt. Then, without warning, her voice dips into something darker, silkier—something meant only for you.

“Tebe uzhe stanovitsya zharko?”

Are you getting hot yet?

You gasp, jerking your hand back before she gets any more ideas, warmth blooming fast across your cheeks.

“Natasha!” you hiss. “We’re about to have dinner with your family. This is not the time to rile me up.”

Her grin only widens.

“You know I’m great at multitasking,” she replies breezily, her hand casually returning to rest on your thigh. But then it moves, slowly tracing delicate circles that make your breath hitch.

You clamp your hand over hers before it can travel any higher. 

“Focus,” you warn, your voice a mix of stern and pleading. “I’m already a wreck as it is. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

Natasha eases up, her touch softening but not quite withdrawing, thumb brushing along the hem of your skirt. She knows this matters to you.

It’s your first time meeting her family—the one she didn’t grow up with but still calls hers. Melina. Alexei. Yelena. All ex-assassins and one genetically enhanced super soldier. You’re not exactly bringing cookies to your average suburban dinner.

The nerves creep back in at the thought. You glance down at the container again, doubt flickering in your eyes.

“Maybe I should’ve brought something else,” you murmur. “Cookies feel…underwhelming.”

Natasha chuckles softly. 

“Well, if they don’t want them,” she says, squeezing your thigh gently, “I’ll eat them all myself.”

You gape at her. “So they’re not enough?”

She huffs a laugh through her nose, clearly entertained, as she mutters under her breath.

“Bozhe, kakoy ty milyy…”

God, you’re cute…

Your face warms immediately. You scoff, turning away so she won’t see the rising blush.

“You know I can still understand you even when you whisper,” you grumble. Then, quieter.

“Ty ne tonkiy.”

You’re not subtle.

She laughs under her breath, clearly delighted by your flustered state. You squeeze her hand lightly, a gentle reprimand.

“Your Russian’s gotten better,” she remarks, glancing sideways at you with a smirk.

“Of course it did,” you reply proudly. “I had a great teacher. Very strict. Very sexy.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Natasha. 

“Really now? Should I be worried?”

You grin, fiddling with her fingers as you lean in just slightly.

“Mmm, maybe. Our night sessions are my favorite.”

Natasha raises an amused brow but says nothing, letting you press the advantage while she drives.

“Oh?” she prompts coolly. “And why’s that?”

You lift her hand to your lips, delicately kissing her fingertip. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Because I never want her to stop.”

The only response is the soft hum in Natasha’s throat—and the way her grip on the steering wheel subtly tightens.

You trail another kiss along her knuckle.

“So I tell her…”

You pause, eyes gleaming as you kiss a second finger, your voice sultry now.

“Yeshchyo…”

More…

Then, a third kiss, slower this time, into the center of her palm.

“Pozhaluysta, day yeshchyo…Natalia.”

Please, give me more…Natalia.

The car suddenly veers with precision into a parking lot, tires crunching against the gravel. The motion is smooth but decisive, too smooth to be spontaneous.

Before you can react, Natasha shifts the gear into park and turns to you. Her free hand reaches for your chin, firm but gentle, tilting your face toward hers.

Her eyes—deep, dark, and undeniably burning—flick to your lips, then back to your gaze.

“You really want to test me before dinner?” she asks, her voice a whisper against your mouth as she leans in just enough to brush her lips over yours.

You shiver at the contact, your heart racing.

“Now, who’s riling up who?” she murmurs before pressing her lips more firmly into yours, the teasing gone now—replaced with something deeper, more indulgent. 

Her hand curls at the back of your neck, anchoring you gently in place as she kisses you like she has all the time in the world.

And for a moment, you melt into it completely, a quiet hum escaping your throat—soft, pleased, and entirely content.

Your hand rests lightly on her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. Her lips are warm and familiar, coaxing you to stay a little longer in this bubble she’s wrapped around the two of you.

But just over her shoulder, a gleam of amber light catches your eye.

You blink, breathless, and squint through the driver-side window at the storefront across the street.

Vinoteka Zvezda

Wine Star 

A small, charming little wine shop, the kind that screams “curated” and “family-owned.” An idea sparks in your brain, chasing away the last haze of Natasha’s kiss.

“That’s it!” you gasp, pulling back with sudden clarity.

Natasha remains frozen in place, her lips still slightly parted in protest, eyes fluttering open as she chases the space you just left. Her hand on your neck lingers, as does the ghost of the kiss on your lips.

She tries to lean back in, muttering against your mouth, “Chto—what’s it?”

You flash her a grin and press a quick, consoling peck to her lips.

“A bottle of wine,” you explain brightly, already reaching for your seatbelt. “It’s the perfect thing to bring.”

Unbuckling yourself, you shift in your seat and pop the door open before Natasha can reel you back in.

“Wait here,” you say, already halfway out. “I’ll be right back!”

The car door shuts behind you, leaving Natasha staring at the empty seat beside her.

She exhales through her nose in exasperation, slumping back into the leather of her seat as she watches you skip across the street, determination lighting up your features. She tracks how you enter the wine shop and immediately start talking animatedly to the shopkeeper, your hands gesturing in passionate, sweeping arcs as you describe the kind of bottle you’re searching for.

Natasha tilts her head, her lips curling into something soft and helpless.

“Kak milo…”

So cute…, she murmurs under her breath, shaking her head slightly at how easily you fluster and focus in the same breath.

She rests her elbow on the window ledge, her chin in her hand now, eyes never leaving you through the windshield. Even with the nerves, planning, and chaos, you still light up any room you walk into. And despite the teasing earlier, this…this is the part that gets her the most.

The part where you care so much.

Where you want to get it right.

And you don’t even realize how much you’ve already impressed her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha watches you out of the corner of her eye as you readjust everything in your arms—a wine bottle in one hand, the container of cookies balanced carefully in the other, and a bouquet of flowers tucked into the crook of your elbow. 

You’d made her stop at a roadside cart twenty minutes ago, determined to make the best possible impression. 

She’d offered—twice—to hold something, but you waved her off with that same stubborn confidence she’s grown increasingly fond of.

You shift your weight, square your shoulders, and glance at the front door with the kind of intensity you’d usually reserve for mission briefings.

“Okay,” you say, exhaling once. “I’m ready.”

Natasha gives you a once-over, lips twitching upward.

“You’re sure?”

You bump her with your shoulder. 

“Just knock already, Romanoff.”

She huffs but obeys, rapping her knuckles against the heavy door.

You barely have a second to mentally run through the Russian greetings you practiced before the door swings open—and any preparation you had dissolves on sight.

A tall, broad-shouldered man fills the doorway, eyes narrowed slightly, arms folded across his chest. His imposing figure, tangled beard, and the sheer weight of his stare make your spine straighten instinctively.

And you forget how to speak.

The man squints at you. Then, his gaze shifts to Natasha.

In an instant, his whole demeanor changes, and his eyes light up. 

“Ahh! My daughter has come home!” he booms, voice reverberating through the hallway before he steps forward and engulfs Natasha in a bear hug.

“Oof,” Natasha grunts as he pulls her in, her arms pinned awkwardly at her sides. “Alexei,” she mutters in protest, clearly used to this. “That’s enough.”

She peels herself out of his grip with practiced effort and steps back, brushing off her jacket. Then she gestures toward you with a small, subtle smile.

“This is my girlfriend.”

The word lands with a deliberate weight, and your heart skips at hearing her say it so directly.

Alexei blinks, then his head tilts slightly toward you. His brow furrows again, but this time in contemplation rather than challenge. His eyes dart to your full hands. 

“Girlfriend, da,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “A strong one, from the looks of it.”

You offer him a nervous smile. 

He opens his arms for a hug, but Natasha swiftly plants a palm on his chest.

“No.”

Alexei pauses, sighs theatrically, and switches tactics by offering his hand instead—before realizing you can’t take it. His gaze drops to the bottle.

You quickly shift and lift the wine toward him. 

“A gift. I thought it might go well with dinner.”

He takes it from you with a hum of approval, turning the label to inspect the vintage. 

“Ahh...1986. Hah! That year, I was invited to drink with high officials for my work as the Red Guardian. They only brought out the good stuff when I was in the room.” He winks at you before waving you both inside. “Come, come. We will drink this after dinner and toast to our victories!”

You follow Natasha in, carefully stepping around a pair of discarded combat boots and a black and red shield by the entryway. The smell of stewing herbs wafts in from the kitchen.

As you near the threshold, Alexei continues regaling you with some half-fantastical tale involving a Siberian embassy, three political defectors, and a wine-fueled arm-wrestling match.

“Alexei,” comes a sharp voice from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-story, “this is not the time. Go watch the pot before it boils over.”

You glance in and spot an older woman, her hair tied back, her sleeves rolled up, and a wooden spoon in hand. She doesn’t even look up at him to see if he’ll follow her words.

“Alright, Melina,” Alexei grumbles under his breath and trudges off.

After handing him the spoon, Melina approaches Natasha before placing her hands on either side of her daughter’s face and tilting it side to side with a critical eye.

“You’re looking healthy,” she remarks thoughtfully, then squints at her lips. “Though your lipstick is smeared. You may want to fix that before dinner.”

You immediately cough, embarrassed, breath catching in your throat at the reason it’s smeared. Natasha throws you a sidelong look and smirks, not even pretending to hide her amusement.

Melina turns to you next, her expression unreadable for a beat—then softens slightly.

“And you must be the one I’ve heard about.”

You offer her a respectful nod and a warm smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Vostokoff. These are for you.” You gently extend the bouquet.

Melina blinks in mild surprise as she accepts the flowers. 

“Oh...these are quite lovely,” she says, turning the stems in her fingers with practiced interest. Then she adds casually, “You know, with the right compound mixture, the petals of these can be distilled into a knockout gas that masks itself with floral pheromones.”

You blink once. Twice.

“I…didn’t know that.”

She hums.

“Thank you for these. I’ll be sure to use them effectively.” 

“Right…,” you swallow your nerves before continuing. “I also made these.” You offer her the container of cookies. “Thought it might be a nice dessert.”

Melina accepts them with a nod. 

“You baked them yourself?”

Before you can answer, a blonde-haired figure sweeps into the room.

“I can take that,” she announces, reaching for the container.

Melina immediately smacks her hand away. 

“Not now, Yelena, dinner first,” she says sharply. “Or else you’ll ruin your appetite.”

Yelena pouts, rubbing the back of her hand as she grumbles under her breath.

Melina takes the flowers and cookies into the kitchen without another glance.

Now left in the entryway with you and Natasha, Yelena crosses her arms and eyes you like she’s trying to gauge your combat level.

“So,” she starts, “you’re the one my sister wants to ma—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Natasha’s foot connects with her shin, and Yelena yelps.

“Ow! That hurt!”

Natasha shrugs unapologetically. 

“My foot slipped.”

Yelena narrows her eyes as if looking for an opening to retaliate against her sister before Melina’s voice calls out from the kitchen again.

“Yelena! Come set the table.”

With a dramatic sigh and a half-glare thrown over her shoulder, Yelena mutters, “This isn’t over,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

The hallway finally settles into a quiet hum.

You glance at Natasha, but she’s already looking at you. Her brow lifts slightly.

“You okay?”

To her surprise, you let out a soft, breathy laugh and shift your weight, taking her hand in yours.

“They’re…different,” you say thoughtfully, “but somehow they’re also…normal. Like a family. A real one.”

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches you, her thumb gently brushing the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters beneath her touch. Then she lifts her other hand, brushing a stray curl away from your face, her gaze warm and steady.

“You’re not scared off?” she asks, quieter now like she almost doesn’t want to break the moment.

You meet her eyes and give a small, sincere smile.

“No. Honestly?” You shrug lightly. “I think I like them.”

A short laugh escapes from her—one part fondness, one part disbelief, because of course you would. Her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as she leans in, her hand rising to cradle your face.

She’s just about to kiss you.

“Natasha,” Melina’s voice cuts through from around the corner, sharp and efficient.

You instinctively pull back, straightening like you’ve been caught in the act. 

Natasha groans softly in frustration, her lips parted in a half-formed complaint as her hand reluctantly drops back to her side.

You offer her an apologetic smile, squeezing her fingers in consolation just as Melina steps into view.

“Alexei and Yelena can handle the finishing touches on dinner,” Melina says, glancing briefly at you before continuing with a subtle weight in her tone. “The item you requested? It arrived yesterday. If you want to come see it.”

Natasha immediately perks up, something close to anticipation flickering behind her eyes.

“I do,” she says, already moving. Then she pauses when she notices you falling in step beside her.

She turns, steps into your path, and gently touches your arm.

“Why don’t you wait in the kitchen?” she suggests lightly, nodding toward the other end of the house. “We won’t be long.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Abandoning me to the wolves already?”

Natasha leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, the soft brush of her lips barely enough to make up for the one Melina interrupted.

“You’ll survive,” she says, her voice low, amused, and just the tiniest bit smug.

You huff out a playful breath. 

“We’ll see,” you mutter as you turn, giving her one last look before making your way toward the kitchen.

The closer you get, the more you slow your pace as the nerves settle back in. You can hear Alexei’s deep voice rumbling through the space, followed by Yelena’s sharper reply, the familiar cadence of Russian drifting toward you.

“Gde tvoya mat’?”

“Where’s your mother?” Alexei asks, casual, distracted, and likely chopping something from the sound of the knife.

“Navernoye, otdat’ Natasha kol’tso, kotoroye prishlo,”

“Probably giving Natasha the ring that arrived,” Yelena replies without hesitation.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Аh…chtoby sdelat' predlozheniye.”

Ah…so she can propose.

Your stomach flips as your eyes widen slightly. You come to a complete stop at the entryway, hidden from sight as they continue.

Alexei hums in contemplation. 

“Yeyo devushka khoroshaya. Mne ona nravitsya.”

Her girlfriend seems good. I like her, Alexei says with a note of approval.

Yelena makes a faint sound of agreement, then adds, “I pechen’ye vkusnoye.”

And the cookies are delicious.

You blink, trying to process the whiplash of implications in their conversation. Ring? Proposal? Is that why Natasha wanted you to meet her family?

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, you clear your throat softly and step into the kitchen with your best attempt at casual nonchalance.

“Hey,” you say. “Need any help in here?”

Both Alexei and Yelena freeze at your presence. Alexei’s hand hovers awkwardly over a bowl while Yelena stands motionless with a half-eaten cookie in hand.

You raise a brow, hiding your amusement at their synchronized panic.

Yelena is the first to recover. She gestures toward the side counter. 

“Sure,” she says smoothly. “Can you help with setting the plates? We’re almost done with the food.”

You nod and walk over to the stack of dishes she points to, quietly beginning to lay them out on the table in the dining room.

Behind you, you catch the low whisper of Alexei’s voice again.

“Kak vy dumayete, ona chto-nibud’ slyshala?”

Do you think she heard anything?

Yelena responds under her breath, “Steny zdes' ne sovsem zvukonepronitsayemyye, Alexei. No, k schast’yu, ona ne govorit po-russki.”

These walls aren’t exactly soundproof, Alexei. But luckily she doesn’t speak Russian.

You suppress a smile as you gently place down the last plate, all while perfectly understanding every word.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and Melina’s voice returns with crisp authority as she steps into the kitchen.

“Looks like everything’s ready. Let’s start dinner.”

Natasha enters just behind her, eyes sweeping the room. Her gaze finds you almost immediately, her lips quirking up in something soft and private, like she knows you’ve handled her family better than she ever could’ve predicted.

You meet her eyes and smile back, warmth blooming in your chest at the revelation of what she wants for your future.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Dinner is warm in more ways than one. The scent of roasted herbs and buttery vegetables fills the room, clinking utensils and soft conversation creating a domestic hum around the table.

Natasha rests her chin against her palm, elbow propped lazily on the table as she watches you. Her gaze trails the subtle movement of your lips as you speak, the easy rhythm of your laughter, the way your hand flicks slightly when telling a story. 

She isn’t even pretending to eat. Her fork idles in her other hand, forgotten.

“You’re staring,” Melina remarks coolly, not even looking up from her plate. “As charming as it is to be hopelessly enamored, Natasha, you should eat before the food gets cold.”

You turn toward her just in time to catch the faintest flush of color on Natasha’s cheeks.

“Can’t really blame her,” you tease, casting Natasha a sly smile, your nerves completely vanishing in the warm, lively energy of her family. “I am objectively captivating.”

Natasha huffs through her nose but says nothing to tease you back. Instead, she nudges her chair just a little closer to yours. Barely noticeable to anyone else.

You glance at her curiously, but don’t press, returning your attention to Alexei across the table as he picks up where he’d left off.

“So you stopped the entire team of enemy operatives alone?” you ask, half in disbelief, half wanting to see how far this story goes.

Alexei puffs up with delight, always eager to relive his Red Guardian glory days for someone who hasn’t heard every exaggerated detail before.

“Alone? Pffft. Of course, alone. You think they could hold me with chains? Bah! They tried. I flexed. One shoulder pop and snap—bindings gone! Like thread around a bear.”

As he gestures grandly—mimicking his escape with dramatic flair—you nod along, engaged, even as Natasha slowly moves her food around her plate, her fork barely tapping the surface.

And then…you feel it.

A warm, deliberate hand slides beneath the edge of the table and lands lightly on your thigh—right at the hem of your skirt. Your back straightens in an instant. Your shoulders square. You glance sharply at her from the side, jaw tight in warning.

But Natasha? She’s chewing quietly, face entirely innocent. Her eyes don’t leave her plate.

You try to focus as Alexei mimics the sounds of panicked guards, but then her fingers give a little squeeze.

You twitch slightly, feet shifting under the table. 

Her hand slides upward, just a little, fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh.

Your breath hitches.

Just as her fingers begin to dip higher—exploring—you act fast, clamping your thighs together and catching her hand right in place.

Her fingers wriggle playfully, trapped now, but not at all deterred. In fact, from the subtle upturn of her lips, she looks positively smug.

Across the table, Melina suddenly turns to Natasha, shifting the attention just enough.

“Are you keeping yourself safe during missions?” she asks, tone sharp but not unkind. “I saw that latest intel packet. That explosion was too close.”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Define ‘safe,’” she mutters. “People keep shooting at me.”

“That’s why she has me,” you chime in, clearing your throat and adjusting slightly in your seat as you discreetly reach under the table to grab her hand, intertwining them together and firmly placing them between the two of you. “To pull her out of those things. Preferably before the explosions happen.”

Alexei laughs heartily at that, reaching for his glass.

“I like her,” he says to Melina. “Ona ostraya.”

She’s sharp.

Melina tuts. “It’s rude to speak about her like that right in front of her, Alexei.”

Natasha, without missing a beat, smirks.

“She understands Russian.”

Alexei chokes on his drink. Melina blinks once, then tilts her head, intrigued.

“You do?” she asks you. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug with a slight grin.

“I’m still learning.”

Melina hums, impressed. 

“Well. In that case, come sit with me. Let’s see how much you do know. Bring the wine.”

She rises and gestures for you to follow her into the living space.

You stand, giving Natasha a squeeze of her fingers in playful chastising for her earlier teasing before letting go.

Natasha watches you and Melina disappear from the kitchen, her eyes trailing after you fondly until she notices the quiet shift in the atmosphere.

She glances back at the table.

Yelena and Alexei are both frozen.

Yelena’s hand hovers just over the container of cookies, and Alexei’s head is bent low, scratching at the back of his neck with obvious guilt.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

“This is suspicious,” she says flatly, rising from her seat and stalking over to her sister.

Yelena stiffens. 

“Suspicious, how?” she mutters casually, reaching for a cookie.

Natasha closes the lid of the container and snatches it away before Yelena can grab it. 

“What did you two do?”

Alexei mumbles something into his hand, but Natasha’s already locked on to Yelena, who winces.

“Your girlfriend may have…possibly overheard us talking.”

“About what?” Natasha presses.

“Your ring that you got her,” Yelena admits, bracing for impact, before adding. “And Alexei mentioned you wanting to propose.”

Natasha groans and rubs a hand down her face.

“You two,” she mutters. “I swear to god…”

“Hey, how were we supposed to know she understood Russian?” Yelena defends.

“Da, you should’ve told us, Natasha,” Alexei agrees, crossing his arms.

Natasha just rolls her eyes before glancing toward the living room and sees you laughing softly with Melina as you both talk animatedly in Russian. Instantly, her irritation melts into something softer.

Because you heard. And the information didn’t seem to scare you off.

Placing the container back on the table, Natasha moves to join you. When she enters the living room, the soft clink of glass meeting wood draws her gaze immediately to where you’re seated with Melina. 

You’re curled comfortably into the armchair, cheeks tinged with warmth that isn’t entirely from the room’s temperature. Melina sits in the other armchair beside you, calmly refilling your glass with a steady pour and a faint, impressed smile on her lips.

You don’t even hesitate, raising the glass with a small toast and murmuring thanks in Russian. But your pronunciation is just slightly off. The syllables slur at the edges, your usual clarity muddled.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

She mentally counts—two glasses during dinner, one more after you stepped out with Melina… and now a fourth. Her eyes flick to the bottle on the side table, noting the high alcohol content. 

With a quiet sigh, Natasha strides over. You’re just lifting the glass to your lips again when she gently intercepts it, slipping it from your grasp before you can take another sip.

“Hey…” you whine softly, blinking up at her with a pout.

“Detka,” Natasha sighs, “my family has an elevated alcohol tolerance. You have a normal one.”

Melina lets out a quiet chuckle, unbothered. 

“I’m sorry,” she says with an amused twinkle in her eye. “You were such good company, I may have lost track.”

“It was really nice talking with you,” you say, voice lilting sweetly. “Even if your flower stories scare me a little.”

Melina gives you an affectionate pat on the arm before excusing herself. 

“I’ll leave you alone now. I need to check on the other two before they get into some trouble.”

“Too late,” Natasha mutters.

Once she’s gone, Natasha slides onto the armrest beside your chair, perched just above your shoulder. She’s watching you with the kind of expression that’s both exasperated and deeply fond.

“So,” she says, brow arched. “How are we feeling?”

You beam up at her with the kind of drunken smile that melts her on the spot. 

“S’good,” you say cheerfully, tapping her thigh like you’re letting her in on a secret. “I asked your mom to teach me something.”

Natasha’s brow furrows, intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What’d she teach you?”

You straighten slightly, gathering all your focus like it’s a mission. You take her hand in yours, lifting it gently between you.

You blink once, twice, then look her dead in the eye with as much serious gravity as you can summon in your wine-softened state.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff,” you say, slow and deliberate.

Natasha huffs in surprise, a low chuckle escaping her throat, at her full name that you probably got from her mother.

You take a breath, your accent slightly clumsy but the intent is crystal clear as you look up at her and say in Russian.

“Ty vyy-desh' za men-ya za…muzh?”

Will you marry me?

The room stills.

Your voice is slightly off, but the meaning—the emotion—lands with devastating clarity.

Natasha’s heart skips. Her fingers twitch slightly in yours.

“What do you think?” you ask, eyes wide. “Was it close?”

Natasha lets out a slow, shaky laugh and leans in closer, brushing a knuckle under your chin. 

“It was close,” she murmurs, then repeats it back to you, softer and steadier, in her perfect Russian accent.

“Ty vyydesh' za menya zamuzh?”

Will you marry me?

Your breath catches, a quiet smile blooming across your face. And you whisper back. 

“S udovol’stviyem.”

I’d love to.

Natasha leans in and kisses you, slow and gentle, her hand cradling your cheek with a tenderness that quiets everything else. When she pulls back, her lips hover close to yours.

“That’s nice to hear,” she says. “But…even if my family did ruin the surprise, you’re still going to have to wait for the proposal I planned before you get the ring.”

You blink up at her, your smile turning into a small pout that Natasha promptly kisses away.

“Preferably,” she adds, “when you don’t have four glasses of wine in you.”

You giggle softly. 

“So that means I’ll need to visit your family more. That way, your mom can help me practice my vows.”

Natasha gasps in mock hurt, shaking her head as she laughs. 

“Are you replacing me with my mom as your Russian tutor?”

You hum, resting your head briefly against her leg, tracing delicate patterns with your finger.

“You’ll always have the night sessions.”

Natasha’s breath catches at that. She lifts your chin gently, and her lips brush against yours in a lingering kiss. When she pulls away, her voice drops to a whisper.

“Obeshchayesh’?” 

Promise?

You smile, gaze soft as you press your forehead up against hers and whisper back, your voice trembling just slightly from the weight of it.

“Segodnya. Etoy noch’yu. I kazhdyy den’ dal’she. YA s toboy, Natasha.”

Today. This night. And every day after that. I’m with you, Natasha.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

[snail-day]

Respectfully, let me put a bun in that oven

Gojo x Reader

WC: 2.5k

TW: Pathetically in love Gojo, brief smut, no protection, MDNI

a/n: Based on the other "okay satoru" drabbles. I swear I will update my masterlists...soon...hopefully. <3

Okay. Okay. Breathe, Satoru. You can do this.

It’s just a little card. Some flowers. Your wife's favorite drink. A cake. For no reason. Well, for a reason. A big reason. A terrifying, life-altering, universe-breaking reason.

Satoru stands at the edge of the bed with the tray in his hands and his heart somewhere lodged around his throat. The card’s bent at the corner from all the fidgeting when he was stuck in the aisle for a near hour reading them all. The frosting is smudged from nearly tripping when thinking about his words. He thinks the flowers might be a little wilted, even though he picked them up this morning.

His hands shake. He’s sweating. Oh god, he's sweating. He is, respectfully, freaking the fuck out.

You stir under the plush, warm blankets, lashes fluttering, your body warm and soft in the early light. You blink up at him, bleary and confused, and then smile.

God, that smile.

That soft, sleepy, loves-him-anyway smile that makes his knees wobble.

“What’s all this?” you rasp, voice thick and sweet from sleep.

Satoru nearly forgets how to function. Stares at you for a beat too long before he clears his throat, shifting his grip on the tray when it begins to shake. Moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside you.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, trying for casual. Failing spectacularly. “Like. Maybe. If you wanted… we could…”

His throat goes dry. He looks so stupid right now - bedhead-wrecked white hair, wearing one of the tourist-turned-sleep-shirt that says “Snuggle Bug” with two cartoon frogs cuddling on it, and eyes so wide and blue it’s like the whole sky’s been poured into them. His lashes flutter when he blinks. Trying to look anywhere but you. Why is confrontation so hard?

What if this is dumb? What if you’re not ready? What if he’s not ready?

Except… he kind of is. Has been.

That one extra room in the house, the one neither of you touches. Not a guest room. Not storage. Just… empty. Waiting.

And the way you always squeeze his arm a little tighter when you see a baby in a carrier. The way you murmur, “I wonder when that’ll be us,” like you’re dreaming it quietly to yourself but loud enough for him to catch it. Loud enough for him to start wanting it too.

So when his words start to spiral, when his mouth goes too fast and his thoughts can’t keep up, you stop him.

With a kiss.

Soft and warm. Gentle. You kiss him like you already know what he’s trying to say. And he melts.

The tray gets abandoned somewhere on the bed. A mess for later. His long arms wrap around you in a heartbeat, pulling you into his chest to capture you closer.

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his jaw, voice soft and sure.

He nods. Tries to swallow the knot in his throat. Presses his forehead to yours, those messy strands of white hair falling down over his lashes as he whispers -

“I’d really love for you to be the mother of my kids,” his voice breaks just slightly. “If you’re willing.”

Please be willing.

You nod. Small. Sweet. Almost shy.

“Yes?” You respond, cautiously.

His whole face scrunches, lip wobbling slightly as he asks again, just to be sure. Like maybe he hallucinated it. Like maybe his brain just wants it that badly.

“Yes, Satoru.” You say again with a smile blooming on your face as his dazzling blue eyes widen once more.

Oh.

Oh no.

That’s it. That’s the end of him.

His grin bursts onto his face like sunlight cracking through the morning curtains, blinding and boyish and a little watery around the edges. He laughs, half-breathless, half-disbelieving, as he pulls you in.

You squeal a little, giggling into his neck, and he just keeps kissing you. Your cheeks. Your forehead. Your nose. Every little part of you he can reach, it’s precious.

“Okay. Okay,” he pants between kisses, voice breathy and light. “We’re gonna be so good at this. I’ll read the books. I’ll learn how to swaddle. I’ll install those stupid baby locks on the cabinets even though I’ll hate them. I’ll be so annoying, baby - I’ll cry at the ultrasound. I’m gonna cry at everything.”

You laugh again, fingers threading into his fluffy white hair, and he genuinely considers proposing again right then and there.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, his voice pitching higher. “Do you wanna start now? Or later? I mean, no pressure, we can just nap. Totally just nap. But if you wanna start now, like. I am very good at practicing. Extremely good. Ask anyone, wait no don’t ask anyone, but - ”

You cut him off with another kiss.

This one’s deeper. Wetter. Your mouth warm against his and a little smug, and all he can do is moan softly into it and melt.

He is so. Screwed.

As he curls around you under the blankets - your laugh still dancing in his ears, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip - Satoru falls in love with you all over again.

And all he can think is, I get to do this. With you. Forever.

You kiss him again. Moving to straddle on top of him.

Slower this time. A little deeper. One hand tangled in his soft, snowy hair, the other sliding down under his silly shirt to touch his bare chest, tracing the lean lines and dips, places you already know by heart. He groans against your mouth, and when he opens his eyes, those impossibly bright baby blues are already glazed with something warm and adoring.

“Wait,” he breathes, breath tickling your lips as he leans back just enough to look at you. “You’re not just saying yes so you can jump me, right?”

You blink up at him, thighs spread over the sharp V of his hips. Your fingertips rest just over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I mean,” you murmur, voice all teasing honey, “why can’t it be both?”

His whole face flushes. Pale skin blooming pink from his ears to his throat. His hands, big and warm, squeeze your hips like instinct, thumbs stroking the soft curve. Comforting.

“God,” he mumbles, a laugh caught in the back of his throat as you shift your hips and roll against the thick shape of him through his boxers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tug his shirt over his head, and the moment it’s off, he’s on you. Kissing you hungrily - wet and warm and open-mouthed as he lays you back into the mattress. His fingers skate beneath your shirt, lifting the fabric so he can mouth at your chest, dragging kisses across your skin like each one could spell out his devotion.

He doesn’t even let you undress yourself, won’t let you lift a finger. He needs to do it. Needs to watch every inch of skin reveal itself under his trembling hands like it’s the first time all over again. Your clothes are peeled away with care, your panties tossed somewhere behind him without a second thought. His fingers slip between your thighs, finding that sensitive little nub with a practiced, aching touch.

“Don’t hide from me,” he breathes, voice thick, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I love you so much. Let me see all of you.”

And when he finally pushes inside, slow and deep, thick cock stretching you open with a low moan whispered into your neck, he doesn’t move. Not right away. Just breathes. Just holds you.

“Feels too good,” he murmurs, voice trembling. “I - fuck, I love you so much.”

His body rocks against yours slowly, each thrust deeper than the last, his pelvis brushing yours just right as he holds you close. One hand cradles the back of your neck. The other… slides low.

Calloused fingertips splay across your lower belly, right where the bulge of him presses with each thrust.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all round and soft,” he whispers, kissing the shell of your ear. “Gonna look so fuckin’ good with my baby in you.”

Your breath stutters. His hand stays there, palm pressed flat to your stomach as he moves inside you, like he’s trying to imagine it, already seeing the future blooming beneath his touch.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs between kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, the wet corners of your eyes. “You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll do it all, baby. Just let me give this to you.”

You moan his name and he loses rhythm. hips stuttering, face buried in your shoulder as he whispers it again and again:

Please let it take. Please. Please.

Even after he cums, deep, slow, and unbearably warm, staying inside as if he can will the pregnancy into existence, he doesn’t stop touching your belly. Doesn’t stop kissing your cheeks. Doesn’t stop whispering promises into your skin.

You and me and a baby. Just us. Just ours. Please.

You can feel him still trembling, his arms wound around you like a vise, cheek smushed against your chest, the damp tips of his snowy hair sticking to your collarbones. Breath still shaky, puffing out against your skin as he presses another kiss just under your jaw, then one to your shoulder, then back to your collarbone. Like he can’t pick a favorite part of you. Like he needs to worship every inch of where he just poured himself.

You shift a little beneath him, sticky, flushed, a touch overheated, and he immediately lets out a soft, panicked sound.

“Nooo, wait,” he whines, arms tightening around your waist as his head lifts just enough for you to see the ridiculous, sleepy pout pulling at his pretty mouth. His lashes are fluttery and wet. His cheeks are pink. His eyes - still ocean-deep and dazed - search your face like you’ve just threatened to leave him forever.

“Satoru,” you breathe, voice fond and exasperated all at once. “I’m hot.”

“You’re always hot,” he mumbles into your throat, dead serious.

You try to wriggle again, and he just grabs your hand, gently, but fast, like you were about to disappear into the ether, and laces his fingers with yours, clutching it to his chest.

His heart is racing.

“Just a little longer,” he pleads, voice raw and boyish and thick with love. “Ten minutes. Five. Two. I just wanna stay like this…”

You sigh, but your hand squeezes his.

He beams. Full-blown sunshine. His legs tangle tighter with yours beneath the blanket as he shifts to kiss your wrist, then your knuckles, and then your shoulder again. He’s still inside you, still warm and soft, buried as deep as your heartbeat.

His voice is quieter now, breathless and thick with something aching.

“You’d be so beautiful pregnant,” he murmurs against your skin. “You already are. But like. More. Like glowing. Full. Happy. I’d kiss your belly every morning. Rub your feet. Tie your shoes for you. You wouldn’t have to do anything. Just sit there and look pretty and let me take care of you.”

You blink up at the ceiling, trying not to cry from how gently pathetic he sounds.

“I’ll wake up with you every night,” he continues softly. “Even if I’m on a mission, I’ll come back and rock the baby. I’ll be the one who changes the diapers. You can sleep in. I’ll do it all. Just - just let me have this, baby.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already snuggling impossibly closer, wrapping his arms tighter around you and nosing at your jaw like a needy cat. The hold is warm. A little sweaty. Definitely clingy. But it’s Satoru. Your Satoru. So in love he can’t see straight. So scared you’ll vanish if he lets go. So sure that this is it. This is home.

He murmurs again, so quiet you almost miss it.

“Happy Mother's Day.”

[hoetachi]

GROWING PAINS — J. TODD

➠ jason todd x blk!batmom!reader

➠ mulan’s input; jason’s origin + a motherly figure = NO ONES GONNA HURT YOU AGAIN BABY! (i luv emotional pain! SUE ME!)

➠ cw; arkham knight!jason’s backstory, ptsd, angst to fluff

YOU WERE GLAD TO JUST have him back. it took him a while to return to the manor, but you’d gladly tidied up his childhood room. you left a box in there for him—his choice what to keep or toss.

yeah, it made a small, sharp ache in your chest when you saw the box sitting outside his closed door. right on top was the batman plushie bruce won for him at the carnival, back in his early robin days.

oh those robin days…

you pressed your lips to your palm as you flipped through the photo album—so many cherished memories. some were from dates with bruce in other countries, but most were right here in gotham. there were a few of dick playing pranks on alfred—you truly felt sorry for the unruly boys he had to deal with— then the photo of dick meeting jason for the first time.

he’d been so malnourished when you all met him—tiny like a finch, personality loud like a macaw, but tender and sensitive as a newborn kiwi. he was your baby. he’d latched onto you so quickly.

your fingers traced softly over the photo of you cupping his cheek, him smiling back—big, toothy, and full of love. he used to love being under your touch. whether it was washing his hair after a dirty patrol or him curling up next to you while you read—you were his safe haven.

heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall across the polished wood of the manor.

he stood in the doorway—sweats and a sweatshirt slightly too small clinging to his now-developed frame. he leaned there, lax but unreadable, eyes on you.

“hey, mom…” he said quietly, sapphire eyes watching you.

you looked up from the album, staring at him in silence. he was different in every way. the last time you saw him, he was seventeen and a little scrawny. now? a 22-year-old bodybuilder with a gaze like winter. still, part of you believed that little boy was in there, somewhere.

you blinked back to reality, noticing how he fidgeted under your gaze. your eyes dropped from the photo to the man before you, and nostalgia swelled in your chest. at that moment, you realized—you and jason hadn’t touched once since he moved back in.

gently, you placed the album aside on the coffee table and crossed the room in three strides.

“hey, baby…” you cooed softly, smiling. a dusting of pink bloomed on his ears.

“alfred said you needed me for somethin’, ma?” his voice was soft, almost warm. but you saw it—that quiet resentment lurking in the corners

“I just wanted to check on you…” you said, tilting your head, eyes catching the edge of a scar that peeked from the shadows of his gauze. instinctively, your hand rose to his cheek. however, he flinched back before your fingers could even make contact.

“don’t,” he said quietly, but firm.

and just like that, the softness vanished. his face hardened, and he walked away without another word.

he was different.

you knew why—at least, partly. bruce wouldn’t let you see the file. wouldn’t tell you what exactly happened to your boy, especially with the footage

it burned —worse than any grease or hot oil that had ever kissed your skin. to see him change so completely, to watch that sweet, smiling boy vanish and be replaced by this guarded, bitter man… it hurt in a place too deep to bandage.

the fury that consumed him whenever he clashed with bruce or dick—you hated to admit it—was frightening. not because he was aggressive. no, that wasn’t it.

it was frightening because it was deeper than anger.

it was pain. raw, buried pain that ran bone-deep.

and yet, you were still stuck at the surface, scratching at the walls, because jason wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—let himself relive whatever happened in that abandoned wing.

knowing that he was suffering mentally, and still refused to acknowledge it aloud to you—you, his safe haven—wounded you in a way words couldn’t touch.

so you sought help from other sources—well, forces, to be exact.

“you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” jason asked again, concern etched into that hardened face of his. “yeah, it’s always a pleasure to see zatanna perform” dick added with a grin. you appreciated the concern from your boys and almost bought in for them coming with how pouty dick looked. “i promise to come out this ladies’ night. and besides,” you smirked, slipping on your coat, “i doubt you two want to be surrounded by a bunch of thirsty cougars all night.”

“but it’s almost midnight though” jason protest as both boys were hot on your trail. “are you trying to give me a curfew, jason peter todd?” you threw him a playful glare, and dick burst out laughing at the light scolding.

when you all reached the front door, you turned on your heel to face them. for a moment, it was like déjà vu.

you didn’t see the men that stood before you.

you saw your rebellious 18 year old and his even more troublesome 12 year old brother.

my… how your boys have grown

“i’m going to be fine boys. take care of bruce while i’m out. he’s been down in the cave since evening” you said, tying a knot in your belt “yall hear me?”

they just stood silent —worry written across both faces.

“did i make myself clear?” you repeated, a brow arched.

“yes ma’am” they answered in unison, unintentionally ironic—and it made your heart smile.

“i won’t be out too late. i promise” you reassured both of them, but it was more for jason. that icy gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before turning and heading back upstairs— the opposite direction of where the batcave’s hidden entrance was. you looked to dick and lowered your voice, “please make sure they don’t destroy anything while i’m gone”

“i’ll try my best, ma” he huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

—

“thank you for being such a marvelous crowd,” zatanna beamed, waving to the audience. “and if you see a white bunny hopping around please return him back. he’ll chew through your baseboards if you take him home” the crowd chuckled, and then—whoosh—a dramatic swirl of purple smoke engulfed her. when it cleared, she was gone, earning one last round of applause.

you clapped as well but from the corner of your eye you seen the fluffy escapee a few feet from you. you weaved through tables before reaching him and carefully scooping him up. “time to return you to your missus… constantine” you whispered with a smirk

it didn’t take long to find her dressing room. you balled your fist to knock, but the door eased open for you. you stepped inside.

there she was—zatanna zatara, brushing lint off her top hat at her vanity. her posture was relaxed, but her aura buzzed with power. “i believe this belongs to you, miss zatara?” you crouched down, placing one last kiss on an ear and scratching the bunny’s head before letting him hop towards her.

zatanna smiled at you through the mirror, then rose from her chair. “mrof lanigiro sih ot enitnatsnoc nruter return constantine to his original form”

a poof of purple smoke—and the bunny was gone. in his place stood constantine, blonde and smug as ever, already lighting a cigarette.. “i promise to not tell bats about that little smooch, darling” he winked towards you before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and plucking one into his mouth

zatanna rolled her eyes. “thank you for coming out tonight, y/n. it’s sooo good to see you” she thanked sincerely

“it was great being here. fantastic performance, as always”

“i surprised the boys allowed you out of their sight” he chimed in, puffing smoke lazily. his eyes lingered just a second too long.

you fidgeted slightly under his gaze.

“about them…” you started, shifting your coat a little.

your voice softened.

“i need a favor, z”

zatanna’s smile faded as she picked up on the shift in your tone. “what kind of favor?” she asked gently, though she already had some idea.

you exhaled, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting to meet hers. “i need to see what happened to him. to jason. the truth—the parts bruce won’t talk about, and jason refuses to let me near.”

zatanna’s brows creased. her fingers drummed softly on the vanity.

“i was hoping you could… do something. let me in. not to interfere, just… to understand.”

before she could answer, constantine cut in with a sharp scoff.

“bloody hell, you want her to what? go rooting around in the lad’s memories?” he said, flicking ash into an empty cup. “that’s like going through a man’s personal drawer, love. violates all kinds of moral lines—spiritual ones too, if you care about that sort of thing.”

his voice wasn’t harsh—just firm. protective, in his own sideways way. “you don’t open up someone’s trauma like a damn photo album.”

you turned to him, and though your voice was steady, the ache in it made the room go still.

“i am his mother.”

that shut him up quick.

you took a slow step forward, hands folded in front of you—not defensive, but resolved.

“i don’t need to fix it. i don’t want to judge it. i just want to understand what happened to my baby that makes him flinch when i reach for him. that makes him lash out randomly towards father and brother. that makes him look like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. i can’t keep loving him from the outside of a locked door.”

zatanna watched you with wide, softening eyes.

“if I can feel the weight he’s carrying—even just a piece of it—i’ll know how to carry it with him. that’s all i’ve ever wanted as his mom. to carry the hard stuff with him.”

constantine sighed through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it.

“you know it won’t be pretty.”

“it already isn’t,” you replied quietly.

zatanna finally nodded, her voice low but steady. “there’s a spell I can use. it won’t change anything—it’ll only let you witness. you’ll be a shadow in the memory. no one will see or hear you. including jason.”

“that’s all i need,” you said, already steadying yourself.

she motioned for you to sit at the vanity and began drawing a sigil in the mirror with glowing blue energy, lips already moving in slow incantation.

her gloved fingertips brushing over the glass with reverence, like she was wiping away time itself. the reflection shimmered, distorting slightly as if the glass had become liquid mercury.

“this mirror is a tether,” she explained softly. “old magic runs through it. it’s seen things. held memories. reflected truths people refused to face.”

you sat down beside her, heart in your throat. you could feel the air shift—the hairs on your arms rising as the room dimmed just slightly, the colors draining like old ink from paper. zatanna’s voice dropped into a low chant,

“dnim sih ni deirub hturt eht em wohs! show me the truth buried in his mind.”

the symbols reappeared—this time inside the mirror. they spiraled inward like a whirlpool, glowing brighter and brighter until the mirror wasn’t a mirror anymore.

it was a window.

a faint image began to form—dark concrete walls, a rusted light fixture, and a flicker of movement in the corner. the angle shifted, as though the mirror was no longer reflecting, but watching.

zatanna placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “once you step forward, you’ll become part of the memory. you won’t be able to speak, only watch. you’ll feel some of what he felt—but not all. you’d never come back whole if you did.”

you nodded, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “i understand.” constantine muttered something under his breath and stood back with his arms crossed, cigarette long forgotten in his hand.

“you’re braver than most,” he said, not quite looking at you. you met zatanna’s gaze one last time. “will he know i was there?”

“no,” she said gently. “but maybe... he’ll feel it. somewhere deep, along with other forces.”

you rose and stepped closer to the mirror. the glass rippled like water as your hand passed through it. a sudden chill swept up your spine as you felt yourself pulled inward and the room vanished.

the cold hit you first.

not a chill, but something deeper—damp, stale, like rot sitting behind concrete walls. you blinked as color and sound bled into focus. your feet didn’t touch the ground. you were floating just above it, like a tethered spirit. the room was dim, flickering with the dull buzz of a single overhead bulb swaying lazily on a frayed cord.

it looked like a bunker… no, a cage. a prison.

your eyes adjusted—and you saw him.

jason, but he was just a boy.

just 17. shackled to a metal chair, arms raw from the cuffs, his black domino mask half-torn, smeared with blood and sweat. his breathing was shallow—panic laced with exhaustion. his mouth hung open slightly like he had screamed himself hoarse.

you stepped closer, a silent witness, your hands trembling as you reached for him by instinct—even though you knew you’d pass right through.

your heart thundered and, then came the voice.

“he keeps calling for you, you know”

that voice.

the joker

he slinked in from the shadows like a grotesque phantom—grinning, suited, and covered in filth. his eyes gleamed with delighted cruelty.

“mom… he says. ma—mommy…! like it’s some kind of magic word!”

“kinda breaks your heart, doesn’t it? kinda breaks your heart, doesn’t it?”

he dragged a chair across the floor, the screech of it piercing your skull. he plopped down lazily across from jason, casually twirling a bloody crowbar between his gloved fingers.

“you should’ve seen the way he cried, cupcake. not for bats. not even for dear old dad. just for you.”

your knees gave out, and if you’d had a real body, you would’ve collapsed. you felt every word like broken glass in your chest. your arms ached to hold your son. your skin screamed with the phantom memory of his tiny hand clinging to yours at twelve years old, afraid of thunderstorms. the way he used to tuck himself beneath your arm on bad patrol nights.

and now… now he was barely alive in front of you.

jason twitched in the chair, still trying to be strong. still fighting. a soft, cracked whisper left his lips—

“she’s not… gonna stop… looking…”

your vision blurred with tears. he had never stopped believing in you.

the joker leaned forward, the crowbar resting against his shoulder like a lover. “you hear that? your boy still thinks you’re coming. how precious is that?”

he stood and moved behind Jason, whispering like a demon coiling in your ear.

“too bad they’ll never find you in time. no bat. no mom. just me”

then came the swing.

the crowbar cracked against jason’s shoulder. he didn’t scream. he just flinched and breathed heavy through his nose.

you felt that strike—sharp, radiating, as if it landed on your own ribs.

“still quiet, eh? well, we’ll fix that.”

another swing.

then another.

each blow landed with a sickening thud, and though you couldn't touch him, you wanted to scream. Your hands moved uselessly, clawing at the air. tears streamed down your face as you watched your son break and never once beg for mercy.

the boy you remembered—full of fire and snark—was now a hollow, bleeding vessel held together by sheer will.

your baby.

zatanna’s voice echoed in the distance like thunder from another plane—

“y/n, it’s time—time to come back—

but you didn’t want to.

you wanted to stay. to rip through time and space and pull him out of that chair.

then jason turned his head—slowly, painfully. his eyes, bloodshot and barely open, looked straight through you.

and for a second—just one second—you felt it…

he knew you were there.

your breath caught as the memory rippled, the mirror-world cracking around you like ice underfoot.

you were yanked out of the vision with a violent pull—

—and came crashing back into zatanna’s dressing room, gasping like you had just surfaced from drowning. Your lungs burned as you staggered back from the mirror, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. the cool air of the dressing room hit your sweat-slicked skin like ice.

zatanna was by your side at an instant, her hands steadying you even as yours trembled. “i’m okay,” you choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

but you weren’t. god, you weren’t.

constantine hovered a few feet away, his expression almost-eerily sober. the usual smirk was gone, replaced by something closer to respect… and pity.

zatanna helped you to your feet, brushing a strand of braid from your damp forehead.

“y/n… you didn’t have to watch all of that,” she whispered.

you nodded, throat raw. “yes, I did.”

she looked like she wanted to say more, but held her tongue. instead, she handed you a bottle of water, which you barely remembered taking, and walked you to the back exit. you forced a quiet smile for her and constantine both, just enough to assure them you were “fine.”

“thank you so much” you said, hugging zatanna tightly—because you couldn’t hug him. not yet.

then you walked to your car with steady, practiced steps.

you didn’t break.

not when you started the engine.

not when your fingers gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned bone white.

not when the joker’s words echoed in your mind again: “ he keeps calling for you, you know ”

but once you turned the corner, leaving the club’s lights behind, it all cracked.

a sob escaped you—sharp and strangled. you slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet it, but the tears broke through fast, hot, and violent. you barely saw the road through them, only catching glimpses of traffic lights as your shoulders heaved.

you remembered his voice in that room. how broken it sounded. how he still clung to you like a lifeline even when hope was bleeding out of him.

“my baby… my baby boy,” you gasped out, shaking as the weight of it all slammed into you.

you didn’t remember most of the drive. only that your chest felt hollow by the time the manor came into view.

the car rolled to a stop in the driveway.

and there, under the soft glow of the front lights, you broke completely.

you slumped against the steering wheel, arms limp, sobbing so hard it hurt. not pretty tears. not gentle mourning. ugly, gutting grief—the kind only a mother can know when she’s found out too late just how much her child suffered.

you cried for every moment you weren’t there. for every wound you hadn’t kissed. for every scream he swallowed while shackled in the dark.

and when your tears slowed, you whispered it like a vow;

“i’m going to help you, jason. I don’t care how long it takes. i’m gonna bring my baby back.”

the night was still around you.

inside, the manor was quiet. you closed the door gently behind you, wiping your face one last time before kicking off your shoes and padding softly down the hallway.

the house echoed a little more than usual tonight.

you moved toward the kitchen, guided by habit—and the faint scent of chocolate.

the overhead light buzzed dimly to life as you stepped in. on the marble island sat a small plate of cookies, slightly misshapen, still warm.

beside them was a note in dick’s familiar scrawl:

“ ma

thought you might need something sweet tonight.

don’t worry, they’re not burned :) — D ”

a laugh broke in your throat, tangled in the sob you fought to hold back. you brought a hand to your lips, eyes shining again.

damn that boy and his soft heart.

you sat down slowly at the counter, dizzy with exhaustion—grief still fresh in your bones. the last few hours played again behind your eyes like an old film reel— jason’s broken body, his voice whispering for you, the look in his eyes at the end.

your head felt heavy with all the new memories, you just let your head hang and your fingers curled around the edge of the island for grounding.

then came a voice from behind the shadows

“didn’t know we were out of milk.”

you jolted slightly, head snapping toward the pantry door. jason leaned there, arms crossed, one bare foot tapping lazily against the tile. his hair was tousled, and his hoodie hung loose over his frame, like he hadn’t meant to be seen.

the silence between you was thick. electric.

he watched you with those guarded blue eyes—quiet, cautious. but not angry. not tonight.

you turned away quickly, wiping your face again though you knew it was useless now. “i didn’t mean to wake anyone,” you murmured. “i—i just felt a little dizzy and needed something sweet.”

jason’s eyes flicked to the cookies, then back to you. “dick’s handiwork,” he muttered. “he always makes too many.”

you nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to return.

he took a step forward, then another. still watching. still unreadable.

“ma.. you okay?”

and then, you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“i’m sorry.”

the words left your lips like a broken prayer.

jason’s brows drew together. “what?”

you looked up at him, face crumpling. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t know—i didn’t know what happened to you. i didn’t know how bad it was.”

he stared at you—frozen in place.

“ma… what are you talking about?”

but he knew. you saw it in the way his mouth pressed into a line, in the way his fists clenched just slightly at his sides. in the way he didn’t say "you shouldn’t have found out."

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t there,” you whispered. “i would’ve moved heaven and hell to find you. i should have found you.”

his jaw ticked silently, like the words were caught between instinct and emotion. however, his eyes—those beautiful, hurt eyes—glimmered with something softer than before. he took another step toward you.

“i’m here now,” he said, low. “that’s what matters.”

“but you’re hurting,” you said, voice cracking. “and you won’t even let me touch you anymore. that kills me.”

he looked up, adam’s apple bobbing whilst breathing through his nose—his walls twitching under the weight of your words.

“you’re the only thing i didn’t hate when i was down there,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. “and after… i didn’t think i deserved to have that again.”

the silence returned—but this time it felt different. like the gap between you wasn’t uncrossable anymore.

you rose from the stool slowly and stepped around the counter. he didn’t move.

“i don’t care what they did to you, jason. you’re mine. my boy. my baby and nothing can make me stop loving you.”

he blinked, lashes damp.

and this time, when you reached out, he didn’t flinch away.

he let you place your hand gently against his cheek, and though he didn’t lean in right away, he didn’t pull back.

it was a start.

[syluriar]

drying hair - sylus x mc reader

sypnosis: literally just sylus drying your hair because he's whipped for you.

a/n: just had this cute thought of sylus drying your hair because for me personally i'm not a fan of it, and that's just one of the reasons why sylus would do it for you, other than that he loves the hell out of you. also not proud how i eneded this, writing has been a bitch latley because my brain won't work with me :( also no grammer check because i'm TIRED.

contains: mc!reader. sylus teasing you but you tease him back. call back to grassland romance. you thinking on your feelings for sylus. just bascially fluff.

word count: 1366

“Can I dry your hair, sweetie?”

It was a simple question, but it made you freeze and look at Sylus, who was towering above you from your seasted position at your desk, hair dryer in hand and ready to go. 

Curiosity filled you at his offer, and other times you would have followed it, bothering Sylus until he either revealed why or you would do your own investigation. 

But your arms were already aching from the towel drying, and you really did want to relax today after a grueling day fighting Wanders and filling reports. You had planned the rest of the day for ultimate relaxation and the only thing that would make it worse was drying your hair, a process you had to admit was not enjoyable for you.

So if you can get out of it, why not? 

“Ok,” You give him a nod. “Sure.”

And Sylus looked…absolutely delighted. His eyes shined and his smile was pure and you pondered why he’s reacting that way to do something for you, then again could you really be surprised? He’s made it known that he is at your beck and call, anything you want he’ll get you. You’re positive that if you asked him that you wanted a specific food item that can only be obtained within it’s country, Sylus would get it for you the next day. 

Those gestures still made you nervous as you weren’t used to such things, but at least now you graciously accept them instead of telling him off and refusing his gifts. Now it was cheeks burning and heart pounding, and your still quite puzzled on how your feelings for him have changed.

You forget about the hair dryer until it’s turned on in his hands, the buzzing pulls you our of your thoughts and focuses on the man now behind you. His free hand threads through your damp hair, fingernails just grazing your skull and you hold back a shiver of delight at the touch. 

“Hold still now, kitten.” 

The warm air hits you like a gentle breeze as Sylus starts the task, his fingers gentle as they part your hair to reach every part, the dryer not staying in one place too long to avoid a burning sensation on your skull. 

With your hands empty, your fingers fidget together, unsure of what to do. You have the twitch you squirm which you fight against, so you keep your eyes down, focusing on the flower pattern on your silk nightgown, another gift from Sylus.

You hear a chuckle lined with amusement that spreads embarrassment through your body. “Head up, sweetie.”

You can imagine the look on his face, that teasing smirk with creased corners at his eyes that holds mirth. You swallow and push back your fluster as you raise your head, your eyes promptly looking back into the mirror and ranking over the state of your hair, only to catch his own staring back at you.

They’re enchanting, like ruby gems that only shine for you. Flowers dead in a field that will only bloom in your presence, something poisonous that is only sweet on your tongue. The way he looks at you was as if you were the only thing that existed in the universe, the way they radiate and all the emotions they hold just for you is…exhilarating. 

A silent gasp leaves your lips when you notice how long you’ve been staring at Sylus through the mirror, and how he’s been staring back. His hand slides from your hair to your bare shoulder, his touch sending a shock of electricity through your body. 

“You’ve been staring for a while, kitten. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You push the comment, trying not to let him get under your skin. “Just making sure you know what your doing. Messing with my hair isn’t something you should do.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing again, that damn smirk back on his lips. His eyes leave yours as he threads his fingers through your hair again. “I assure you, sweetie, that I would never mess with your hair, or don’t you remember what I said back in the Grasslands?”

“I like your hair.”

Of course you remember that, you remember everything that happened when the two of you were transported to another place, either back in time or another universe, your still not quite sure, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. It was a turning point for your relationship with Sylus, where you allowed the two of you to go closer and accepted that your feelings towards him were growing. 

“...I remember.” Your cheeks burning as you admit it - remember it. His fingers grazed through your hair like he’s doing now. “I also remember you saying that you would work on your braiding skills.”

He hums, which isn’t as off-key as his singing, thankfully. “But to do that I would need a lot of time practicing on your hair to honor my skills.” He looks back at you through the mirror, catching your still eyes. “Would you give me your permission, kitten?”

You imagine it, days of Sylus’ fingers combing through your hair as he braids the threads, tutorials playing as he watches intensely, pins and all sorts on your desk to hold his work in place. You imagine yourself, helping him through it all, teasing him when he’s stuck and cheering him up if something goes wrong.

It feels nice, domestic even. 

You can’t help but smile at it, your stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of doing such things with Sylus. 

“I would.”

He gives a huff of amusement, but the smile on his lips is pure and real. Perhaps he’s been thinking of such things with you, and it makes you feel giddy. 

He goes back to drying your hair and you close your eyes, finally relaxing. You allow yourself to sink into his touch as his fingers comb through your hair, enjoying how gentle and peaceful it makes you feel. 

“All done.” Sylus clicks off the dryer and you open your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror, ranking over the state of your now dried hair

You hum. “Not bad for your first time.”

“I’ll take that,” He chuckles. “Though like I said before, I would need to practice more on you to get it right.”

“You have permission for that as well.”

“Good.” 

His fingers are back in your hair and your amazed how at ease it makes you feel, giving him permission to touch your hair more might be better for yourself rather than him. 

Though you wonder…

You turn and look at him, redness on your cheeks as you retort. “As long as I can do the same to your hair.”

He looks surprised by your words and it makes you feel smug as you don’t get that reaction often. But he finally smiles and cups your cheeks, bringing your face so close to his that his nose brushes against yours. “You can do that and more to me, sweetie. I’ll never say no to you.”

Now your sure your a blushing mess, if not by your burning cheeks, then certainly by your pulsing heart that your positive Sylus hears. 

God, how does this man make you feel this way so easily? 

To hide it all you tease him back. “That’s a pretty big statement to say Sylus. Never say no to me? I wonder how far I can go with that.”

“I look forward to finding out, kitten.” He replies before leaning back, but not before booping your nose. “Now it’s time for bed. I remember a certain someone saying they were going to sleep early to improve their health.”

You don’t even get up from the chair as Sylus has you in his arms in seconds, a squeal of surprise leaving your lips as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently and settling down beside you.. 

“Rest now.” His arms wrap around your waist, holding you to his chest as you cuddle under the silk sheets. “We have fun days ahead of us, so make sure not to be tired once they come.”

[nicholasluvbot]

ㅤㅤㅤMY FIRST AND LAST,ㅤㅤ𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 !

𝖫𝖨𝖡𝖱𝖤𝖳𝖳𝖮 ੭୧ ────── 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂'𝗆 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

( 사랑 )ㅤ 𓈒ㅤ𝖿𝖾𝗆 ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✴ 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇𝖻𝖺𝖽 ! 𝖻𝗇𝖽 1400ㅤ◞ ◟ㅤ𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ❜ㅤㅤ🍸ㅤㅤ𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅

notes.ㅤ 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝖽. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾, 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 !

JAEHYUN

jaehyun is snuggled against your side, legs draped over your lap, a ridiculous smile tugging at his lips as he fidgets with your fingers, trying to braid them together with his own.

“what are you doing?” you ask fondly, endeared by your boyfriend’s drunk antics.

“Trying to figure out the best way to never let go of you,” he mumbles, eyebrows pulled together as he continues to tangle your fingers with his.

“before we started dating, i used to practice kissing my hand and pretend it was you,” he confesses suddenly, red blooming on his cheeks. “in, like, the most respectful way.”

you laugh. “you what?”

“i liked you so much, it made me nervous,” he whines. “you still make me nervous, but in a good way.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to yours, the faint taste of alcohol mingling on your tongue. when he pulls away, he presses your hand to his chest. “feel that? that’s how nervous you make me.”

and sure enough, you feel his heart racing under your touch.

jaehyun yawns, sleepily snuggling closer, hand still holding yours. “don’t leave after i fall asleep,” he murmurs against your skin.

“never,” you whisper back, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

SUNGHO

sungho is pretending he’s sober. sitting upright on the kitchen stool, watching you fill up a glass of water with a straight face—like he wasn’t stumbling over his own feet and slurring his words just a few minutes ago.

“i’m completely fine. i only had, like, half a drink.”

“sure, you are.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but you hand him the glass of water. “just drink.”

he brings the glass to his lips with a small frown, and you get down on your knees, slipping his shoes off his feet.

when you stand back up, sungho’s stern expression has softened into something more like a kicked puppy. his eyes are teary, lips pulled together in a wobbling pout.

“sungho, what’s wrong?”

his lower lip trembles as he sets the glass down on the counter, then gently pulls you closer by the waist until you’re standing between his legs.

“you always do this. you always take care of me without complaining.”

your heart softens at his words, thumb swiping against his cheek to wipe a stray tear. “because i love you.”

“but it’s not fair,” he pouts harder, giving you a little shake. “you always look out for me. and you always save me the last cookie. every time. even when it’s the good one with the chocolate chunk.”

you blink. “i—what?”

“you don’t think i notice, but i do.”

you bite back a laugh when more tears slip down his cheeks. he looks so genuinely heartbroken over your small acts of love, it’s actually kind of adorable.

“are you crying?”

“i’m emotional because i love you so bad,” he whines. “let me be.”

later, after he’s done crying over your love, he ends up curled up by your side, hand clasped tightly in yours, muttering something about marrying you in a cookie shop.

RIWOO

riwoo is giggling. a lot. at nothing in particular. he keeps brushing against your hand and smiling like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“you’re so soft,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “and you’re so cute. like, insanely cute.”

you poke his cheek. “look who’s talking.”

and just like that, soft giggles spill from his lips again as he buries his face in his hands. “don’t say that, i’ll combust.”

then suddenly, he sobers up a little, eyes glossy and a lovesick smile still plastered to his lips. “i don’t think you understand,” he says, voice soft and dreamy, “how many times i imagined this. us. this exact moment. you in your pajamas, me in love with you.”

you smile, brushing his hair from his eyes. “you’re drunk.”

“i’m honest,” he counters, followed by a contented sigh. “i think i loved you before i even realized i did. and i just keep loving you more and more every day.”

“good, because you’re stuck with me forever.”

he nods, snuggling in. “i’ll love you even more when i’m old and wrinkly and can’t even remember my own name.”

your heart softens. “but you’ll remember mine?”

he smiles against your skin. “always.”

TAESAN

“dance with me,” taesan says, swaying slightly as he pulls you into the living room.

“there’s no music,” you point out.

“you’re the music,” he says instantly, spinning you around with all the grace of a sleep-deprived giraffe.

you giggle, “you’re stumbling.”

“exactly,” he grins, tugging you closer. “all the more reason for you to hold me.”

so you do. arms loosely wrapped around his neck as he sways both of your bodies clumsily, barefoot on the living room floor.

it’s sweet. perfect. until his elbow knocks into the lamp, sending it crashing to the ground.

you both freeze.

a beat passes—then laughter erupts out of both of you, loud and helpless, as you double over, clutching each other, tears welling in your eyes from how hard you’re laughing.

he flops onto the couch, dragging you down with him, limbs tangled, laughter still bubbling as he stretches himself across you like a warm, giggling blanket.

“i should be mad,” you mumble, fingers threading gently through his hair.

taesan hums sleepily, nose brushing your collarbone. “be in love instead.”

LEEHAN

leehan hasn’t left your side since the moment he got home—not even for a second. even when he’s trying to drink water, your pinkies are still linked.

right now, you’re lying on the couch and he’s halfway on top of you, arms loosely wrapped around your waist, head tucked under your chin like he’s trying to become one with your heartbeat.

“i’m so happy,” he mumbles sleepily.

you smile. “yeah?”

he nods into your neck. “i have you. you’re warm. and you let me ramble about fish.”

that makes you laugh, and he immediately lifts his head to pout at you. “don’t laugh! you’re like—” hiccup “you’re like my coral reef.”

“your what now?”

“my coral. fish have their coral, right? like a little home they hide in when the ocean’s too scary. somewhere soft and safe.” he rubs his nose against your cheek. “that’s you. my pretty little coral reef.”

your heart aches with affection. he closes his eyes again, murmuring, “you’re so lovely. sometimes i look at you and forget what i was saying. just think, wow, i’m so lucky she’s mine.”

then he adds, lips brushing against your collarbone, “you’d be the prettiest reef in the sea. and i’d be your fish boyfriend.”

you chuckle. “you’re mad.”

“madly in love with you?” he kisses your jaw. “absolutely.”

WOONHAK

woonhak is sitting next to you on the floor, legs crossed, fingers playing with the frayed edge of the blanket draped over your knees. he keeps glancing at you, then looking away, then glancing again—like he’s trying to gather courage from the ceiling.

finally, in the softest voice, he says, “can i tell you a secret?”

you look at him, smiling. “always.”

he hesitates, then scoots an inch closer. there's a faint blush high on his cheeks, and he smells faintly of whatever fruity drink he had earlier. “i have the biggest crush on you.”

you blink. “woonhak—”

“wait,” he interrupts quickly, eyes wide. “no, actually, don’t listen to that. forget i said anything. pretend i didn’t. i was supposed to do it properly. sober and with flowers. not like this.” he gestures vaguely to the room.

you try not to laugh. “woonhak.”

he groans, hiding his face in your shoulder, voice muffled. “no, i ruined it, didn’t i?”

you pat his head gently, fingers combing through his hair. “baby?”

he peeks up at you, eyes a little glassy, lips in a soft pout. “yeah?”

“we’ve been dating for months.”

his head snaps up. “we—what?”

“you asked me out. remember? at the arcade. you won me that giant plushie and everything.”

he blinks at you for a long moment. “i thought that was a dream.”

you laugh and lean in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “well, it wasn’t.”

when you pull back, he just stares at you, dazed. “can you do that again? just to be sure?”

so you do. and then again, when he asks. and one more time, just because he looks too happy not to.

“holy shit,” he mutters, dazed and smiling. “this is the best day of my life.”

ㅤnetworks ˊᯅˋ @kstrucknet @k-films @sgz-net

[youngpoetpoe]

A Night to Remember

Irene x Wendy x Male Reader

Buy me a ko-fi.

You step into the plush hotel suite, the city’s distant hum muffled by thick windows. The air crackles with unspoken tension, a slow burn ignited hours ago at the after-party. Irene and Wendy had been circling you all night—Irene with her fleeting glances and soft smiles, Wendy with her bold winks and lingering touches. Now, alone with them, the pretense falls away.

Irene hovers near the bed, her petite 33-23-34 frame draped in sheer black lingerie that hugs her curves. Her pale skin shimmers like porcelain under the dim lights, a faint flush creeping up her neck—a telltale sign of her nerves. Her long, rich brown hair, dyed for her latest stage look, spills over her shoulders in loose waves, framing her delicate face. She fidgets, her slender fingers brushing her toned thighs, smooth and sculpted from years of dance practice. Her leader’s poise is there, but it’s undercut by a shy hesitance, her dark eyes flickering between you and the floor.

Wendy lounges against the dresser, exuding effortless confidence. Her 33-23-33 figure is wrapped in deep red lingerie, the fabric clinging to her taut abs and accentuating her smooth, pale thighs—firm yet soft, a dancer’s paradox. Her blonde hair, a bold choice for her last comeback, falls in playful curls, catching the light as she tilts her head. Her fair skin glows with a subtle sheen, her expressive eyes locking onto yours with a teasing glint. She’s all energy, a live wire ready to spark.

“You’ve been staring all night,” Wendy says, her voice bright and edged with mischief. She pushes off the dresser, hips swaying as she closes the distance. “Let’s give you something worth watching, huh?”

Irene’s breath hitches, her fingers tightening on her lace bra. “Wendy…” she murmurs, half-reprimanding, half-pleading, her tone soft like she’s still weighing her next move.

Wendy grins, nudging Irene’s shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on, unnie. He’s dying to see you let loose.” She winks at you, her blonde curls bouncing. “Right?”

You smirk, stepping closer. “She’s not wrong.”

Irene blushes deeper, her pale cheeks blooming pink, but she meets your gaze, a flicker of resolve in her eyes. “I… I want this too,” she says quietly, her voice trembling but firm, like she’s convincing herself as much as you.

Wendy’s hands slide around your waist from behind, her warm breath grazing your neck. “Then let’s make it fun,” she whispers, her lips brushing your ear, sending a jolt down your spine.

They move in sync, shedding your clothes with practiced ease—your shirt discarded, pants pooling at your feet. Irene’s eyes widen as she takes you in, her shyness warring with curiosity. Wendy lets out a low, appreciative hum, her fingers tracing your chest.

“Very nice,” she teases, her tone dripping with approval.

They glance at each other, a silent pact forming, and sink to their knees. Irene hesitates, her brown hair falling forward as she leans in, but Wendy nudges her again, a soft elbow to her side. “You first, unnie. Show him what you’ve got.”

Irene swallows, then wraps her lips around your cock, her touch tentative but precise—every move calculated, a reflection of her meticulous nature. Her mouth is warm, her tongue swirling delicately around the tip before she takes you deeper, her pale throat working as she adjusts. You groan, your hands threading through her silky brown hair, guiding her rhythm.

Wendy doesn’t wait. She slips behind you, her hands parting your cheeks before her tongue flicks against your ass. Her rimming is eager, sloppy—pure Wendy, unrestrained and bold. The wet heat of her mouth contrasts with Irene’s controlled suction, and your nerves ignite, a shiver racing through you.

“Fuck,” you rasp, your voice thick. “You’re both so good.”

Irene pulls back, her lips slick with saliva, her pale skin flushed. “Is it… okay?” she asks, her voice small, eyes searching yours for reassurance—a glimpse of the responsible leader needing validation.

“Perfect,” you tell her, pushing her head back down. She moans softly, emboldened, her tongue pressing harder.

Wendy laughs against you, her breath hot. “See, unnie? I told you he’d lose it.” Her tongue dives deeper, her blonde curls tickling your skin as she works you with wild abandon.

They switch after a moment—Wendy’s mouth claiming your cock, aggressive and deep, her throat tightening as she swallows you whole. Her moans vibrate against you, loud and shameless, her pale face glistening with effort. Irene’s tongue takes over your ass, her rimming precise now, tracing slow, deliberate circles that make your toes curl. Her pale hands grip your thighs, her manicured nails digging in slightly.

Your cock feels like it’s melting—Wendy’s wet, relentless suction pulling you apart, Irene’s warm tongue unraveling you from behind. The pleasure’s overwhelming, a dual assault that leaves you reeling. But you’re not here to just take.

“Enough,” you growl, hauling Irene up. “On the bed. Head off the edge.”

She nods quickly, her shyness fading into obedience as she lies back, her head dangling off the mattress, brown hair spilling like a dark halo. You slide into her mouth, thrusting deep, her throat clenching as she gags. Her pale skin flushes red, tears pricking her eyes, mascara streaking down her cheeks. She grabs your thighs, pulling you closer, desperate to please.

“Look at you,” you taunt, slapping her cheek lightly. “Choking like a good little slut.”

She whimpers around you, the sound raw and needy, her toned thighs trembling as she squeezes them together.

Wendy kneels behind you, her tongue back at your ass, rimming you as you fuck Irene’s face. “She’s so pretty like this,” Wendy murmurs between licks, her voice muffled but playful. Her hands knead your cheeks, her blonde hair brushing your legs.

You pull out, leaving Irene gasping, and turn to Wendy. “Your turn.”

She scrambles into position, head hanging off the edge, her blonde curls fanning out. You thrust into her mouth, her throat yielding as she takes you deep, drool spilling down her pale face. Irene crawls over, her tongue lapping at your balls, her brown hair sticking to her sweaty skin. She glances at Wendy, a shy smile flickering before she dives back in.

But you crave more. You lift Wendy up, her 47 kg frame light in your arms, her legs wrapping around you. Her red lingerie slips aside as you enter her tight pussy, bouncing her hard. She cries out, her voice piercing and unrestrained—“Oh god, yes!”—her blonde hair whipping as she clings to you.

Irene kneels behind, her tongue finding your ass again, her hands gripping your hips. The sensation—Wendy’s wet heat gripping you, Irene’s precise rimming—pushes you to the brink. Your cock throbs, every nerve alight with molten pleasure.

“Fucking sluts,” you mutter, setting Wendy down. “On all fours, now.”

They comply instantly, kneeling side by side, asses up. Irene’s pale skin glows, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she looks back at you, nervous but eager. Wendy wiggles her hips, her blonde curls bouncing, her thighs flexing invitingly.

You grab Irene’s hair like a leash, yanking her head back as you slam into her from behind. Her petite body jolts, her moans sharp and desperate—“Harder, please!”—her usual composure shattered.

Wendy reaches over, squeezing Irene’s hand. “You’re killing it, unnie,” she pants, her voice warm despite the chaos.

Irene squeezes back, a breathless “Thanks” slipping out, her pale face flushed with effort and gratitude.

You switch to Wendy, pulling her blonde hair as you pound into her. Her ass jiggles with each thrust, her cries loud and wild—“Use me, fuck!”—her pussy clenching tight. Irene watches, her fingers working herself, her shy facade gone.

You alternate between them, brutal thrusts treating them like yours to command. Their pale skin glistens with sweat, makeup ruined—mascara trails, lipstick smears—a debauched masterpiece.

“I’m close,” you warn, pulling out. “Kneel.”

They drop before you, mouths open, faces upturned. You stroke yourself, cumming hard, ropes of semen splattering their pale skin and dripping into their mouths. Irene’s brown hair clings to her forehead, Wendy’s blonde curls matted, both streaked with cum and sweat.

They turn to each other, kissing messily, swapping your cum with tangled tongues—a filthy, beautiful collision. Wendy giggles into it, Irene moans softly, their dynamic laid bare.

You collapse on the bed, breathless. They crawl up, flanking you—Irene on your left, Wendy on your right.

“That was… intense,” Irene whispers, her voice soft and sated, a hint of her shy self returning.

Wendy snuggles closer, grinning. “Round two later?”

You smirk, pulling them in. “Count on it.”

---

support me on ko-fi so i can write more :)

[paxtito]

first time

parings: wednesday x fem!reader

wc: 2989

warnings: smut 18+, fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on used. (all characters are 18+)

summary: you and wednesday have been dating since you both attended nevemore- this was a couple years ago now and you’ve shared kisses here and there but have never went all the way. (requested by anon)

The evening was quiet, the air inside your shared apartment still and heavy with unspoken anticipation. Wednesday sat at her desk, seemingly engrossed in one of her case files, but you knew better. She hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes.

You, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, stealing glances at the calendar hanging on the wall. Her calendar.

Sure enough, today’s date was marked with her precise, almost aggressive handwriting. ‘Sex.’ Nothing more, nothing less. So typically Wednesday.

“You’re staring,” her voice cut through the silence, though she didn’t turn around.

You smirked slightly. “Hard not to when my girlfriend literally scheduled our first time like it’s a dentist appointment.”

She finally turned in her chair, dark eyes locking onto yours with that unreadable expression of hers. “Would you prefer I had not?”

You shrugged, standing and making your way toward her. “No, it’s just… you’re so practical about everything, even this.” You leaned against the desk beside her, close enough to see the tension in her posture. “You sure you’re okay?”

Wednesday let out a slow breath, her fingers tapping once against the wooden surface before she stood, facing you directly. “You assume I am nervous.”

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out, her cold fingers ghosting along your wrist before finally gripping your hand. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one you knew she wouldn’t allow just for anyone.

“I do not experience anticipation the way others do,” she admitted, voice softer now. “But if I did… I imagine it would feel something like this.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming at the idea that this—something so deeply intimate—was not something she was doing out of obligation. No, Wednesday Addams did nothing unless she truly wanted to.

You squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile. “Then we go at your pace. Whatever you need.”

She studied you for a long moment before nodding once, decisive as ever.

“Very well,” she murmured. “Then let us proceed.”

And despite the flatness of her tone, the ever-so-slight pink dusting her cheeks gave her away.

Wednesday's eyes roamed over your face, taking in every minute detail of your expression before trailing down to your lips. She hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, before leaning in slowly.

Her lips met yours in a chaste kiss at first, a mere brushing of mouths that sent a shiver through you nonetheless. You felt her breath, cool and steady, mingling with your own as she pulled you closer. Her hands slid up your back, fingers splaying wide across your shoulder blades as she deepened the kiss.

Wednesday's lips parted, her tongue tracing the seam of your mouth before delving inside. She explored you thoroughly, mapping out every contour of your mouth, your teeth, your tongue. It was a kiss that demanded surrender, demanded that you give yourself over to her completely.

You did, of course. You always did. Your own hands gripped the fabric of her shirt, holding on for dear life as she plundered your mouth. You could feel the heat building between you, the need that had been simmering for weeks finally coming to a head.

You gently but firmly took control, guiding Wednesday backwards until her legs hit the edge of the bed. She let herself fall back onto the mattress, dark eyes watching you intently as you crawled over her.

"Don't expect me to be vocal," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I doubt this will be as pleasurable as they say."

A smirk tugged at your lips as you settled between her thighs. "Challenge accepted," you replied softly, before leaning down to press a trail of kisses along her jawline.

Your hands slid under the hem of her shirt, fingers splaying across the cool, smooth skin of her waist. You took your time exploring her, mapping out every dip and curve until she was squirming beneath you.

Wednesday's breath hitched as your lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear, and you felt a thrill of triumph. Maybe she couldn't express it with words, but her body was speaking volumes.

You trailed your mouth lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. Your hands slid higher, pushing her shirt up and over her head until she was bare before you.

She lay still, watching you through hooded eyes as you drank in the sight of her. Pale skin, dark hair fanned out across the pillow, a delicate collarbone, and the swell of her breasts. She was a vision, a dark queen sacrificing herself to your touch.

You leaned down, pressing your lips against her breastbone. Your tongue flicked out, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone before dipping lower, into the valley between her breasts.

Wednesday's breath caught in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as you lavished attention on her newly exposed skin. Her hands came up to tangle in your hair, fingers gripping the strands almost painfully as you worked your way lower.

You could feel the heat of her skin, the way her body responded to your touch. It spurred you on, urged you to take more, to claim every inch of her flesh as your own.

Your mouth closed around one of her nipples, tongue swirling around the hardened peak. You suckled gently at first, before increasing the pressure, drawing a sharp inhale from Wednesday.

She arched into you, back bowing off the bed as she pulled you closer. "More," she breathed, the word barely audible but unmistakable in its demand.

Emboldened, you obliged. Your hand slid down her stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her pants. You could feel the heat emanating from her core, the dampness that had already begun to gather.

 As your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her panties, you couldn't help but murmur, "You're already so wet..."

Wednesday grumbled a "Shut up," her voice rough and annoyed, even as her hips twitched into your touch.

You just smiled, undeterred by her grumpiness. It only encouraged you to keep going, to explore further. Your fingers slipped through her slick folds, teasing her entrance.

She was hot and ready, her body aching for your touch. You circled her clit with the pad of your thumb, feeling it swell beneath your ministrations.

Wednesday's breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. Her grip on your hair tightened, nails digging into your scalp as she fought the urge to moan.

Despite the telltale signs of her arousal, Wednesday remained stubbornly silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. She refused to give you the satisfaction of hearing her moan or cry out in pleasure.

Her hips, however, betrayed her true feelings. They rolled into your touch, seeking more friction, more contact. Her thighs trembled and her toes curled as you continued to stroke her most sensitive spots.

You could feel the tension building in her body, the coiled spring of her desire waiting to be released. Her skin was flushed, damp with a sheen of sweat, and her eyes were dark with lust.

But still, she remained silent, her jaw clenched tight as she fought to maintain control. It was a challenge, a silent dare to make her break. And you were determined to rise to it.

With a sudden tug, you yanked Wednesday's pants and underwear down, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Finally, you had unrestricted access to her, could feel the scorching heat radiating from her core.

She lay bare before you, long legs splayed open, revealing her glistening sex. The sight made your mouth go dry, your heart pounding in your chest. You swallowed thickly, taking a moment to simply admire the view.

Wednesday watched you through hooded eyes, a slight furrow in her brow. "Well?" she prompted, a note of impatience in her voice. "Are you going to stare all day or are you going to touch me?"

You smirked at that, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh. "Patience, mi amor," you murmured against her skin. "Good things come to those who wait."

She let out a soft scoff, but it turned into a sharp inhale as your mouth moved higher, your breath ghosting over her most sensitive spot. You could smell her arousal, could feel the way her body quivered with anticipation.

Slowly, teasingly, you dragged your tongue along her slit, tasting her essence. She was exquisite, ambrosia on your tongue. You could have feasted on her for hours and still not been sated.

Wednesday's fingers tightened in your hair, her grip bordering on painful as she fought the urge to buck into your mouth. But still, she remained silent, her jaw clenched tight as she stared down at you with those fathomless black eyes.

After a few languid strokes of your tongue along her glistening folds, you slowly slid one finger inside her tight heat. At the same time, you brought your thumb up to circle her clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

A small noise, barely a huff of breath, escaped Wednesday's lips as your finger sank knuckle-deep inside her. It was hardly a moan, but to you, it was the sweetest sound you'd ever heard. Encouraged, you began to pump your finger in a steady rhythm, curling it to hit that spongey spot deep inside.

Wednesday's hips rolled into your touch, seeking more of that delicious friction. Her thighs trembled, and you could feel the way her walls fluttered around your invading digit. She was so close already, her body coiled tight like a bowstring ready to snap.

You could feel the change in her, the way her muscles tensed and her breath grew shallow. She was trying so hard to stay silent, to keep her composure. But you knew her body better than she knew herself. You knew exactly what she needed.

So you gave it to her. You added a second finger, pumping them faster, harder, as your thumb rubbed quick, tight circles around her clit. You could feel her beginning to unravel, could feel the way her body tensed as her climax approached.

Wednesday's fingers tightened in your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she fought to stay quiet. But then, just as you felt her start to pulse around your fingers, you leaned in and sealed your lips around her clit.

And that's when she broke. A choked cry tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, her body shuddering and jerking beneath yours. Her walls clamped down around your fingers, holding them in a vice-like grip as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her.

 You worked her through it, fingers pumping steadily as your tongue continued its relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. Wednesday's body convulsed, back arching off the bed as she rode out the intense waves of her release.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress. She was panting, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, making it glisten in the dim light.

You slow your movements, letting your fingers slip from her fluttering walls. Rising up, you take a moment to admire your handiwork - Wednesday Addams, the infamous ice queen, laid bare and sated by your touch alone.

She stared up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes. Her usually sharp gaze was soft, hazy in the aftermath of her intense climax. "That was..." she started, but seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Not unpleasant," she settled on at last.

As Wednesday rode out the aftershocks of her climax, you quickly leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the familiar box. You had stashed it there earlier, knowing this moment would eventually arrive.

With practiced efficiency, you withdrew the strap-on, giving it a swift wipe with the damp cloth before securing the leather straps around your hips. You adjusted it, making sure it was snug and comfortable.

Turning back to the bed, you took a moment to admire the sight of Wednesday splayed out before you, chest heaving and skin flushed. She looked debauched, thoroughly pleasured, and utterly breathtaking.

Her eyes flicked down to the strap-on as you crawled back over her, a flicker of anticipation sparking in their dark depths. She didn't say a word, but you could see the hunger there, the silent plea for more.

You settled between her thighs, the head of the strap-on nudging against her entrance. It was still slick from your earlier ministrations, and you could feel the heat radiating from her core.

Leaning down, you captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of your desire and love into the press of your mouth against hers. Then, with a smooth roll of your hips, you pushed forward, sheathing yourself inside her welcoming body.

Wednesday's breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her as you filled and stretched her. Her walls were still fluttering from her recent orgasm, and the sensation of being so suddenly filled was intense.

But she took you easily, her body accepting and accommodating your presence. You could feel every inch of her, could feel the way she clenched and pulsed around you.

Pulling back slowly, you set a steady rhythm, each roll of your hips driving you deeper, pushing you harder against that perfect spot deep inside her. You could feel the tension starting to build again, could feel the way her body began to coil and tighten as she climbed towards her second peak.

And still, she remained stubbornly silent, her jaw clenched and her teeth gritted as she fought to maintain control. But her body betrayed her, and you could see the pleasure shining in her eyes, could feel the way she arched into each of your thrusts.

You shifted your hips, angling them slightly as you continued to thrust into Wednesday. You were determined to find that perfect spot, the one that would make her see stars and forget all about staying quiet.

And then, as if guided by some unseen force, you felt the head of the strap-on catch on something deep inside her. Wednesday's body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as pleasure exploded through her.

"Ah!" The sound was barely audible, but it was unmistakably a moan. A small victory, but one you were determined to build upon.

You doubled your efforts, pounding into that sweet spot with every thrust. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by Wednesday's stifled gasps and soft pants.

Her fingers dug into your shoulders, nails leaving crescent indents in the flesh beneath. Her hips bucked up to meet yours, seeking that perfect angle, that elusive peak.

You could feel her growing tighter, her walls starting to flutter and clench around the strap-on. She was close, teetering on the razor's edge of another mind-blowing orgasm.

"That’s it," you encouraged, your voice low and rough with desire.

Wednesday's control began to slip, small, uncontrollable moans spilling from her lips with each powerful thrust of your hips. The sounds were soft, barely audible, but they grew louder and more frequent as her pleasure mounted.

"Mmph... ah... oh..." Each moan was a beautiful, breathy testament to your skill, to the way you played her body like an instrument.

You could feel her starting to lose herself, to succumb to the overwhelming sensation of her impending release. Her grip on your shoulders tightened, nails digging into your skin as she clung to you for dear life.

"Don't... don't stop," she gasped out between moans, her voice strained and ragged with need. "Feels... feels too good..."

You just smirked, determined to push her over the edge. "That's the point" you panted, not letting up your relentless pace for even a second. "I want to make you come."

And make her come undone you did. With a final, hard thrust, you slammed into that perfect spot, grinding against it as you felt her body seize beneath you.

"Ahhh!" The moan ripped from her throat, loud and unbridled, as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her back arched clean off the bed, her hips bucking wildly as she rode out the intense pleasure coursing through her veins.

You held her close, murmuring words of praise and encouragement as she shook and shuddered in your arms. "That's it, just like that... You're so beautiful when you let go like this..."

Her walls clamped down around the strap-on, pulsing and fluttering as she gushed around it. You could feel the wetness seeping out, coating the leather and dripping down onto the sheets below.

As the aftershocks of her intense climax subsided, you carefully slipped the strap-on out of Wednesday, feeling her walls give a final, weak flutter around the retreating toy. You then unbuckled the harness and set it aside on the nightstand.

Rolling onto your back next to her, you pulled Wednesday close, tucking her damp, trembling body against the curve of your own. She resisted for a moment, but eventually melted into your embrace, resting her head on your chest.

A comfortable silence settled over the room as your breathing gradually slowed and steadied. You both needed a moment to collect your thoughts, to process the intense experience you had just shared.

After a long while, Wednesday tilted her head to look up at you, her dark eyes meeting yours. You braced yourself for the sarcastic quip or witty remark, but it never came.

Instead, she surprised you by saying, "It... felt good."

The admission was grudging, almost reluctant, but it was unmistakable. Coming from Wednesday, that was as close to a raving endorsement as you were likely to get.

[lvmimis]

“Hold still.”

In your attempt to stabilize the young man’s face that keeps recoiling childishly further and further away from you the longer you apply antiseptic on the littered cuts and scrapes before they swell and get infected, you feel your frustration mounting, gripping his chin more firmly than you intended.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!!!” Luffy yells and fidgets, but once your fingertips are posed on his skin, he stills, no longer pulling away. Just moments ago you’d think that every time you applied alcohol-soaked cotton it would sizzle upon contact with his skin with the way he was moving, and bite your lower lip in annoyance, but soon an image of what caused those injuries in the first place flashes back in your mind, and your approach softens quickly into empathy.

Luffy is strong and his pain tolerance is far higher than yours, so if he’s whining now, it’s because he feels safe enough to feel in your presence, and you should cherish that.

“I’m almost done, Luffy,” your voice comes out more compassionately, your hand sliding gently from the base of his visage, and trailing down his neck to rest on his shoulder. It’s unintentionally intimate, and there’s the softest tinge of pink that blooms under Luffy’s bruised up face as you lean in close. “Just give me a few more minutes, okay?”

He pauses, and his voice turns similarly gentle.

“Okay.”

The last place you work on is the developing shiner under his left eye, the one puffing up under his childhood scar. As you gently massage cooling ointment into his skin, his eyes close, his head tilting up as it melts into your touch. 

He’s behaving. Giving himself to you.

“I’m done,” you whisper a few minutes later, and Luffy opens his eyes, deep brown irises warm with gratitude. 

He beams.

“Thank you.”

Your cheeks warm for a moment, and in your constant need to emotionally self-regulate, you turn away from him quickly, busying your hands with the task of putting away your tray of first aid materials.

“You can thank me by thinking twice about getting into fights.”

It’s unfair, you know, as soon as it comes out, given that he needed to get his hat back one way or the other from Zephyr, but he quickly redirects you before you can apologize.

“Why would I do that when I have you to patch me up so nicely every time?” Luffy retorts with a grin. You turn to give him an exasperated look, but he’s moved from the location where you left him, faster than you could perceive, and is standing before you now just a little too close, enough to almost startle you.

Before you can take a step back, he’s gripped your chin the same way you did to him earlier, tilting it up towards him. It’s a show of dominance, but playful - as much as you tease and prod him and push him away, Luffy’s quick to show you that he has the upper hand always, easily. 

“I’m making it Chopper’s job next time.” A threat you give him, without any teeth.

“Ah, that’s a bummer,” Luffy says, his grip spreading to pucker your lips. You know what he wants to do before he does it, his eyes and yours half-lidded before he kisses you, and the smell of pungent, herbal ointment fills your nostrils, quickly blunted by the sweet taste of his lips pressed against yours, his tongue seamlessly slipping into your mouth. 

You kiss perhaps a little too long, your hands wrapping around his shoulders and his around your waist - you back together into a wall slowly, and still a little bit longer, you devour each other, relishing in the passing of bandaged and bruised hands over your skin.

He finally pulls away, grinning widely, satisfied with his work as you stand there, breathless and flustered.

“Well, I don’t think I can repay him like that.”

“Luffy!”

The smack you give him in the arm has him yelp and you immediately apologize, panicked that you broke something of his, but as you do so, he chuckles.

“Just kidding.” 

You wonder if you should kick him for real but he mollifies you by taking your hand and kissing the unblemished knuckles.

“I’ll stop teasing you for a bit, promise,” he says to your dissatisfied pout.

You huff, but soon change the subject, as your fingers interlace and you leave the ship clinic hand in hand.

[vamplvs]

oooooo first date with joaquin? would be kinda cute tbh!!!

notes: joaquín torres is singlehandedly keeping chivalry alive <3

joaquín's so stressed about the date, the poor thing. he carries this easy confidence with him everywhere he goes, but in the hour leading up to the date? he's sweating, he's changed his outfit twice, and he nearly booked a whole new reservation for the night even though the restaurant he has lined up is one of his favorites. he stands in front of his bathroom mirror, hyping himself up and fixing his hair—there's one strand that just won't stay in place, no matter how hard he fights with it.

but he looks good, he tells himself. he's wearing a green dress shirt with the top two buttons tastefully unbuttoned—he hopes it's tasteful, anyways—and some slacks that make his legs look great. shit is this too dressed up?

but it's not like he has the time to change again, so he shrugs on a jacket and runs out to his car. he spends the drive fidgeting and skipping through every song on his playlist. are his first date jitters a little uncharacteristic? yeah, but it's you he's going on a date with. sue him for wanting it to be perfect.

he's already spent so long worrying about his own outfit that he hadn't even stopped to think about what you might be wearing. so when you step outside, he's awestruck.

"oh, wow," he mutters, taking you in. you look unbelievable, and he can't take his eyes off you.

"too much?" your eyebrows furrow and you start to pat down parts of your outfit like there's anything to be fixed.

"no! no, you look amazing." and the smile on your face lights up the night.

"likewise." he pretends his ears don't go warm at the compliment and puts out a hand for you to take.

by the time you get to the restaurant, conversation has bloomed from awkward small talk to something more. he has you laughing at his jokes—it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. you hang off his every word as he recounts a story about sam, and he does the same when you get reminded of a story from your job. he could listen to you talk for hours and never be bored for a single minute. hell, he already has.

when you ask him for recommendations from the menu, he excitedly lists of a few of his favorites, and grins like an idiot when you end up ordering one of them. that grin only grows when you damn near moan at the first bite you take. maybe a small part of that is the bottle of wine he orders for the table, but who can say, really?

though, when joaquín really thinks about it, the wine hasn't done anything, not even the vaguest hint of a buzz. the flush that's spread across his cheeks is from something else entirely.

"told you it was good!" he taps your foot lightly with his in a playful gesture, and you mirror it right back to him.

"i mean, yeah, but i wasn't sure it'd be this good."

conversation carries on as you two finish your meals. it's easy and the most fun he's had on a date in a long time. he's sure he's sprung a few tears from laughter by the end of the night. once the waiter comes back around with the check, joaquín puts down his card, no questions asked.

"i'm the one taking you out. i'm not letting you pay for a thing, angel," he says with a cheeky smile when you offer to split it with him.

when it's finally time to go—which you only realize because your waiter has walked past the table one too many times with a glance at you both—joaquín drives you back to your house. he opens the car door for you without saying a word about it.

and then comes that dreaded awkward end of every first date, and he's sweating all over again. for the half second you pause before turning to him in front of your door, his heart is pounding in his chest.

"i had a really great time tonight," you say with a smile and fidget with your keys in your hands. your eyes search his face, flitting between his eyes and his lips. he'd be a fool not to do the same.

"me too," he replies. the dim light of a street lamp illuminates you both in a dreamy glow. he takes a small, tentative step forward and places a hand on your waist. "can i-?"

"yeah."

his lips are on yours, just as soft as you thought they would be. it's all light touches at your waist and a gentle hand on your cheek. your arms find themselves swung around his neck, like this is some rom-com ending.

as far as joaquín is concerned, it may as well be. he's giddy with it all: the ache that lingers in his cheeks from laughter, the heat that's found permanent residence in his ears, and even the fluttering of his chest every time you so much as breathe in his direction.

"i, um, i need to get to bed, but i'd like to do this again sometime," you say when you pull away, voice low and breathy. your eyes take a moment to linger on his lips as his tongue darts out for the briefest of moments, and then they're back to his eyes.

"yeah, i'll-" he clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even, "i'll call you?"

"please do." you press a final kiss to his cheek and unlock the door. "goodnight, joaquín."

"goodnight." he waves as you walk inside.

you can hear him cheer quietly the moment you close the door. a myriad of hurrahs and muted whoops are muffled through the wood, but you hear them all the same.

[regressionschool]

what's happening to me?

The phone trembled slightly in her hand as she snapped the photo, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her breath hitched. Something wasn’t right—nothing was right. Her pink socks had been plain just an hour ago, hadn’t they? She squinted down at her feet, now adorned with cartoonish Hello Kitty faces and soft pastel accents. She didn’t remember changing them, but there they were, looking oddly… childish. Her legs fidgeted slightly, brushing against something thicker than what she should’ve been wearing.

Her voice came out in a rush, just shy of a squeak. “I… I don’t…” She stopped, her frustration bubbling up as she struggled to get the words out. “Re… re-… respo—ugh!” She groaned, slapping her hand against her thigh. “I keep tripping over it, like a dumb little kid!” Her cheeks flushed as her hands twitched, clenching into fists.

But her focus quickly shifted as she noticed it again—that crinkling noise. It had been faint earlier, easy to dismiss, but now it was loud, persistent. She tugged at the hem of her oversized shirt, hoping for reassurance that her favorite panties were still beneath it. But instead…

“No,” she whispered, voice breaking as she stared. The soft, pillowy shape of a diaper greeted her, unmistakably snug around her hips. She poked it in disbelief, and her heart sank as it squished under her touch.

Her phone buzzed softly in her hand, snapping her out of her daze. She glanced at the photo she’d just taken—the reflection staring back at her looked almost foreign. Her wide, watery eyes, the childish socks, the puffy diaper. It was too much.

She sniffled, raising her hand to wipe her face—and froze. Her thumb was nestled securely between her lips, and she hadn’t even noticed. “What’s happening to me?” she mumbled around her thumb, panic blooming as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her pajamas soft against her skin and her diaper unmistakably peeking out through the unsnapped front. Her hands trembled as she nervously fiddled with the pacifier hanging from a ribbon around her neck. She didn’t remember putting it there, but somehow, her fingers kept drifting back to it, brushing over the soft plastic.

A strange sensation pulled her attention away. A sudden icy twinge bloomed low in her stomach, making her freeze in place. Confused, she shifted slightly, pressing her knees together. It was fleeting, replaced by a creeping warmth that spread beneath her, soaking into the thick padding between her legs. Her breath hitched as she processed it.

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaky, almost drowned out by the faint hiss that followed. “No, no, no…”

The warmth pooled, the squish undeniable as she instinctively shifted her weight. Her wide eyes darted downward, to the diaper she was helplessly filling. It was too late to stop—if stopping was even an option. Her cheeks burned as the realization hit. She wasn’t just wearing a diaper now. She was using it.

Her lower lip trembled as she scrambled to her knees, unsure whether to cry or scream. She clutched at her pajama shirt, her panic growing. “What’s—what’s happening to me?” she stammered, voice muffled slightly.

Her teeth clamped down softly, and her eyes widened further. Without thinking, she’d slipped the pacifier into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but the comforting presence rooted itself there, as though her body had already decided this was where it belonged.

Suddenly, large hands scooped her up, lifting her off the ground with ease. She gasped as the movement pressed her soaked diaper firmly against her, the squish undeniable. She squirmed in the tall man’s hold, her fists pounding weakly against his chest.

“Shh, little one,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady.

“No! What’s happening to me?” she yelled, her voice breaking as she wriggled in his arms, the pacifier still bouncing gently between her lips. He held her securely, patting the back of her diapered bottom with a knowing look. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re just where you’re meant to be.”

You were curled up in your usual corner of the living room, hugging your favorite stuffed bear and fidgeting with the ruffles on your pastel onesie. The soft hum of cartoons filled the room as you sank deeper into the cushiony comfort of the moment. The air shifted, though, as you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening.

“Daddy’s home!” you whispered to yourself, excitement bubbling up. But instead of his usual cheerful greeting, a voice echoed behind him—frantic, confused, and utterly panicked.

“Wh-what’s going on? I don’t understand!”

Your ears perked up as Daddy stepped into the room, leading someone new by the hand. She looked about your age but was clearly overwhelmed. Her face was flushed, her hair slightly tousled, and her hands kept tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie.

“Daddy?” you asked softly, clutching your bear closer as you tilted your head.

He looked at you with a knowing smile and motioned toward her. “Sweetheart, this is your new sister. Isn’t she precious?”

The girl didn’t seem to hear him, her attention instead focused on the faint crinkle with every movement she made. Her hands darted to the waistband of her jeans, pulling it down just slightly. Her gasp filled the room as the thick, pastel-colored padding beneath was revealed.

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, no. This can’t be real.” She shifted, and the blush on her face deepened as she realized the padding wasn’t just there—it was slightly puffy, as if it had already been used.

“She’s been chosen,” Daddy explained, his voice calm and steady. “Just like you were.”

Her eyes darted to you, her panic only growing as you gave her a shy wave. “I-I don’t want this! What’s happening to me?” she cried, looking desperately at Daddy.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, pulling her into a warm embrace despite her protests. “You’re going to make a perfect little sister. No more grown-up worries, no more responsibilities. Just like your big sister here.”

You watched quietly, hugging your bear tighter as he patted her diaper softly, the squish audible even from where you sat. A small part of you remembered feeling exactly like her once—scared, confused, and overwhelmed. But now? Now, you knew better. “She’s gonna love it,” you whispered to yourself with a small smile. After all, she was Daddy’s choice, just like you had been.

Thank you to @ghxstmouse for providing the photos :)

[lokidjarin-7567]

Day 14: Threesome

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x You

Contents: fem!reader x Frank Castle (The Punisher x Matt Murdock , FMM threesome

W/C: 2.4k

So… it’s been a while. I’ve been super busy and I’ve had awful writers block I’m sorry guys, but istg I will get this Kinktober done if it’s the last thing I do. But I made this one nice and long and slutty to make up for it!! I love Frank and Matt and hopefully yall do too <3

Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

“Fuck.. Frank,” you whined, eyes rolling back into your head with how far inside he was hitting you, how thick he felt.

“What is it, baby, you want me to go harder?” You whimpered in response, desperate for more but not even being able to speak, already winded from his relentless pace. “Go on, baby, let him hear you.” It dawned on you then - he could hear you. Your bedroom was adjoining the guest room where Matt was sleeping, and with his sense, there was no doubt that he could hear everything…

Oh God, he could hear everything…

You did your very best to keep quiet, even as he rubbed you clit, and somehow pressed himself further into you. You even tried to hold you breath, your pants, but even if you somehow managed that, he would still hear your heartbeat, or the filthy noises Frank was making every time his body met yours.

“Let him hear you.” He repeated, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “You hear that, Red.” He spoke with a challenging tone, quiet, sure, but loud enough for Matt to hear, and the thought made you shudder, pussy fluttering around him. “I know you want her too, don’t you? It’s pretty damn obvious…” It was a taunt, blatant and outright, one that you were sure Matt wouldn’t respond to. But then you heard movement in the room next to you. Frank’s finger moved to your lips, sealing them shut with one thick fidget across your cupids bow. He burrowed himself into you, pressing deep and holding himself inside, letting you whine between closed lips. Matt’s footsteps were audible in the next room, even over the blood rushing in your head. He was pacing back and forth. Deliberating. Frank’s finger then left your mouth, trailing down your body to your clit and pressing small circles around it as his cock still filled you. You whimpered, legs shaking as he continued to keep you close to your edge.

“Reddd,” he cooed, desperately trying to goad him with that stupid nickname, “she’s close…”

Surely he wouldn’t actually join you. Of course, Frank wasn’t exactly wrong. You’d noticed the way his head cocked when you spoke, the way he stood close to you when you were working together, as though guarding you. The way he seemed almost dejected when Frank kissed you, or put his arm around you in protection.

You had noticed it most obviously today. You and Frank had finally found the ring of traffickers you had been tracing for weeks, and of course, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t far behind. It had been happening more frequently - running into each other out in the city - and the first few times, Matt and Frank had tried to out-testosterone each other, as though claiming their territory. It took a while, but eventually, you had helped them see how much better they worked together.

And today was no different. It was a matter of minutes until they were all incapacitated and the police were called, and not the corrupt ones, as Matt assured you consistently. Frank was more of a take-justice-into-your-own-hands kind of vigilante, which you didn’t mind. For the most part, you even agreed with him. ‘Dead men don’t rape’ had been your mantra since you were thirteen. But it was refreshing not always having to spill blood. Well, not as much as usual anyway.

The problem was, Matt had been badly hurt. You hadn’t even noticed until he collapsed onto the tarmac, blood gushing from his side, and a nasty welt blooming on his cheek. You were panicking quickly. He usually didn't show when he got hurt. You’d seen his entire back sliced open and he still managed to fight, but now, he could barely walk, and there was no chance he was making it all the way to his home. You begged Frank to let you bring him to your apartment and patch him up. Matt argued weakly, barely able to form coherent sentences, but Frank quickly caught on to your distress, telling him to stop moaning and that it this happening whether he liked it or not.

The three of you managed to stumble home, practically carrying Matt up the stairs to your lousy place. You settled him on the couch before grabbing the first-aid kit you had made up as soon as you and Frank had started this vigilante… thing - you weren’t even sure what to call it really.

“Sorry…” you muttered quietly, as you tried to ascertain where the blood was coming from. He winced as your fingers grazed over his side. “I can’t see where this…” You were quiet, mumbling as you tried to cover up your awkwardness. You needed to take his suit off, but even if he was bleeding, you didn’t quite feel comfortable just undressing him.

“Let me have a look.” Frank said, placing three glances of whiskey on the table. Matt had gotten your subtle hint and started to unstrap his body armour as Frank settled next to him. It turned out to be a stab wound, along with a nasty gash that stretched down his side, shallower than it initially looked though.

“This is gonna hurt, Red..” he muttered, grabbing the antiseptic and bandages. You sat of the edge of the coffee table, grabbing a wipe to clean the small wound on his face, hoping to provide distraction. As soon as Frank started, he hissed in pain, hand shooting out to your thigh and grabbing hard. You had tried your best not to noticed, but you couldn’t help but glanced down at his bare torso as you continued to carefully blot at the cut on his cheek, watching the way his muscles flexed in pain, and the rise and fall of his chest with each steading breath he took. You blushed lightly as you continued to work, but you could feel Frank glancing at you.

He wasn’t insecure in the slightest. And your relationship was very much an open one - with your histories and professions, it would be stupid not to be. But he had never seen it in real life: the look you usually gave him being aimed towards somebody else.

And now you were here, under his strong body, trying not to climax too early and listening intently for the slightest hint that Matt was going to respond to his taunt.

And then he did. You could hear footsteps quickening, then pausing right outside the door, a soft curse muttered under his breath. You whimpered in disappointment, frustration building as Frank fucked into you hard and his fingers moved faster against your aching core.

“Fuck, Matt, are you coming in or not?” You whined it quietly, cautiously. Just loud enough that he could hear, but just quiet enough that you all had plausible deniability if he changed his mind. Luckily for you, he hadn’t.

The door flew open and he strode to you urgently, pressing his lips against yours with fervor. The first taste of him was overwhelming—something you'd wanted for so long, finally happening, and it was better than you could have hoped. You could only imagine how he felt in that moment, his groan of relief and passion falling into your mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, fingertips running through the soft locks. His hand cupped your chin then traced lower, forming a delicate cage around your neck, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against the sensitive skin there. You whined against his lips, your hips bucking into Frank uncontrollably. He had been watching the two of you with a dark look on his face, buried to the hilt inside you. It suited him. He was possessive but not jealous, protective but not obsessive—a perfect middle ground that he thrived in.

His thrusts deepened, and you let out a yelp at the sudden increase of pressure. Matt smiled. His fingers moved from your neck, trailing down your collarbone and lower until he was circling your nipple. He barely touched you, light as air, yet the sensation was dizzying. He started to increase the pressure until he was ready, and then he pinched, just hard enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your head. Paired with the way Frank was fucking you, his thumb still circling your clit, it wasn't long before you were coming undone. White hot pleasure overwhelmed your senses, muscles locking and shaking under their expert touches. You tried to moan, the guttural sound escaping you, but Matt’s mouth swallowed it.

“That’s it baby…” Frank crooned, still fucking you through it. “Atta girl.”

It was a while before you could breath again, body still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you barely had time to recover before you were being moved. You just about registered when your body hit Frank’s solid form, his arms wrapping around you as he tried to manhandle you into position, whispering sweet instructions in your ear.

“You’ve got another round in you, don’t you gorgeous? That’s it, good girl, on your hands and knees for us… give Red a chance to feel that pretty pussy of yours.” You were exhausted, totally fucked out, but when you felt Matt’s hands slide up the back of your thighs, onto your back and hips, as though trying to commit the very shape of you to his memory, you could feel yourself getting wet again. You nodded, smiling up at Frank through half lidded eyes and settling into position, arching your back for the gorgeous man behind you. You glanced back to see him, now stripped naked, his arms flexing as he gripped your hips tight, a low groan escaping his lips. A hand fell to your chin, pulling your attention back to the man in front of you, thumb smearing across your lips then into your mouth. Reminding you who you belonged to. After all the flirting, the teasing, the fucking… you were his. However non-committal you were, however far away you were, whoever you were with, deep down you knew, you would always fall back into his arms.

A knowing smile flashed across his face. He knew it. As you knelt there, his thumb in your hot mouth, your back arched for another man but your eyes on him, he knew he had you.

And that was why he let Matt sink into you. You moaned around Frank’s thumb as he slowly pressed himself deep, feeling every inch of him as he controlled the pace with his fingers biting into your hips. You tried to buck backwards, to make him speed up, to just fuck you already, but he wouldn't let you, his strength keeping you exactly where he wanted you. When his hips finally met your ass, he let out a low growl, pressing his body to the back of yours, and Frank finally freed your mouth, allowing Matt to gather your hair in his hand and twist your head back to kiss you hungrily. His lips left yours, and you whined, but then the hand in your hair started guiding you down towards Frank’s waiting cock, thick and hard and leaking precum and you realised it had been his hand all along. Frank’s. You shouldn't be surprised. You knew he was always in control, and sex was no different.

As your ready mouth sank down onto his erection, he wasted no time bottoming out, pressing into your throat and letting you gag around him just as Matt started to move, dragging out of you with aching patience, then rutting back in. It only took a few thrusts before he was losing control, and his pace quickened, whines and pants and curses falling from his lips as his hips slapped against you. When Frank finally pulled you off him, you were gasping, but he didn't let you have much of a breather, just enough to ease the burning in your lungs a tiny bit. Tears were pricking in your eyes, but he soothed you with praises and pet names, and you knew you could take it. You would take anything he gave you. He pulled you off again, but this time, not enough to take even a full breath before he pressed himself completely into your throat. You had never taken so much before, nose pressing against the very base of him, and you could taste yourself on him, a realisation that made your cunt flutter around Matt, earning a groan. You swallowed around him, eager to please, and it was enough. He stuttered your name, pressing you just a touch deeper, before he came down your throat, and you swallowed quickly, not wanting to waste a single drop.

He finally released you when he was completely spent, letting your head fall to the bed as you desperately caught your breath. You couldn't relax for long though, as Frank scooped you up once more, shuffling forward as your body was flush with his, head lulling over his shoulder. This position meant Matt was fucking up into you, hitting a spot that made you whimper in pure ecstasy, so good you could do nothing but dig your nails into Frank’s back. He growled, hand trailing down your body to find your clit and gently circle, pressure so light you shouldn’t have felt a thing, but you were already so overstimulated, so pent up, and with the way Matt was reaching that perfect place, you were so close.

“There you go pretty girl… that's it baby come on his cock for me…” Frank’s words were the last thing you needed to push you over the edge and you cried out, pleasure so good it was almost painful, whole body squirming in his arms. Matt’s hips stuttered, and he bit down onto your shoulder to suppress his moan as he came inside you, hands still firmly gripping your hips and grinding into you.

Your mind was hazy when you were finally finished, completely melted in Frank’s arms, Matt’s cock still inside you.

“This isn't going to become a habit now, pretty boy. Don't get it twisted. It was only because you got stabbed.” Matt just chuckled, his body collapsing into yours and you felt his cheek against your shoulder, hot breath fanning across your upper arm.

“It was worth it.”

[littlelamy]

Another of cowboy rafe and shy reader first time together smut plss is soo good

lamy's note: let me know if the dialogue is cringey. i tried to make it more cowboyish but...

your heart pounded against your ribcage as you sat perched on the edge of a hay bale, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, your nerves frayed and humming with anticipation.

rafe leaned against the wooden post of the barn, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his silhouette rugged and imposing against the fading light. he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes glinting with something you couldn't quite name—something that made your breath catch in your throat and your thighs press together instinctively.

"you nervous, darlin'?" his voice was low, drawling, the rich timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine.

you swallowed hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your skirt as you looked up at him through your lashes. "i'm not... used to this, rafe," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he pushed off the post, his boots crunching against the dry earth as he crossed the short distance between you. every step he took seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat, the slow, deliberate way he moved making the tension between you coil tighter, hotter. when he reached you, he knelt down, his calloused hands gently wrapping around your wrists, stilling your fidgeting fingers.

"ain't nothin' to be afraid of," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours, intense and unyielding. "we'll take it slow, sugar. ain't in no rush." his thumbs brushed soothingly over your skin, his touch a balm to your frayed nerves.

you nodded, the heat in your cheeks rising as you tried to steady your breathing. the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your heart swell, your body thrumming with a heady mixture of anxiety and desire.

"c'mere," he said, his voice softening as he pulled you to your feet. his hands rested on your waist, guiding you toward him as he took a step back into the shadowed barn, the golden light of the setting sun casting long, languid shadows across the straw-strewn floor.

your pulse quickened as he led you deeper into the barn, the cool, earthy scent of hay and leather mingling with the faint musk of his cologne. his hat was tossed aside, revealing his tousled golden hair, his sharp features softened by the flickering lantern light. you couldn't tear your eyes away from him, the way his shirt clung to the hard lines of his chest, the way his fingers tightened on your hips as he drew you closer.

"you're beautiful, y'know that?" he whispered, his voice rough with want as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw. "been thinkin' 'bout this... 'bout you... for so damn long."

you felt the heat bloom in your chest, your skin tingling beneath his touch as his lips finally met yours, gentle at first, a slow, teasing caress that left you breathless. his hands roamed your body, sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your blouse to brush against the bare skin of your back.

"rafe..." your voice was a shaky whisper against his mouth, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, the solid, warm presence of his body grounding you, soothing the nervous flutter of your heart.

"shh, darlin'," he murmured, his lips trailing down the column of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin, each one sending a spark of heat straight to your core. "let me take care of you."

his hands worked the buttons of your blouse with practiced ease, peeling the fabric from your shoulders, letting it fall to the hay-strewn floor. you shivered under his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your exposed skin, taking in every curve, every freckle, every inch of you like you were a vision carved from the stars themselves.

"goddamn," he breathed, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the hard press of him against your stomach, the roughness of his jeans a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. "been wantin' to feel you like this... taste you..."

he dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt, pushing it up slowly, reverently, until it pooled around your hips. his breath was hot against your skin, his mouth trailing kisses along the inside of your thigh, each one making your knees weaken, your breath hitch in your throat.

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling, a desperate plea for more, for him, for everything.

rafe looked up at you, his eyes blazing with something primal, something possessive. "you gotta tell me what you need, sweetheart," he rasped, his fingers teasing the edges of your panties, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above. "wanna hear you say it."

"i need you," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth worked its way higher, closer to where you were aching for him. "please, rafe... i need you."

he groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs, leaving you bare before him. he pressed a lingering kiss to your hip before rising to his feet, his hands sliding up your sides, pulling you back into his arms.

"gonna give you everything, darlin'," he promised, his voice a husky whisper against your ear as he backed you up against the wall of the barn, his body pressing into yours, pinning you in place. "just tell me if it gets too much."

you nodded, your fingers clutching at his shirt as he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, the taste of him intoxicating, overwhelming. his hands found the back of your thighs, lifting you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you harder into the wall.

the feel of him, hot and hard against you, made your head spin, your body arching into his, seeking more, desperate for the release only he could give you.

"i've got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he rocked his hips against yours, the friction setting your nerves on fire. "let me make you feel good, sugar."

and with that, he claimed you fully, his body moving with yours in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust sending you higher, closer to the edge, the world fading into a haze of pleasure and heat. the stars above bore witness as you cried out his name, your body trembling in his arms, your heart racing as you fell apart together, lost in the wild, passion of the night.

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