#//the ask itself tags both of y already

[kirisakishidou05]

Gather 'round, everyone! It is time for a party!

-

"Huh? A party? Is that why we are all dressed up so frivolously?" Eyepatch asks.

"I wonder how the larger group is doing. I hope they haven't gotten into a huge argument yet," Other March muses.

"They went outside to argue. I suspect that these dresses might make it worse. Weapons Freak especially has reason to-"

"That is not a very nice nickname."

( @amane-order-of-attack, @marchleader )

The Flower pats down his dress. It really is a bit much...

He looks over at the Cat. "[ ...Hm. So it seems. It fits you nicely, though. ]"

The brown gloved one kicks at his skirt. He feels like he'd trip if he tried walking any faster than a snail's pace in this.

"...This all feels rather unnecessary."

---

The now-plushie pushes himself off the ground.

"...That was... rather rude for someone I've never met..." He says, tone gently scolding. "...When did you all change into dresses?"

He sighs, dusting himself off. "It's alright. This is all very strange, I wouldn't expect anyone to know what's going on."

[ @marchleader ]

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: listened to juno in the car and had this idea 😋

summary: based on the song by sabrina carpenter (you babytrap nat); g!p nat, college!au, natasha's kind of a fuckboy

warnings: contains quite a bit of smut (hence the 18+ tag), babytrapping (= mildly toxic relationship?), buff athlete nat because that’s a warning in itself

word count: 11k (i fear it’s gotten impossible for me to write anything under 5k words lol)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Initiating public sex in front of your friends should never be a good idea.

When you're as bored as you are right now, though, that opinion quickly begins to waver.

Hand under your shirt, your head on her shoulder. The movie you're watching is one you haven't seen before. Teen pregnancy, Michael Cera, indie soundtracks, yawn. You sigh, first quietly, then a little louder.

Natasha's nose brushes against your temple. Her hand travels higher up, fingers grazing your bra.

"Not a fan?", she mumbles. You lean into her, feeling her bicep against your shoulder. "We can ditch them."

"No." It's been a while since you last had time to spend with your friends. It's also been a while since you didn't sneak off early to fuck each other brainless. "Let's stay", you say, turning your head. "At least so we can see whether they actually fall for each other."

"No offense, but who would fall for that guy? Even I would look better in those shorts."

"Don't disrespect Michael", you mumble, smiling. "Also, you'd need bigger ones to fit everything, babe."

In front of you, Clint rolls his eyes. He lets out the longest sigh known to man and turns his head, his expression lacking any amusement whatsoever. He should be used to this kind of behavior, but to be fair, he just wants one night where your shameless PDA doesn't ruin everything.

"Alright", he says. "One more comment like that and-"

"God, you're a prude." She throws her empty red solo cup at him and he jumps up. "Chill."

He directs one last warning glare at you both, then he plops back down onto the floor. As soon as he's distracted again — drinking beer, talking to his girlfriend — she pulls you closer. Your hand finds her lower stomach, gently pressing against it.

Her breath hits your ear when she exhales, hot and slow. Your hand moves a little lower. Not too far, just enough to flirt with the limit. Her fingers curl into the soft skin of your stomach.

She doesn't say anything, though. Your fingertips dance over the fabric of her sweatpants. They graze the bulge there, prominent even when she's not hard, before finally cupping it. A sharp breath escapes her.

Still, she doesn't stop you. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, where Juno is currently giving birth. The way she's staring makes it seem like she's actually invested in what's happening, but you know the truth. One wrong move, and she'll either embarrass herself — or ruin her pants.

Or both. Most likely both.

You already look irresistible enough, wearing that sinfully short skirt. With your legs tucked under your butt and your vanilla perfume clouding her senses, your hand on her cock can only lead to a disaster.

"Y/N", she whispers through gritted teeth. You palm her crotch and feel her harden.

"Mhm?" You lean in and press your lips to her jaw. Red lipstick stains her skin. It's a sight so satisfying that you keep trailing kisses across her cheek.

Natasha closes her eyes. A noise, muffled and quiet, gets stuck in her throat. You scoff and move your hand to wrap your fingers around her length, only the fabric of her clothes separating you.

"What is it?", you ask, giving a few testing strokes. She shakes her head and you finally hear that soft whimper you'd been waiting for. "Aw, poor baby. All worked up."

In front of you, Steve mumbles something. He gets up, but before he can turn around and catch Natasha and you in this compromising situation, you move and quickly sit on her lap.

Bad idea. This might be worse than the almost-handjob you were about to give her.

Steve doesn't notice anything, but you do. Her head falls forward to lean against your shoulder, her hands grip your waist. You shift and grind against her boner, feeling her tip rub against the wet patch on your panties. At least your skirt hides everything.

You rub against her with more insistence, eyes closing. Her cock, though still clothed, fits perfectly between your folds. If you try hard enough, you can pretend she's inside of you.

"Fuck", she moans. You reach behind you to squeeze her, squeeze any part of her you can reach. "Fuck, I'll come."

Clint pauses, then slowly turns his head. You go completely still, eyes fixed on the tv and your hands folded in your lap. He knows you better than to believe this little act you're putting on, though.

You're surprised he doesn't drag you out by your collars, but you get sent back to your dorms anyway.

"Idiot", you say, grabbing the front of her letter jacket. You pull her into a deep kiss, her hands roaming your body. Salt and butter, sugar and green apple. The snacks of the evening created an addictive taste, and you silently thank Clint for not getting garlic knots again.

"You started it", she pants, trailing her lips down your neck. Your back hits the wall of the dormitory, her hard-on pressing against your hip. Her hand disappears under your skirt and palms your crotch, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties. You're dripping down your thighs. "And I'll end it. Fuck."

You moan, the sound a little too obvious. It's quiet outside, apart from the occasional hum of car engines in the distance. Due to it being a Tuesday night, there are no parties. Most people are either in their dorms or pulling an all-nighter in the library. If anyone's got their window open, they'll hear you.

Natasha sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, a little louder, and she shushes you by nudging your panties aside with her fingers.

"Quiet", she mumbles, voice gentle like a praise. "Quiet for me, baby."

You writhe when she pushes two fingers into you. They slip in easily, your folds slick with wet heat, and immediately begin thrusting into you. You buck your hips to meet her movements, but she pulls out before you can even get started.

"Hey", you protest, ignoring the fact that she's already got her arm wrapped around you. Fingers in her mouth to lick off excess moisture, she pulls you toward the entrance. "Nat, I'm horny."

"Where's your roommate again?"

"Huh?" You frown, then lightly slap her chest. "Right! Good call."

She laughs quietly, the sound rough and strained, and walks up the stairs. Her hand moves to dip under your skirt. She gropes your ass, kneading the flesh. "I seriously don't know how you got into college, baby."

"Wow. Here I was, considering head tonight, and you made me change my mind."

"Oh, please." She pushes open the door and walks you to the bed. As soon as she's seated, you straddle her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even kiss her. Her tongue brushes against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth.

You grind against her boner, which only makes the ache between your legs worse. Natasha breaks the kiss to tug off your top. Her eyes dart a little lower, zeroing in on your chest. Full breasts, spilling out of a lacy bra with tiny hearts embroidered in it.

Her face sinks to bury itself between your boobs. You feel wet kisses on your skin.

"Taste so good."

"Nat."

"So soft."

"Nat."

She huffs, but doesn't look up. Her hands move your hips, making you rub against her cock. The crotch of her sweatpants is stained with a little wet patch. "What?"

"I want you to fuck me, not make out with my breasts all night long."

You feel the heat of her cheeks. Smirking faintly, you run your hand into her hair.

"Screw you."

"I'm trying." You twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tug. "Come on. I thought of a new position we could try."

That manages to make her look up, though she seems skeptic. It's almost like a game you've been playing — who can come up with the wildest position? Anything counts, as long as it leads to at least one of you having an orgasm.

"You better not disappoint this time", she says and kisses your jaw. Her hands splay out on your ass, fingertips brushing under the fabric of your panties. "That last one was a letdown."

You hum. You have to agree with her here — sidesaddle riding doesn't work no matter how you interpret it, apparently.

"This one's good", you say, getting off her lap. She groans.

"We could pause the game", she pleads, making puppy dog eyes at you. It's a fun game, sure, but sometimes, she wants to see your face while she fucks you. "Just tonight."

You tilt your head at her, eyebrows raised in silent approval for her to keep going.

"I'll let you top", Natasha adds. That's enough for you to be sold.

. . .

When you wake up, it's because of someone knocking on the door.

At first, you don't notice it. Too tight is sleep's grip on you, too warm is your bed. You're curled into Natasha, her arms wrapped around you and holding you close. But then they knock again, more insistently this time, and you sigh.

You squint to block out the sun and get up, stepping over the empty ramen cups you discarded on the floor after a late-night craving. Behind you, Natasha mutters something and rolls over. You slip into a loose shirt and open the door.

Randy, your resident advisor, pauses when he sees you. Messy hair, a thin shirt that barely reaches your thighs, your neck littered with marks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Yes?", you drawl. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His freckled face flushes pink and he coughs. "Come on, I don't have all morning."

"There, uhm- there was a noise complaint", he says, fingers drumming against the clipboard he for some reason always carries around. "From one of the other students."

You give him a blank stare. "Okay?"

"No, not okay. Look, I don't care what you do in your free time, but maybe keep it down? The walls are quite thin, and the excessive noise, uh..." He sighs, eyes flitting down your body again. He shifts awkwardly, clipboard angled a bit, and you realize that he's trying to conceal a certain problem he's run into.

If the situation was different, you'd be irritated. But watching Randy, the 30-something guy who started working here two years ago, stumble over his own words and stutter like a nervous first grader, is too amusing to genuinely get pissed.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Deep breaths, honey. Don't faint on me."

He tries to glare at you, but fails miserably. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Others want to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll tell Nat."

Behind you, Natasha groans into your pillow. "Tell them to mind their own business", she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Or move the fuck out."

He briefly peeks into the room, then directs his attention toward you again. You give him a challenging look.

"Nat", he repeats. The way he says her name does manage to irritate you now. You know what others think of her. You also know they're not entirely wrong. "Oh, yeah, fine. Good."

"Good", you repeat, stepping back with one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and Randy? I know you've been getting, like, zero action lately, but I just woke up. Not even you can be that desperate. Maybe touch some grass?"

He lets out a choked sound. Before he can say anything, you wave two fingers at him and close the door.

"Buh-bye!", you call, just before the door snaps in. You twirl around and spot Natasha, still half asleep and sprawled out on your bed. Her red hair is loose for once, messy and soft, and you ignore the urge to get back into bed with her.

She hums, stretching like a cat, all lazy smiles and toned arms. An admittedly enticing sight. "Got rid of him?"

"Oh yeah." You run your hand along her arm. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Don't. He's a creep." She puts her hand on the back of your thigh, tugging on it. If you didn't know better, you'd think she's scared you'll just slip away. "Feel bad for me. The abandoned girlfriend."

You huff, not budging. You'd love to go back to bed, but you have other things to do.

"Classes", you remind her, turning away. You take off your shirt and she groans. "Shower, too." Your panties follow. This time, she lets out a full blown moan.

You turn around and give her an unimpressed (albeit slightly amused) look. "And that is why we got a noise complaint."

"Come on", she whines. "Not even professors like their own classes. You can afford ten more minutes, baby. I won't even make you put on your clothes again."

"You say that like it's supposed to benefit me."

"It benefits both of us." Natasha grunts and finally sits up, slouching. Her arms are crossed over her lap as her eyes travel up and down your body. It takes you a second to realize why.

She tilts her head, cheeks pink. The expression on her face is both guilty and hopeful, like she's weighing her odds. A productive day or a few more minutes — maybe hours, if she plays her cards right — in bed with her?

Her chances aren't looking too bad.

"You can't be serious", you deadpan. Of course, she is.

"I'll be quick."

"You're never quick!"

"You can't blame me for that", she retorts. "God, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you for the next few hours?"

"Next few 'hours'? Babe, you have practice today. Plus, I wanted to go shopping."

Natasha flops onto her back dramatically. It gives you a full view of her body, head to toe, with her not-so-little problem included. You bite the inside of your cheek frustratedly as you realize she's chipping away at your resolve.

"Practice isn't that important", she mutters, her forearms covering her eyes.

"Babe, you're team captain", you say, turning around. Focus on something else, anything else. If you cave, you will definitely be late. Or, worst case scenario, you won't leave your dorm before lunchtime — again. "Just...take a cold shower. I'll see you tonight."

She mutters something about 'showers being a scam' under her breath, then finally gets up. You watch her gather her stuff and get dressed, but you keep her letter jacket clutched to your chest. She raises her eyebrows and reaches out her hand.

"No."

"That's mine."

"Nope."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but ultimately just kisses you before slipping into her shoes. She can't help it — she's weak for you.

"I'll get you back for this", she says, then the door falls shut behind her.

. . .

The basketball circles the hoop once, twice, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

One leg crossed over the other, you lean forward. Red lips part slightly, manicured nails dig into the thin skin of your knee. All eyes are on the ball, which wobbles — but then it slips off and bounces away. You groan and toss your head back.

"Come on, Romanoff!", someone next to you shouts.

"Damn it", you curse. You go to her games all the time, and usually, you enjoy it. Watching her miss a shot, however, is not the most pleasant part of the experience.

Natasha runs her hand over her hair, clearly frustrated. She's been off her shooting game today, and she doesn't know why. She's not doing anything different.

You watch her trail backwards, bouncing on her heels and her eyes locked on the hoop. When she hears her team's complaints, she turns around. She yells at a teammate, then at a player from the opposite team, before the coach calls for a timeout.

She jogs to the bench, snatches her water bottle, and tips her head back to take a swig. Baby hairs stick to her sweaty temples, the veins on her arms popping. You lean forward.

"Nat!"

She looks up, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. Then she realizes it's you and, just like that, her scowl softens. She glances at her team to check if anyone's watching her before approaching you. You're in the first row, right next to the home team's bench, so all she has to do is lean on the barrier separating the seats from the court.

"Hey", she says.

"'Hey'? Are you kidding me? What the hell was up with that shot?"

Natasha frowns and huffs. "Alright, I don't need a lecture right now. So unless you want to kiss me for good luck-"

A girl from her team — one you don't know too well — nudges her. Natasha barely glances at her, but it's enough for you to lean forward and tug at her ear.

"What the fuck!"

"I'm serious! You missed by, like, half a mile."

The glare she gives you is deadly, but you deserve it. You are being a little unfair. For good reason, though: whenever you're there to berate her, she suddenly starts playing much better. It's like magic. She needs a healthy dose of bullying from you for her performance to be at its peak.

"Alright", she snaps. "Be my guest. Suit up and try, if you think you'll do better."

"Oh, no." You reach up and brush your fingers along her jaw before resting them under her chin. "You're the best, aren't you? So show me that's true, and I'll reward you. But losers don't get a reward."

"You drive a hard bargain", she mutters. You smile innocently and tap her bottom lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll...do better, I guess."

"That's my girl", you purr and, with a light push against her mouth, send her back to her team.

The game continues.

Before halftime, Natasha's team was trailing 34-37, but after some strong defense and a layup, the score is tied again. That is, until the opposing team hits a couple of shots.

You're agitated, but confident. At least you're pretty sure you are.

Most of her games are like this. Her team needs to be slightly behind for her to be able to give it her all. You convince yourself it won't be different this time, either.

Eyes zeroed in on Natasha, you watch her every move. How she dribbles the ball, weaves through the defenders, loses the ball again. The game is a close one. They're playing against one of the better teams this time, and it shows.

It's a back and forth between the teams. The opposing team gets a small lead, which is quickly lost thanks to another shot. During the last minute, they're tied again. Teams are trading baskets, but you don't know whether you should stay positive.

For a while, it looks bad. Time is running out. Then, in a split second, Natasha is open at the top of the arc. The pass is fast, almost too high, but she catches it. Your breathing stops for a moment and you barely manage to restrain yourself from jumping up from your seat.

Five seconds left. The team's are neck-and-neck. Natasha has the ball.

Three seconds left. She makes her move, stepping back for a three-pointer. She rises, muscles coiled, and lets the ball fly.

One second left. After cutting through the air and briefly hitting the hoop, the ball swishes through the net.

66-64. The buzzer sounds. Her team has won.

You're on your feet before you realize it, yelling along with the audience. Natasha's team crashes into her the second she's back on the ground, but she only lets them slap her back and punch her arms for a few seconds before she weaves through the small crowd.

You hop over the barricade and into her arms, not caring about the fact she's all sweaty. Her lips press against your neck, her hand rubs up and down your back. She spins you around.

"You did it!"

"Because of you."

"That shot was amazing. More of that, please."

Natasha laughs, low and rough and exhausted, and tips her head back to look up at you. You smile and kiss her. She tastes like salt and Gatorade.

"Still the best?", she teases after pulling away. The soles of your sneakers make a quiet thudding sound against the vinyl floor.

"Always", you promise, pecking her lips once more. Natasha smirks and tugs off her jersey to hand it to you. With the fabric gone, she's almost naked. Only a sports bra and shorts cover her body. You earn a few stares from the opposing team, who isn't used to your little ritual, but you don't notice. It's a nice view, so you'd be an idiot to look at anyone but her.

You put on the jersey and let her pull you into her side again. She kisses you, slow and unhurried, while leading you back toward her team.

It's a last minute decision from the team to go to a bar together. Natasha takes a quick shower before you leave, now wearing something more comfortable. Getting her to dress up is a losing battle, so you don't even try this time. Plus, there's something distinctly attractive about the grey sweatpants she's sporting (or rather, what she's sporting inside the grey sweatpants).

You stay glued to her side pretty much all night. You're in her lap, her arm firmly holding you in place. The bass makes the ground vibrate and the alcohol is clouding your senses, but it's still early enough for you to be somewhat aware of reality.

You lean your cheek against her temple, then turn your head to brush your lips against her skin. She hums and squeezes your thigh, but her attention wavers. Two girls approach her, both of them around your age and probably fellow students.

Natasha glances at them, eyebrows raised. You cup her nape and brush your thumb against her hairline.

The girls smile, a little too brightly, and start talking about the basketball game. They're shameless — even with you, wearing Natasha's jersey and sitting on her lap, they're still going on and on about the game and the shots she made.

With every word that leaves their glossy pink lips, Natasha's focus on you slips more and more. Her hand on your thigh loosens. Her gaze, first flickering between you and the others, starts to linger on them. Her lips curve into that confident little smile you know too well.

You roll your eyes and scoot off her lap. If she has to do this, you don't want to be present. You excuse yourself and go to the restroom, where you freshen up. More lipstick, more perfume. You lift the front of Natasha's jersey and take a whiff to see whether it smells. It's not horrible, but noticeable enough, so you decide to change into the top you brought.

When you return to the bar, Natasha has leaned over to the girls. Arms crossed on the bar's counter, a lazy smirk on her face. The post-game glow is on full display. She tilts her head and mumbles something. It takes you a moment to realize she's flirting.

The girls are delighted. Giggling, shrugging, leaning forward as well. Their expressions indicate they clearly believe at least one of them has a shot. You understand why — Natasha, even after getting into a relationship with you, never quite got rid of her fuckboy-image —, but that doesn't mean you're not furious.

You want to compose yourself, you really do. You're pretty sure this isn't what it looks like, anyway. Fingernails digging into your palms, you watch them for another moment. Then, Natasha subtly bites her lip in that way that first drew you to her, and you've had enough.

You're next to her within seconds, your hand wrapping around her wrist. She lets out a grunt as you drag her away, leaving the two girls speechless and mildly annoyed.

"Have you lost your mind?", she complains, finally finding her voice again. You're already halfway into a bathroom stall.

"Have you?", you snap, pushing her inside and slamming the door shut. Natasha pauses, her eyes traveling up and down your body. The top, almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination, has her more than a little distracted. "My face is up here, you bastard."

"What? Hey!" She frowns. "What happened? What'd I do?"

There's a significant height difference between her and you, but it's not like that ever bothered you. You shove her against the wall, your eyes blazing. Her first instinct is to step forward — she's taller, all shoulders and muscle —, but she can tell you're pissed. Once she realizes she's fucked up, she lifts her hands and almost shrinks under your glare.

"Are you playing dumb? Don't play dumb!"

"What are you even- I was talking to them! They asked about the game!"

"You were flirting!"

Natasha scoffs, her cheeks a nervous-rosy pink. It'd look cute if you weren't about to slam her head through the plastic wall of the stall.

"I wasn't 'flirting'", she argues. "I was talking to them."

"No", you retort. "You were flirting. I could tell. They had that glittery look in their eyes stupid bitches get when you're close to them."

She blinks, caught off-guard, and her head tilts. The word you used is one you usually stay away from. The second you start cussing out other girls? Okay, now she knows you're mad mad.

"Baby", she says slowly, "I swear we were just talking. Nothing else. I don't give a fuck about anyone but you, and you know it."

"Right." You let out a bitter laugh. The sound makes her stomach tighten. "That's good to hear. Maybe it'd be believable if you hadn't tried to-"

The door of the bathroom stall next to yours opening cuts you off. You pause and turn when you hear the quiet pattering sound. Toilet paper rips. The person flushes. Then, shuffling of feet. It takes unbelievably long, and you let out a long sigh.

"Can you hurry?", you finally bark, and the person drops their purse. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry!", they say, their voice a squeak, and leave the stall. Water runs, more paper towels, then the door falls shut. You turn to Natasha again, whose ears are as pink as her cheeks.

You raise your eyebrows, as if daring her to say something. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"Okay", she says. "Maybe it was flirting, in a way. I didn't mean to, though."

Your fingers tighten on the front of her zip hoodie. Her eyes widen in silent panic.

"You can't flirt without meaning to flirt!"

"You totally can", she says, her back thudding against the wall once more. "Can you stop that?! Jesus, you're scary."

That last bit is mumbled, but you hear it anyway. It's enough to make you laugh — a sound that slips out unintentionally — but you quickly shake your head.

"I can be way scarier, you know. This is nothing."

"I totally believe that", she says, frowning petulantly. "You're turning into a tiny terror."

Despite your anger, your lips twitch again. Your grasp on her hoodie loosens, your scowl softens the tiniest bit. It's enough for Natasha, who first tried to gauge your mood for a few seconds, to take a leap of faith.

"The sexiest tiny terror", she adds, pulling you closer. You sigh. "My tiny terror. Why would I want anyone else when I have you?"

"This feels like manipulation, babe."

Her eyes light up — babe. She's getting somewhere.

"It's not", she promises, kissing your forehead. Her hands roam your sides, your hips, and slip under your top. "I'm being serious. Scout's honor."

"You're so full of shit."

Natasha grins and keeps kissing your face. Your cheeks, your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth. Unfortunately, each press of her lips against your skin softens you further. You'll probably just have to accept she's an expert at buttering you up.

"Come on now", she mumbles, her mouth against your ear. You giggle quietly when her tongue briefly flicks against your earlobe. "You know you love me."

"I must've done something terrible in my past life to deserve this."

She hums, her hands palming your sides. You exhale and lean into her, willing yourself to not give in — and failing. Her lips brush against your neck, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin, and a shiver rolls up your spine.

Without really noticing, you press closer. Natasha's fingers find the clasp of your bra and swiftly unhook it.

"Hey", you protest, trying to bat her hand away. She buries her face against your neck, but doesn't budge. Her hand slides around to your front. "I can't believe I put up with you."

"Me neither", she mumbles, smirking faintly. "I'm a lucky idiot."

"Well, that's true."

Natasha kisses your neck, then your shoulder. Her hands push up your top and reveal your skin inch by inch. Your breath stutters when, suddenly, the roles are reversed and you feel your back against the wall.

Your hands come up to tangle in her hair. She grips your thighs and mouths at your neck.

"You're not forgiven, you know."

"Sure."

Her teeth sink into your neck. You barely manage to speak.

"I mean it."

Underwear around your ankles, you help her tug her sweatpants down. She struggles with the condom, but once the piece of plastic is wrapped around her cock snugly, she holds your hips in place and buries herself inside you. No time to adjust — she sets a fast pace.

The back of your head hits the wall and you let out a moan. Natasha keeps rutting into you, moaning breathily, your hands in her hair and her hands gripping your ass. She stuffs you up to the brim, cock pulsing and twitching, and pounds into you relentlessly.

Right as you're just about to tumble over the edge, the bathroom door opens again. You feel a moan rise up in your throat and quickly slap your own hand over your mouth, stifling the sound. Natasha laughs breathlessly, but then whines against your neck.

Whoever entered seems oblivious. They're on the phone, talking rapidly, while water flows in the background. You hear the clinking of stilettos on tiles and then smell a faint waft of some overly sweet perfume.

This whole situation usually wouldn't pose much of an issue. You're close enough, and you know from experience that you can keep quiet when needed. But Natasha, being who she is, slows down. Her grip on you loosens, her movements are drawn-out. Your thighs tremble and you groan against your own palm.

"I'll kill you."

"Ssh, baby", she mumbles, dragging her lips along your jaw. Her hips meet yours, again and again and again, but she's going too slow to really achieve anything. "Don't get us caught."

Every deliberate roll of her hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You whimper and bite down on your palm harder, meeting her movements with your hips. The pressure increases, and so does the need to push Natasha to go faster. Your thighs clench around her, but all she does is smile against your neck. You rock against her hips, desperate for more.

"Fuck you", you hiss, but the words die on your tongue when she picks up the pace. She ruts into you, urging you closer to the edge while you wrestle with the impulse to shout her name.

"I love you", she says, each word punctuated by a soft grunt. The bathroom door falls shut, and you finally get coaxed into that sweet high of mindless oblivion.

. . .

The sun is long gone, replaced by the milky light of the moon that's seeping into the library.

Natasha called it a 'study-session', hoping it'd turn into something else entirely. But exams are coming up, and as much as you'd like to hide in the encyclopedia aisle and hook up again, you'd rather she passes.

You're sitting on the table in front of her, with her head in your lap, as you test her knowledge on the subject. Sports Law — something you've only gotten familiar with since dating her.

"That's wrong", you say, running your fingers through her hair. "It's title IX of the education amendments of 1972. You should know that, babe."

She groans and turns her head, burying her face between your thighs. You smile faintly and drum your fingers against her scalp.

"Who cares? I'll pass, anyway. I always do."

"I want you to ace this one, though."

"Pipe dream."

"Nat."

Another groan. She pushes up the fabric of your shirt and shifts, her lips brushing against your lower abdomen. You bite back a soft sound of pleasure.

Not now. You have other things to focus on. But god, her hands start massaging your thighs, and her lips feel warm and plush, and the library seems empty enough. Heat pools in your lower belly and you quickly shove her off you.

"No", say, voice strained. "Study. Now."

"You're boring", Natasha mutters, grabbing the book and skimming the pages. "I know all of this. It's easy."

"You got four questions wrong", you counter, glancing at the screen of her phone when it buzzes. Her wallpaper flashes on the screen — a picture of you, only wrapped into silky bedsheets, with kiss marks on your shoulders and your hair a mess. But that's not what catches your attention. It's the message that just popped up.

A girl named Tara.

Natasha lifts her head and peeks at her phone. You snatch it before she can reach for it.

"Who's that?", you prompt.

"A girl from Sports Economics", she says, sitting up. She tries to grab the phone, but you hold it out of her reach. "Babe."

"Why's she texting you at midnight?"

"Not sure", she replies, irritated, and tries to grab it again. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the phone. "I could tell you if you'd let me read the damn text."

"She always texts you this late?", you ask, glancing up at the phone.

A simple message — hey, you awake? :) — but still unexpected enough to annoy you. You squint and try to look at her profile picture.

"Hold on, is that the girl who said hi to you in the cafeteria the other day? The one with the pink eyeshadow?"

"Yeah", she says, her arm dropping in defeat. "Tara. Like I said, I know her from Econ."

"It's midnight", you mutter, bringing the phone back down. Before Natasha can protest, you've used her face to unlock the phone and opened the chat. Natasha rolls her eyes and huffs, so you pinch her bottom lip. "You should tell her to find some new makeup. I thought she was fighting for her life against allergies."

"You're mean."

"Her makeup sucks."

"Doesn't make it any less mean", she argues, resting her head on your lap again. She sighs, eyes closing, and waits for you to finish whatever you're doing. "Still scrolling?"

"It's a long chat", you mutter, thumb swiping over the screen. Luckily, the messages seem innocent enough. At least Natasha's do. "She wants you."

"I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Nat", you say, putting her phone aside. "Straight girls want you, too."

She looks up, smirking. You flick her forehead.

"Ow!"

You narrow your eyes at her, watching her rub the spot you flicked. "You're enjoying this."

"I am", she says bluntly. "You're going on and on about some girl I really don't care about."

"She cares about you", you argue. "In the past, that seemed to be enough."

Natasha scoffs and sits up, leaning back in her chair. She studies you for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, then sighs. Her legs stretch out under the table.

"Exactly", she finally says. "In the past. Not now, not last week, but when it didn't matter."

"I feel like some things don't stop mattering."

"Like my love for you", she flirts. You kick her side and she lets out a quiet 'oof'. "What'd I do to deserve that, huh?!"

"You can't flirt your way out of everything, you know!"

"I'm not flirting my way out", she protests, looping her arms around your waist and tugging you closer. You sigh, thighs snugly wrapped around her torso. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

"No?" You give her a skeptical look. She just shakes her head and leans in, pressing a few kisses to your chest.

"No", she mumbles. "I love you. Period. Now stop worrying."

You stare at her as she nuzzles and kisses your chest, slowly moving upwards. Her thoughts are somewhere else already, whereas you're still stuck. Tara, the girls at the bar, the stares Natasha gets all day long. Your worries, fears, and how easily she can dismiss them. How, when you're mad, she manages to worm her way out of just about everything.

Smooth words and soft touches are her specialty. She uses them like a tool, which can be hot, but also incredibly frustrating. You know why it's so easy for her — because she knows you'll stay. You won't leave. She claims that the same thing is true for her, but maybe she'll need to prove that.

The thought creeps in slowly, dangerously. It's nothing more than a small, fleeting idea at first, but the longer you watch her, the more drawn to it you become.

Natasha says she's yours. She says there's nothing to worry about. You'd love to know whether she actually means that.

She loves you, after all. Logically, she'd love a tiny version of you just as much.

"Hey", you mumble, eyes focused on her. She pauses, lips pressed to your jaw. "You seem distracted."

"Can't help it. I'll need a different study-buddy to be able to concentrate on anything but you."

"Oh yeah?" You glance at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. Almost 1am. "It's late, you know. We might as well leave."

She hums against your skin and looks up. "Your dorm's still empty?"

"Mhm", you say before you're able to reconsider this whole plan. "We got the whole room to ourselves."

"Well then", she says, getting up and pecking your lips, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The hallway is as empty as the library was. Natasha presses you against the wall, caging you in between a corner and her body, and kisses you. Hands bunch up your shirt, feel heated skin. You wrap your arms around her neck and hum into the kiss.

Her hand dips into the back pocket of your jeans. She fishes out the key to your dorm, then leads you down the hallway. One arm wrapped around your waist, she unlocks the door using her free hand.

Bodies tumble onto the mattress together. Breathy laughter, stripping of clothes, bare skin on bare skin. Natasha turns, opens the drawer of the nightstand next to you to look for condoms, but you tug her on top you again. She doesn't resist and kisses you, lips moving and messing up your makeup.

You feel her nestled inside of you, every vein and throb noticeable. She grabs and angles your thigh for deeper access, her moans mingling with yours. Lipstick marks smudged on her cheek, hickeys on your chest. The bed frame hits the wall with every thrust, muffled thuds filling the air.

Her hand finds your lower belly, pressing down on it. Natasha feels her own outline through the soft skin and groans quietly. Teeth nip at your neck, her hips meeting yours a few more times. Then, the anticipated release and the relief that comes with it.

Warmth pools deep inside of you. It drips down your thighs, staining the bedsheets, but all you manage to do is turn your head and bury your face in her neck. Your fingers brush against your stomach, and the full acceptance of what might happen starts to set in.

. . .

Weeks have passed. Late spring has turned into something resembling an early summer.

A little '+' confirms it.

You're alone when you take it. It's quite early, not even 6am, but you got woken up by someone yelling in the hallway. The test was right next to you, lying on your nightstand like a bad omen, then you finally grabbed it and got up.

Taking it wasn't hard, but checking the result is. You stare at the test in your hand, your brain too tired and sleepy to process everything. Leaning against the wall of your dorm's bathroom, you try to let reality sink in. It doesn't feel real. Not yet, at least.

Knowing it is real helps, though. You put the test aside and exhale, fingers drumming against the tiled wall behind you. Your thoughts are more of a mess than you thought they'd be.

It was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. It was also incredibly stupid. Yet you're here, eyes glued to the ceiling, and find yourself regretting nothing at all. At this point, not even the thought of her reaction scares you.

She said she loved you. All you're doing is putting that love to the test. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Bullshit. You know you've fucked up.

You meet her after class, as you agreed on earlier that morning. She seems calm, happy, completely oblivious to what secret you're (literally) carrying with you. Hands on your waist, she pecks your lips, then she grabs your backpack and slings it over her shoulder.

It's a warm afternoon, so you head to the mall. You grab a few things you need — new pajamas, some shampoo, a water bottle to replace the one you lost. Natasha tosses a pack of condoms into the shopping cart and you barely stop yourself from reacting too obviously.

On your way out, you pass a store that exclusively sells baby-related items. Strollers, onesies, highchairs. You avert your eyes and stay close to Natasha's side.

Late evening. You're back on Clint's couch, passing around pizza and trying to decide on a movie. Clint complains about Laura's last pick — Juno — which, apparently, most of you didn't like too much.

Natasha pulls your legs over her lap, lightly massaging your shin. She's only in a white tank top that leaves her shoulders and arms on full display. You'd be distracted if you weren't worrying about other things already.

"I wasn't a fan, either", she says, glancing at Clint. "But I did like what it led to."

"Right. I swear to everything that's holy, if you start something like that again-"

"Seriously, calm down." She raises her eyebrows. "Keep ranting like that and poor Laura will think you're going celibate."

He rolls his eyes and slumps into the couch, one hand swatting at her. She laughs and bats him away. When she glances at you, she notices how quiet you are, and nudges you.

"You're unusually non-hyper verbal, baby."

"I'm good", you say, stretching. "Just...bored."

You're not bored. You're far from bored. But you needed an excuse. However, Natasha takes it the wrong way, and a tiny smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah?", she says, running her hand higher. First it touches your knee, then it brushes under the hem of your dress. "Bathroom's empty. Maybe we'll even make it into the bedroom. I heard Mr. Prude over there got a new mattress."

"Romanoff, I will-"

"Shush." She raises her eyebrows at him before leaning closer to you. Her breath fans your cheek, her voice is a raspy murmur. "If you want us to ditch them, just tell me. I'll get us outta here."

"I'm fine", you assure her. "Just get me a beer."

Natasha nods and turns, grabbing a can from the ice bucket they prepared. She cracks it open right as you realize you probably shouldn't drink it.

"Actually", you stammer, "I'm good. None for me. Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment on it. Shrugging, she takes a sip.

"Sure", she says. "I can get you a coke?"

"No, thanks." You shake your head and sink into the cushions, trying to keep the heat from your face. It's difficult, though, and it only gets worse when a character in whatever movie you're watching (truthfully, you aren't paying much attention) is revealed to be pregnant.

You rub your neck, throwing glances at Natasha every now and then. She's still oblivious. Then, she catches you staring, and her head tilts in silent question. You pause before getting up and dragging her along.

"What...?"

"Not in my bed!", Clint shouts.

"We're not having sex!", you yell back, slamming the door to his bedroom shut.

"We're not?"

You turn toward Natasha. "No", you say, awkwardly crossing your arms. "We're not."

"Shame", she says, smirking, and pushes her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She studies you for a moment and her smirk softens. "You alright?"

"I'm fine", you lie. "We need to talk, though."

Her smirk disappears entirely. She frowns, her gaze steady and attentive. Alright, you think. You're mine now. Have fun finding out about it.

"Talk?", she says, leaning against the closet. "About what, baby? Did you do something?"

"Uhm..."

"You did?" She grins faintly. "Wow. Didn't expect that to ever happen. How bad is it?"

"It's not funny", you say, plucking at the strap of your dress. "You won't be grinning like that once I tell you."

"Don't underestimate me", she teases, hands slipping out of her pockets to rest on your arms. "Anything can be funny, if you're looking at it the right way."

"Oh yeah?" You pause. "How funny is us being in this for the long haul?"

"Not very funny, honestly. I wouldn't mind, though."

"Mhm." You tilt your head. Your heart beats faster and faster, but at this point, you have to say it. "Good to know."

"It is?" Natasha hums and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your nose. "Want to make it official, or why's that?"

"I mean, having a baby is pretty official."

The second those words leave your lips, Natasha freezes. First, she just stares at you. Her hands drop to her sides. She takes a step back, then another, her eyebrows furrowed and confusion etched into her face.

The gears in her head start turning. She tries recalling whether you've been using protection, but then her brain fails her, and she exhales sharply. Silence lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, before she finally blurts out.

"We're what?"

"I'm pregnant", you say. "Took a test. It's positive."

"You...I..." She rakes her hand through her hair, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another step backwards, and her back collides with the wall. "We were careful."

"Oh, no." You watch her, growing more worried. "We weren't. Not that night after the library."

Natasha looks at you. Her brain eventually catches up.

"Oh, fuck", she curses. "Fuck. Y/N!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?!"

"Can you calm down?" You tilt your head. "You said you're in it for the long haul, no?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Uhh, guys?"

You whip around. The door is still shut, but Clint is standing behind it.

"What?", you call, irritated.

"Look, no idea what the hell is going on in there, but if you need help..."

"No help. We're fine."

"Are we?", Natasha hisses. You look at her.

"Oh, relax", you say, rolling your eyes. "You'll live."

She lets out a panicked wheeze and scrubs her hand down her face. You're being too calm, too nonchalant, whereas she feels like she's about to have a dozen panic attacks at once. She's not one to let herself get tied down. At least, that's what she always told herself. You may have changed that belief, but old habits die hard.

"I can't have a kid now! I- I have practice, I have games!" Then, as if the thought just hit her: "This is like a teen pregnancy."

"You're in college."

"Same thing!"

"Absolutely not the same thing", you argue, stepping closer. "Look, it won't be easy, but it could be worse. I mean, you love me — now imagine how much you'll love a tinier, cuter version of me."

She shoots you a glare, her breathing still uneven and rapid. "Don't think you can get much tinier."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Absolutely not", she mutters. "Pretty sure that's what got me into this mess."

"You're saying I should've gotten railed by someone else?"

Another glare. This one shuts you up. Natasha turns, looks out the mirror, glances at the striped bedsheets and the painting on the wall. Finally, she looks at you.

"I shouldn't even ask, since you seem perfectly fine", she mutters, crossing her arms. "But what about you? You okay? I mean..."

"I'm fine", you say, more quietly now. She nods and looks away again. You step closer and cup her face, standing on your tiptoes to litter small kisses across her cheeks and forehead. With every touch, her panic softens into mild anxiety. Then, at last, her arms wrap around your waist.

You look at her. Natasha exhales sharply, like she's trying to make peace with it all. She doesn't smile, but her fingertips graze your lower belly.

"If we're doing this", she mumbles stubbornly, "I get to teach them basketball."

"Fine."

"They get a jersey. A tiny one. With my number on it."

You sigh. "Sure."

"Also, no more junk food. The baby eats what you eat."

You scoff, squishing her face. She gives you another halfhearted glare.

"I will end you", you say, squeezing again. She shakes her head and tries to pull away from your grasp. "I mean it! What's life without fries?"

"Depressing", she says, hands sliding to your front and then back to your waist. "But healthier for whatever is growing inside you."

Your expression turns deadpan. "It's a baby."

"Show me an ultrasound first."

"You know what, maybe I did make this up."

..."Excuse me?!"

"I'm kidding!"

"No", she protests. "Now I want to see a doctor's note."

You let out a long exhale and pull her closer, your face against her neck. You press a kiss to her pulse point to keep yourself from slapping her. Sometimes, you wonder whether she's annoying intentionally.

But then, she softens. Her arms wrap around you, muscles enveloping you in safety and warmth, and her lips press kisses to your hair. Her heartbeat against your ear, her scent everywhere around you, you feel yourself melt a little.

"If this is real", she says, shushing you before you can interfere, "I'll do my best, alright? I'm not good at sticking around. I know that. But you have made me stick around, and I'm sure the baby will only make me stick around longer."

"'Longer'", you mumble, voice muffled, "better mean forever in this case."

"I said what I said."

"Romanoff."

She laughs, still shaking a little, and tightens her hold on you. Her nose is buried in your hair.

"We're also finding an apartment", she murmurs. "The dorm's too small. Can't fit a crib in there."

"Obviously."

"And we're not telling the others. Not yet."

You hum, hands sliding under her top and feeling the muscles on her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, making you press closer to her. She groans softly.

"No?", you ask, drawing shapes on her lower back.

"No. Not until I don't feel like passing out just thinking about it."

You laugh, fingertips pressing into her skin. You look up at her and smile. The smile you get in return is a bit strained, but her hands come up to cup your face. You lean in and kiss her.

First, it's soft and slow. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks. A quiet hum comes from her throat.

Then, you're walking backwards. You feel the mattress against your legs. You pull away and raise your eyebrows.

"Now?"

"Cut me some slack. I need to relieve stress."

You huff, but she's got you on your back before you can say anything else. Your hands fumble with her hair, releasing it from the loose bun, and watch the red strands come free. She hums and kisses your shoulder.

Her hand dips under your dress, traveling upwards until her fingers reach your stomach. She touches it, tentatively, before fumbling with your underwear. You let out a sound of approval, head dropping onto the mattress.

"This baby better not change anything", Natasha says, bunching up your dress around your waist.

"Change what?", you ask lazily.

"This. Us." She leans down and kisses your thigh. "You know what I mean."

"I truly don't."

She palms herself through her sweatpants, her eyes shooting you an unimpressed look. "You can't be that dense. Jesus Christ, my child is going to be a moron."

You scoff and flick her shoulder, but there's a faint smirk on your face. This is good. This is safe, familiar. "Can't believe I let you knock me up."

Natasha smiles. For a split second, her fingers twitch against your lower stomach before she focuses on pulling your underwear down. As if on instinct, she reaches for the condom in the pocket of her sweatpants, but then pauses. She glances at you. A look is exchanged, and you both start laughing.

It's slow, this time. Slow and lazy, unhurried. Your earlier 'fight' scared Clint off, so he doesn't even interrupt you. Neither of you is sure what's coming next, but in that moment, it doesn't matter.

. . .

By the way Natasha is staring at the screen, you'd think she's seeing an alien.

Truthfully, it might be one. You're not sure. All you know is that the white blob does not resemble a human in the slightest.

You glance at the ob-gyn, who seems unfazed. She keeps moving the transducer over your gel-slicked stomach, making the image on the screen waver. Finally, she stops and hits a button. The image freezes.

You squint at the screen. A blob. A vaguely human-shaped blob, maybe, but still a blob.

"There's the baby."

You look at Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, seeming helpless. Where?, she mouths.

The doctor is used to this. She doesn't even need to ask you anything to zoom in and point again, but it only helps minimally.

"Oh, yeah", Natasha finally lies. "I see it."

"Yeah", you add, trying to avoid the ob-gyn's eyes. "It's cute."

The woman sees right through you. She smiles faintly and prints the picture for you, then she wipes your stomach down with a few paper towels. "It's fine if you don't see it", she says, throwing the towels away. "Most parents don't. Babies do look a bit deformed in the beginning."

"But it's healthy?", Natasha asks.

"Completely healthy. Don't you worry." She smiles and tugs off her nitrile gloves. "I'll be back in a minute, alright? Feel free to look at the image and play 'Where's Waldo.'"

You hum noncommittally and glance at the ultrasound picture. Still a blob.

Natasha's fingers twitch against her knee and she shifts. All of this is becoming way too real way too soon.

"It's gonna come out looking like a real person, right?", she mumbles, frowning.

"You're kidding."

"Sorry, but it looks like something you'd see under a microscope."

You grab the first thing you find — your cardigan, bunched into a ball — and toss it at her. She catches it and spreads it out over your legs.

"Nice one", she says drily. "Come on, you can't tell me that looks like a baby."

You roll your eyes and glance at the picture again, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. She's right. It doesn't even resemble something supposedly alive, let alone a human being. But it is a human being, according to the doctor, and that's all you need to know.

"Maybe it's taking its time getting cute."

"That'll take a while."

"I hate you."

. . .

Nobody knows. Not yet. But hiding it is getting harder with every day.

Basketballs bounce, shoes squeak, the air smells of sweat and gym air. You watch the ball be thrown in your direction and you catch it, then toss it aside.

It was a flirty text that led you here. You were in bed, drunk on sunlight and half-asleep, when your phone buzzed. The picture you got was one you couldn't complain about — Natasha, in front of a mirror, only wearing boxers (just slightly tugged down to reveal an additional sliver of skin) and a bra. A picture taken in the locker room of the gym, right before practice. It was enough to get you semi-conscious and shoo you out of bed.

Practice is over now, so you walk onto the court. Natasha wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, her hand sneakily moving to your stomach — still pretty flat, but your shirt hides the tiniest of bumps.

"You did good", you say, smiling, and cup her face. The heat is making the ends of her hair curl, and strands of baby hair stick to her sweaty temples. You scrunch your nose, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "Really good. But that last shot was...meh."

"Criticizing me?" She scoffs and presses her lips to yours. Around you, her teammates talk and grab their stuff before heading to the showers. "A little more support would be appreciated, you know."

"This is me supporting you", you point out, walking her out of the gym. "What else do you want me to do, huh? Cheer? Fetch some water?"

"I wouldn't say no to seeing you in a cheerleading uniform."

You scoff, your hands wrapping around her lower arm as you lead her across campus. Only a handful of students passes you — it's summer, and most people are either visiting their families or vacationing. Not you and Natasha, though. You're spending your free time looking for an apartment.

"You'll have to wait around 6 more months for that." You pause, quickly re-calculating. "I think. My brain isn't working the way it's supposed to."

"Nothing new", she mumbles, shooting you a smirk when you jab your elbow into her side. "Kidding, kidding."

She squeezes your waist and leads you to the campus parking lot. She's still in her jersey, all sweaty from practice, but you have an appointment for an apartment viewing soon. Actually, you've got a whole list of apartments you want to look at. Natasha is taking apartment-hunting very seriously.

Too seriously, you're starting to think. Suddenly, not only the size of the apartment and the neighborhood where it's located are important, but also a bunch of things that are, in your humble opinion, simply not relevant.

"This next one has a basketball court nearby", she says, adjusting your seatbelt for you. "Good for early practice, you know. For the kid."

You raise your eyebrows. "For our fetus?"

"Hey, never too early."

You keep your thoughts on that matter to yourself.

At the apartment, the landlord shows you around. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, two bedrooms. Everything seems to be going fine. Despite still being in a sweaty jersey, Natasha manages to make a good impression. Then, he dares ask about your current family situation. That's when the usually so composed woman starts stuttering.

"Well, engaged. I guess. I mean, not yet, but in a way. Uh...fuck. Y/N?"

You glance at her, frowning. "Engaged? Where's the ring, then?"

Natasha looks at you. The panic in her eyes almost makes you laugh.

"Are you engaged or are you not?", the landlord asks. "It's fine if you aren't. Not that important, really."

"We're not", you say. "One day, though. Or so I hope."

"Yeah, yeah", Natasha says, still stressing. "One day."

A few more apartments you look at are enough to wear you out. You collapse onto the bed in your dorm, face buried in your pillow and one leg hanging over the edge. Natasha sits next to you and squeezes your butt, smiling.

"Hey", you mutter, voice muffled.

"Hey yourself", she teases. Her hand travels lower, tickling the inner part of your thighs. You squirm and she laughs quietly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Can't blame you for that, baby." She leans in, pressing a kiss to the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts. "Want me to order dinner?"

You glance at her, eyes lighting up with hope. "Pizza?"

"We said no junk food."

"You said no junk food."

"Think about the baby", she says, tugging at your shorts. "Mhm, you could take these off."

You snort and kick at her blindly. You manage to hit her in the ribs. She lets out a grunt and pinches your butt cheek. You roll over, one cheek reddened from the pillow, and give her a challenging look. "Ouch! Come on, I'm growing your kid. Least you can do is get me a pizza."

Her fingers trail up your spine. Before you know it, she's lying behind you with her front against your back. Pressed together from head to toe, not an inch of space separates you.

She kisses the back of your neck. Her hand rests on your stomach, rubbing gently. "You're right", she mumbles. "You've trapped me. Pizza it is."

The words trapped me make your cheeks go warm. You snuggle into her and ignore the guilt and satisfaction warring inside you. This is something she'll find out about one day. Maybe. But right now, you're too happy in your little bubble to make it pop.

"I want garlic bread, too."

"So demanding." She hums and dips her hand into the front of your shorts. Her bulge presses against your butt. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

You whine softly. With the pregnancy making your body overly sensitive, every little touch sends sparks of want through you. Heat pools in your lower belly and you shift, grinding against her. She hums, her fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. White lace is revealed, and she moans.

"Really hungry, actually", you mumble, squirming. "But I'm willing to wait."

"Thank god", she says, peppering your shoulder with kisses. "I was considering jerking off in the bathroom otherwise."

"Gross."

"Love you too."

Natasha somehow manages to place the order. It's difficult, though, especially when you roll over. One leg hooked over her waist, she whines and rocks her hips against yours pathetically. You laugh and then moan, feeling her hard-on nudge all the right spots.

You bury your face in her neck and place kisses until her entire neck is covered in lipstick. Finally, she tosses her phone aside. You both ignore the sound of your roommate's lamp crashing to the ground and instead focus on each other.

. . .

Natasha was never one to get easily distracted by an audience.

Now that there's a tiny viewer in the stands, though, that has changed.

Niko is barely old enough to stay awake for longer than two hours, but that doesn't mean he can't go to his mom's basketball games and watch. One hand wrapped around your finger and earmuffs that look way too big on him, he's undeniably the star of the stands.

You thought he'd be a tiny you. As it turned out, Natasha's genes are a little too stubborn for that. His eyes are still baby-blue, but the redness of his hair is unmistakable. Paired with the matching jersey he's sporting, you feel like you're carrying a much smaller version of her around.

You ignore the looks and the delighted whispers. As always, your focus is on Natasha. That's something that, even now that you have a baby, never changed. It's her game. She's the important one here.

You watch her dribble the ball as she scans the court. Focus unwavering, she dodges a defender and leaves them stunned. With one leap, she soars into the air and lets the ball swish through the net.

Not too long ago, you would've jumped up and cheered. But you don't want to jostle the baby too much, so you settle for clapping awkwardly while holding Niko in one arm.

Natasha turns, eyes glistening, and spots you in the crowd. You take Niko's hand and make him wave at her. Her smile only widens.

Minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Another victory.

Natasha comes rushing to the stands before anyone can even attempt to congratulate her. She helps you over the barricade, then takes off her jersey to hand it to you. The piece of fabric is swapped for the baby, who clings to her like a little koala.

"Did you see that?", she asks, breathless, and pats Niko's back when he starts fussing. "What a shot!"

You nod, laughing, and kiss her cheek. Sweaty as always. And, also as always, you don't find it in you to care.

"I did", you say, putting on her jersey. "Much better than in that first halftime, babe."

"Yeah?" She looks at the baby. He's still fussy, one hand grasping at her shoulder. "What about you, bud? You like it?"

"Didn't even cry once", you say, brushing your fingers over his tuft of hair. "Which is a miracle."

"It definitely is."

You linger by the barricade, talking and smiling, exchanging quick kisses. Natasha's teammates approach you to ask whether you want to go out and celebrate, but you decline. They leave, buzzing with joy, only for a few girls to introduce themselves to Natasha.

This time, all they get is a brief smile. She kisses Niko's cheek and leads you away from the court, away from the crowds, away from the noise.

"Not gonna stay and talk a bit more?", you tease. It's surprising, how much has changed. Her habit to flirt excessively seems to be gone. It's something you're thankful for — having to fight her about that was tiring.

Natasha shakes her head. You walk through a hallway, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and turn a corner. The locker room is empty when you enter it.

"Nah", she says, sitting down on a bench. She gently takes the earmuffs off Niko's head and watches him yawn. "I'd rather get home. He looks tired."

"He is, yeah."

"You're tired, too", she points out. You tilt your head and smile faintly.

"And here I thought I applied enough makeup."

"Don't worry, you're gorgeous. But you also look tired."

No point in denying that. Niko is merely four months old, and he's far from sleeping through the night. In addition, Natasha is unable to get up most nights, since practice and the games are demanding. She tries her best to juggle college, basketball, and an infant.

"Fine", you admit. "He kept me up all night. But I'm okay, I swear."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd look more put together, but you try applying lipstick while holding a squirming baby."

Natasha laughs and reaches up to take your hand. You're on her lap before you know it, nestled against Niko. She kisses your shoulder.

"You look put together", she assures you. "Tired, but put together."

You smile and lean into her. Her arm is strong around your waist, biceps swollen and veins popping, and you turn your head to kiss her cheek.

"All for you", you mumble. Then, you tap Niko's nose. "This' all for you, too."

"Oh, I know." Natasha nuzzles her face against your shoulder. "Lucky me. Lucky you. We're all lucky."

Lucky you, indeed.

[bvbydriver]

sheets and silence

pairing go hyuntak x f!reader

summary sharing a bed with your best friend hyuntak

warnings fluff, smaalll amount of angst

word count 1.6k

Being Hyuntak’s best friend since childhood definitely came with its ups and downs, more ups than downs, though. One of them was tagging along on a trip to Jeju-do with his friends. You had been on plenty of vacations with Hyuntak in the past, as your families were close. But this was the first time you two were going together without your families.

“Y/n! You wanna come to Jeju-do with us?” Hyuntak asked over lunch. “Baku’s been planning it for a while, and I thought you might wanna tag along.”

“Yeah, you should come, it’ll be super fun,” Baku replied from across the lunch table.

“When are you guys going?” you asked. 

“Just over the weekend. We’re leaving Friday and coming back Sunday,” said Baku. 

“I should be able to if I don’t have Taekwondo practice,”

“Yes!” Hyuntak said, high-fiving you. 

—

And so, Friday rolled around quicker than expected. You packed your clothes and met Hyuntak and his friends at the ferry station. The ride itself was smoother and shorter than you had expected. Of course, Baku kept bothering Sieun the entire ride, who, unsurprisingly, was studying on vacation. Who studies on vacation?

“Guys, I only booked two rooms for the five of us,” Baku said worriedly. “And I couldn’t change the booking after Hyuntak invited y/n.”

“Maybe they’re double beds?” you asked.

“We can check, but I think only one of the rooms had two beds.”

Hurriedly, Baku got the keys for the room, and to your surprise, there were two beds in only one of the rooms. 

“Oh…” you said.

“What should we do?” asked Hyuntak.

“Well, somebody’s gonna have to share a bed. And it’s not gonna be me,” Baku replied, looking around. 

“Why don’t y/n and Hyuntak take the single bed? You guys are practically dating anyway!” Juntae said excitedly.

“What?” you exclaimed. “First, we are not, and second, no way!”

“Yeah! Then I can take the other bed, and Juntae and Sieun can share a bed,” Baku replied.

“Guys, cmon…” Hyuntak said, tilting his head back.

The last time you ever shared a bed with Hyuntak was years ago, when you were both seven. But deep down, you didn’t dread it because you’ve liked him since middle school. You couldn’t do anything about it, though. He was your best friend, and it’d only ruin your decade-long friendship. 

—

You eventually settled into your rooms after dinner, folding your clothes and getting ready for bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, if you’re not going to bed soon,” Hyuntak said.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’ll be awake.”

He grabbed his clothes and walked to the bathroom, where you could hear him running the water and taking a shower. He came out, drying his hair with a towel, wearing a T-shirt and sweats. He took a seat in the chair next to the bed, and you couldn’t help but stare at his arms through his shirt. The sleeve of his shirt rode up the slightest bit every time he raised his arm to dry his hair, and you couldn’t peel your eyes away from it. 

“The bathroom’s free now if you wanna use it,” Hyuntak said. 

You were zoned out.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in your face. “Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I said the bathroom’s free if you wanna use it.”

“Oh.”

You got up, grabbed your things, and headed to the bathroom. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and tried your hardest to get those thoughts out of your head. It was so much harder now that you knew you had to share a bed with him for the next two days. 

It was already close to midnight, and you had been up with Hyuntak, showing each other things on your phones, laughing like you normally did as best friends. 

“It’s already midnight, I think Baku wants to do stuff early tomorrow,” Hyuntak said, looking at you.

“Damn it’s already midnight,” you said.

Hyuntak stood up to turn off the lights as you got under the covers of the bed. You lay close to the edge of the bed, as you felt the other side of the bed dip. You lay in silence for what felt like an eternity, neither of you moving a muscle, until Hyuntak broke the silence.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this weird?” “Is what weird?”

“That we’re sharing a bed.”

Your backs were turned to each other, but you felt him shifting on the other side. He had turned to face you. He tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around to face him under the covers.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whispered back. 

“It’s not weird, right?”

���No, it’s not.”

Your bodies were closer than before, and you could feel his legs next to yours. 

“Okay, good,” he said.

You closed your eyes, still facing each other, but you could still sense him looking at you under the covers, like he had something to tell you. But he stayed silent, and you two eventually fell asleep.

—

“Guys, wake up!” 

Baku woke the two of you up by banging on your door at seven in the morning. You opened your eyes to see Hyuntak right next to you. His arm was under you, your head and hand on his chest, and his other hand atop your hand on his chest. You two were cuddling each other. 

Immediately processing what was going on, you jolted up from your position, sitting on the edge of the bed with your back facing Hyuntak.

“Y/n?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was that close.”

“It’s okay.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. You eventually brushed it off and went to the bathroom to get ready. 

You felt awkward tension between Hyuntak all day, even with everyone else, and Baku was not helping the situation.

“So did you guys do anything weird last night?” Baku teased, raising his eyebrows.

Hyuntak smacked him behind his head.

“Ow! What was that for? I’m just joking around!”

The five of you ended up exploring Jeju-do, trying all kinds of food, and of course, the beach. The tension between Hyuntak felt better and not as bad as before, but you could tell he had something to say since last night. You caught him staring at you several times, looking away quickly, though you had already noticed. 

—

“Guys, I’m so tired,” Juntae said as the five of you walked back to the hotel.

“Get some rest, Juntae,” you said while smiling. “We can do more fun stuff tomorrow.” 

Everyone went back to their rooms, saying goodnight to each other. You and Hyuntak returned to your room, the last place where you two had actually talked to each other without it being awkward. Where the two of you were, without a doubt, best friends. 

“I’m gonna shower first, if that’s okay,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

You grabbed your things and headed to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for bed. When you came out, you expected Hyuntak to be there, waiting for you to finish so he could use the bathroom. But he wasn’t.

“Hyuntak?” you called out.

No response. 

So, worriedly, you got dressed and left your room to go look for him. Part of you felt guilty knowing he probably left because of what happened this morning. How you weren’t able to address the elephant in the room, and how you basically shut him out. You went outside and called his name several times before finding him sitting by the water. 

“Hyuntak,” you said softly. 

You sat next to him on the sand, listening to the crash of the waves. It was like this for a while, neither of you knowing what to say. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to make it weird or anything,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect to be so close.”

And again, the sound of the crashing waves was the only sound between you two. 

“Y/n…”

You turned to face him. 

“I was going to tell you last night…But I didn’t know what to say,” he started. “I just don’t want to ruin our friendship by saying this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, looking at his face.

“Ever since middle school, I don’t know…Maybe in 7th grade, it was like something changed. I viewed you in a different light. I mean, every time I watched you let your hair down, or saw you doing something you were passionate about, it changed. I started admiring you and liking you more than just my best friend. I’m in love with you.”

“Hyuntak…” you said while resting your hand on his face. 

You looked at his eyes, then flickered down to his lips. Without a doubt, you leaned in, closing the gap between you two. Pressing your lips against his, you felt him lean in as well. 

Pulling away, you smiled at him. “I’m in love with you, too.”

And again, he leaned in this time, closing the gap. This time, more comfortable and less raw. His hand moved to your neck, and this time the kiss lasted longer than the first. 

He smiled at you under the dark, his face only being lit by the moon. 

“I’m cold,” you whispered.

“Let’s go back.”

—

Though it was a short walk back to your room, you held Hyuntak’s hand the entire way, not letting go until you got to the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, with you standing between his legs and both hands resting on your hips. 

“You’re so pretty,” he said. 

You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his neck, engulfing him in a hug. He responded by wrapping his arms around your waist, and the two of you stayed like that for a while, holding each other close against one another.

a/n hiiiii this was very cliche using the typical bed sharing idea LOL i'm still setting my blog up but feel free to send requests!!!! i need ideas ~~

[dolcecherub]

only girl in the world ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

❀ pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

❀ tags: op81, dirty talk, nonchalant oscar lol, pining, smut, unprotected sex, miami gp, jealous oscar, start of relationship, mild usage of y/n, 18+

❀ yap: this is my first time writing for oscar as well as any f1 setting so lmk any feedback y’all have but i had so much fun writing this and i hope y’all like it!!

❀ very loosely based on the lyrics "I wanna make you beg for it Then I'ma make you swallow your pride," by Rihanna

❀ word count: 6.1k

The paddock was bustling with pre-sprint quali nerves and excitement, the Miami heat beating viciously. You sent a cheerful smile to Ollie, who walked past quickly, seemingly trying to get ready before he got in trouble. You let out an amused huff at the rookie’s antics and continued your way to the McLaren team area. Grabbing a stray biscuit from the various platters set up around the booth, you pulled your phone out from your pocket to check for any new messages or updates. Snacking on your biscuit, you wiped your hands on your jeans, making a mental note to respond to the few brand promotions that had come through.

It had been just over a year and a half since you had joined the McLaren team, aiding with PR and social media management. It was one hell of a journey, but you vividly remember your excitement after receiving the confirmation email that you had gotten the job for McLaren’s social media team. So many weeks of cup noodle dinners and managing marketing for smaller driving companies, but it had all been worth this exact moment. Basking in the sun before the Miami race weekend, working with people who were nothing but welcoming, frankly, it warmed your heart.

You felt an arm aggressively throw itself over your shoulders, causing you to jolt forward a bit in shock as you turned to see who it might be. Seeing Lando’s beaming smile staring down at you settled your nerves as you returned a grin. “Hi Lando, how was your week?’ You asked, placing a hand on his back in a friendly manner. You had grown quite close with both of the McLaren drivers, being able to have hours of laughter with Lando. Setting foot on the Formula 1 scene, similar to when Oscar had, allowed you two to grow close as well; however, he was far less touchy than Lando, less chatty, and less expressive. The more you thought about it, perhaps he didn’t actually like you as much as you thought.

You shook your head, ridding yourself of that thought, as Lando responded, “Not bad, y/n, excited for the weekend. Happy to be catching a tan,” He says with a laugh. You snorted, always shocked at how easily Lando managed to tan. It did wonders for him, not that he wasn’t already handsome, frankly, both the McLaren boys were. “I wish I could tan half as well as you do, imagine me all sun-kissed.” You joked, swishing your hair sarcastically as Lando laughed. “At least you’ve got a better tan going than Oscar, man's still as pale as he is in the winter,” Lando jokes, loudly enough that it catches Oscar’s attention from just around the corner of the booth. “Heard that mate, watch it!” Oscar yelled back before returning to his conversation with an engineer.

Oscar was wearing a simple pair of black shorts with the McLaren jersey clinging to his fit frame. His hair sat neatly and soft, freshly cut from what you could tell. His arms were crossed, brows furrowed from the sun as he conversed, nodding along every now and then with a small smile.

It was the first time you had seen him this weekend, and your breath hitched a little, something that became increasingly common as you saw in the last few months. You’re not quite sure when it began, presumably sometime at the end of the 2024 season. You recall the end of the 2024 season, although neither driver had won the championship, McLaren itself winning the Constructors’ Championship called for celebration. Watching calm and collected Oscar drunkenly ramble and giggle to Lando seemed endearing. His cheeks flushed at his intoxication and warmth in the air, hair tousled from trying to keep it out of his face. He looked beautiful, you thought, nursing a drink. You locked eyes with Oscar as he slung an arm around Lando, shooting you a winning smile, lopsided and sheepish as he winked. Since then, you’ve been a lost cause. Stealing glances at him around the paddock, cheering a little louder when he wins a race, feeling your heart speed up when he’s in high-stress situations. It needed to stop, this infatuation needed to be dealt with before it became too much. Of course, Oscar wasn’t interested like that. Just friendly.

You returned your attention to Lando and continued with light conversation before both the McLaren boys were swept away for pre-race interviews. You checked your wristwatch, seeing the clock push just over 4:00 as the drivers began making their way into their garages and putting on their suits. You chatted with another crew member moving towards the garages yourselves, as media teams bustled around the booths.

Your eyes landed yet again on Oscar, pulling on his black balaclava, biceps bulging as his race suit hung folded off his hips. You felt your heart speed up at the sight, his muscles rigid through his clothing. Your mind drifts to the thought of your nails scratching down Oscar’s back or grabbing his biceps as he hovers over you. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring till his eyes caught yours, dark and focused. You looked away quickly, cheeks surely flushing pink as you tried to resort to casual conversation elsewhere.

☆.｡.:*

Sprint qualifying was definitely one for the books. You felt quite happy for Kimi and were excited for the McLaren drivers following. The hour following sprint qualifying was filled with interviewers hounding Lando and Oscar while attempting to update the media for McLaren accounts themselves. Excitement flowed through you at the liveliness of the Miami weekend, and you had high hopes for the boys this weekend.

You heard your stomach growl loudly, departing with the team begrudgingly as another team member insisted they would be able to finish up any media engagement necessary. Walking back towards the hotel, you pulled out your phone, checking any notifications before mindlessly scrolling through stories.

Dinner was short and sweet, chowing down a hearty bowl of pasta and nursing a glass of red wine from a local restaurant neighbouring the hotel. The walk back was beautiful, lights lining the streets and palm trees as the warm breeze comforted your skin, salt in the air heightening your senses.

Entering the hotel lobby, you headed towards the elevator, brushing your fingers through your hair, detangling any knots. A ding notified you that you reached your floor. Walking out, you fumbled around in your bag for your key card, walking towards your room. You heard footsteps approaching and looked up, catching sight of Oscar leaving his room, conveniently next to yours. You flashed him a smile as he glanced at you, returning the grin. The distance between you two grew smaller as you spoke. “Congratulations today.” You said to him, pausing in front of your hotel room. “Thank you,” He said, voice low and appreciative. The air seemed tense as your nerves settled. You fumbled to regrab your key card before facing the door. “Hopefully tomorrow’s even better, I’m expecting it.” You joked, flashing a small grin as you grabbed the door handle, turning your head towards him. He smirked, letting out a small chuckle, and you felt a sense of accomplishment. “I’ll do my best for you, yeah?” He teased back, your heart speeding up at his tone. You swiped your key card, turning the handle and opening the door. “Goodnight, Oscar.” You spoke lightly, sparing him one last glance. “Goodnight, y/n.” He said, walking away towards the elevator.

Closing the door, you bit your lip, dropping your bag near the entrance. You shook your head. You couldn’t possibly be smitten by such a short interaction with a man who surely didn’t think twice about you. Grabbing a pair of pyjamas, you snuck in a quick shower, and prepared yourself for bed. Climbing into bed, you set an alarm for the morning before cozying up and drifting off to sleep with the smell of salty air.

☆.｡.:* sunday - race day ☆.｡.:*

Saturday had gone well for the team, the McLaren boys scoring a double podium on the Miami sprint. You remember cheering loudly, seeing Oscar send you a grin following his podium. You giggled at the subtlety of it and continued celebrating the extra points. Race qualifying had ended well for Lando and a little less exciting for Oscar, but still great overall, sending them both a thumbs up in passing as you were whisked away into posting and media management with the team.

Sunday was going well so far, pre-race nerves definitely settling into some drivers despite the excitement of Miami. Engagement was fantastic, better than it had been in months, at least you were doing your job right, you thought sarcastically. Clouds had begun moving in but you had hoped they would split and avoid any rain and dangerous conditions.

The race itself was nerve-wracking and exciting, watching Oscar overtake Max with such confidence was riveting. The cheers from the paddock were undeniably loud as Oscar and Lando finished the race with yet again a 1-2 double podium. The Miami weekend had been a wonder for the McLaren team, and the team was bound to want to celebrate the wins. Interviews ensued with posts making appearances from all teams and drivers. You let out an embarrassing snort watching Oscar attempt the griddy, fulfilling his promise to Justin Jefferson. You were certainly going to tease him about that later.

As the excitement settled, you heard chatter of the team deciding where and how to celebrate the double 1-2 podiums and points from the weekend. Leave Miami with a bang. You snuck away into a more secluded section of the paddock, sipping water as you scrolled your phone, needing some time away.

“Did I meet your expectations?” A familiar voice teased. You felt the presence behind you as you shivered slightly despite the warm air. You turned slightly, causing your body to lean into his. Sending a teasing smile back, you spoke, “I’d say so, Osc, congratulations, especially on the three in a row.” Although it began teasingly, you were sincere in your praise. His smile softened, eyes fluttering happily. “Thanks,‘ppreciate it.”

“Gonna come out and celebrate with us, hm?” You asked, hopeful, eyes running over his face as he looked at you. “Yeah, probably gonna jump in the shower first, but might as well celebrate such a good weekend in Miami.” He chuckled out, a low rumble that warmed your chest. “Perfect, I’ll see you out then.” You winked, gaining a surge of confidence before walking away back towards the larger team huddled up.

☆.｡.:*

You bent over the bathroom counter, bringing your face closer to the mirror. A brown lip liner steady in hand as you lined your lips. You had tugged on the singular party outfit you had brought for the weekend, a simple navy lace top paired with a denim mini skirt. You layered necklaces and bracelets to accessorize a bit while keeping the makeup a bit simpler, with smoky liner and a dark lip. You had left your hair as it naturally dried, touching it up a little with your fingers. Another one of the girls on the team had lent you a pair of black knee-high boots, claiming it would complement the outfit perfectly. You had to admit it made your thighs look killer. Applying a bit of gloss and spritzing perfume, you grabbed your essentials before heading out of the room.

The team had decided on a club just a few blocks away from the hotel, making transport quite easy. You laughed with the team, enjoying the relaxed vibe compared to the intensity of the weekend. The club was busier than you had expected, but you had immediately spotted Lando near the bar. Walking closer, you noticed Oscar nursing a drink next to him, laughing at a joke Lando had made.

Placing a hand on his back, you stood a little taller, loudly congratulating Lando on his podium with a smile. He smiles back and offers a shot, which you down quickly, noticing Oscar’s gaze run down your throat as you tip the drink back, eyes dark. Your body shuddered before requesting another shot. Downing that, you returned to a few of the other girls on the dance floor and joined in.

Drinks came and went as you continued dancing, your mind feeling fuzzier. The bass reverberates in your chest, grounding you slightly.

♪baby I’ma say your aura is incredible♪

♪if you don’t have to go, don’t♪

Hands brushed your waist as you pulled yourself closer to the body, feeling drawn to the warmth, mind fuzzy with need.

♪do you know what you started? I just came here to party♪

Pushing yourself back against the body, his hands grabbed your waist, slowly sliding further down towards your hips. You reached a hand up, grabbing his neck, back flush with his chest as your head lulled back a bit.

♪but now we’re rockin’ on the dance floor, actin’ naughty♪

♪your hands around my waist, just let the music play♪

Swaying your hips, you spun your body around, arms going up around his neck as his hands tightened on your hips, chests pressed flush together. For the first time, you can see the face of the man you’re dancing with. He was handsome, slightly taller than you, with blue eyes intent on your face as his blond hair dropped in strands over his forehead.

♪we’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face♪

You bite your lip as his eyes follow the movement, eyes alight with desire. You continue to dance with him as he leans his head down, mouth close to your ear. You glance over his shoulder, his chest incessantly pressing against yours, as your eyes lock with Oscar’s a few feet away. His expression is neutral, but you see his jaw tick as his eyes zero in on the man's hands. The man is whispering something to you, and your body shivers. Not from what he had said, but rather how Oscar was looking at you.

“...d’you say?” You heard the man ask, not quite catching the first part of his question. “Sorry?” You said, breathlessly, bringing your attention back to his face. “Really are drunk aren’t you babe,” He teased, your mouth souring at the nickname. “Asked if you wanted to leave this place.” He reiterated, his hand grabbing your ass as he smirked. You slid your hands off his shoulders and took a quick step back, stumbling slightly. Shaking your head, “No, I-I’m good, thanks.” You hiccuped out, he rolled his eyes, hands pushing you off, suddenly offended at your reaction. Clicking his teeth with his tongue, he walked away towards the bar. You felt a sense of relief at his reaction, grateful it wasn’t worse.

Your eyes followed him, noticing a lack of Oscar near the bar. You scanned the club, trying to find him and failing. You took a breath, your head feeling dizzy from the drinks, as you decided it was probably time to head back to the hotel. Leaving the club, the fresh air did well to steady the fuzziness a little as you stumbled back towards the hotel.

You rummaged through your bag for your key card as you rode the elevator. Reaching your door, you swiped the key card and tried turning the handle. A red flash appeared, signalling you to try again, and so you did. Again, the handle refused to turn. Frustratedly, you tried again, swiping the key card slowly before jiggling the handle angrily. Your toes slightly hurt from the boots, your mind still a bit blurry, but far more sober than before. You let out an annoyed huff as the door swung open. You took a step back, eyes widening, your head whipped to the next door, and you read the number, realizing you had been trying to open the wrong door. Your head turned back to the person who opened the door.

Of course. It was comedic, really.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice low and seemingly tired. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I-,” You stuttered, cheeks flushing a bit in embarrassment as his arms crossed over his chest. “Congratulations today, you were incredible out there.” You spoke truthfully, unsure of what to say.

“Like you actually care,” He scoffed, grabbing the handle to the door. Your brows furrowed at his words. What was he talking about? “Seemed quite busy celebrating my win.” He said sourly. “What are you talking about?” You asked, confused.

“Surprised he didn’t come home with you.” Pondering for a second before it clicked. He was talking about the guy from the club, “We were dancing.” You laughed out, smiling. “You were all over him, enjoying yourself.” Oscar’s expression was stone-cold. “And you looked like a child sulking in the corner.” You snapped, “So I guess we both saw what we wanted.”

That hit, jaw clenching as he looked away. You took a step forward. “Why do you care who I spend my time with? You can’t spend all season avoiding me and acting like I don’t exist, and then get jealous over me. Who do you think you are?” You snapped, cheeks flushing with anger.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling. You kept going, your thoughts spewing out at a mile a minute. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you all season, I’ve tried to get along with you, and you look like you want nothing to do with me. So what!? You basically avoid me all season til some guy puts his hands on me an-”

“Fuck’s sake, I like you!” Oscar exclaimed exasperatedly, interrupting your tangent. It was like a bucket of ice water showering your body. Your mouth shut quickly, opening again to say something, but no words formed.

“I- fuck, forget it. You’re drunk.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the already messy locks.

“I’m not, not like I was.” You emphasized.

“Go back to your room y/n,” Oscar spoke sternly, looking away.

“Did you mean it?” You asked, your voice quiet compared to your outburst. He stayed silent, eyes scanning your face as your heart dropped to your stomach. You bit your lip nervously, his eyes following the movement wantonly.

You took a breath, lowering your gaze. “Either you tell me you meant it and say it again, or I leave and we never have to talk about this again.” You posed, his eyes locking in on your eyes.

His silence is your answer. You turn to walk next door, chest aching.

It all happens quite fast.

Oscar grabs your wrist, pulling you back as he steps forward, his lips landing on yours. You freeze up for a second as his lips move. Dropping your purse, you stand a bit taller, wrapping your arms around his neck, reciprocating the fervour of his kiss. His arms snake around your waist, leaning into the kiss as if he’s been starved. His teeth nibble your bottom lip before his tongue pokes out, running over your bottom lip, soothing the bite.

You pull back from the kiss, letting out a sigh, his face still close to yours. His cheeks are flushed as he catches his breath, leaning his forehead on yours and closing his eyes. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Osc…” You whispered, his arms pulling you impossibly closer as if you'd disappear.

“I’ve liked you since my first grand prix win, when you yelled louder than anyone on the team and raced around the paddock congratulating and thanking everyone.” Your breath hitched, the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix, which was months ago. He ran his tongue over his lips, eyes opening to catch yours.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked breathlessly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment.

“What could I have said? you’re on the team I didn’t wanna ruin anything, and surely you’re going to regret this in the morning so actually I’ve just fucked everything.” He rambled. Your heart leapt, his usual calm and collected demeanour replaced by one of vulnerability. Your heart ached with excitement.

“So you were avoidant and acted like a dick because you liked me?” You laughed out, finding the mere circumstance of it outrageous. He nodded solemnly, “You’re such a boy!” You teased, turning around and shutting the door to the hotel room with a slight slam. His arms tightened subconsciously.

“I’m not going anywhere, Osc, I promise.” You placed a light kiss on his cheek before bringing your mouth close to his ear. “I like you too, you know.” You whispered.

Leaning back, you looked at him, “I’ve thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”

You can see him smirk, finding pride in your confession as your body pressed against his. Although he’s smirking, he still seems shy, “Yeah?”

You nod, biting your lip before placing your lips back on his, missing the feeling. He kisses back with hunger, one hand coming up to cup your face and the other squeezing your hip. You reach a hand up from his shoulders into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently as he groans. His thumb reaches slightly, pulling your chin, your lips parting to allow his tongue to slide against yours. You let out a whimper at the action, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp. His hand slid up your waist, breaching the edge of your top and grabbing you closer.

His lips trailed down, kissing your jaw and down towards your neck, suckling lightly and nibbling while soothing the sting with his tongue, placing a kiss on the mark. He scraped his teeth along your neck, placing soft kisses, his breath heavy as you let out a whine. You toed off the painful boots, pushing them to the side as you lost a few inches in height. Oscar looked at you, lips red and bitten, your eyes were blown out from desire as you tugged his shirt.

“Fuck, y/n. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted you like this.” He groaned into your neck. “If we do this, that’s that, I’m not letting you go.”

“Let me be yours, Oscar.” You spoke, tugging at his hair.

It was as if a switch had flipped inside of him, and any restraint he had completely vanished. Pulling back, he nudged your body towards the bed, getting the hint, you walked towards the bed. Oscar walked the other way, much to your dismay, locking the door and bringing your purse closer to the nightstand. The gesture warming your heart despite the frown on your face.

“I’m coming, baby,” He reassured, walking closer and pushing you back onto the bed as you got comfy.

“Not yet,” You joked, giggling as he let out a chuckle.

Oscar hovered over you, hands beside your head, propping himself up, scanning your face, he placed a delicate kiss on your lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Your heart sped up at the compliment, cheeks surely redder than ever before. Your hands reached up to grab his face, one reaching around his neck to pull him closer. He sprinkled light kisses all over your face and a few more on your lips as you giggled, Oscar’s smile wide.

“I hated seeing his hands on you. I wanted to punch him for even looking at you, but how could I blame him? Look at you.” He confessed, eyes roaming over your body, bare thighs suddenly feeling very exposed.

You pulled Oscar down, placing your lips back onto his with a slow intensity far different from before. He licked into your mouth, tongues tangling together with hunger. Want filled your body as your hand wandered over the expanse of his chest, the other tugging his hair, his teeth tugging your lip. Your hand reached the edge of his shirt, pushing it up and feeling his abs as you whimpered. Oscar detaches himself, sitting up a little to throw off his shirt, grabbing the edges and pulling it up over his head before dropping it somewhere off the bed. Leaning back down, his hand slid across your waist, gripping your hip, your hands sliding across his chest and back up into his hair.

His lips crashed onto yours, hot and hungry, tongues sliding together. Tugging his hair, you lifted a leg onto his hip, pulling his body closer to yours.

Oscar groaned when you tugged on his hair, his body responding immediately, his hips involuntarily grinding into yours.

He groaned again, the sound low and primal as he felt you whimper against his lips. He wanted to make you squirm and whine like that all night long, he wanted to hear the noises you could make for him. He pulled back from the kiss only to move down to your neck, his lips and teeth nipping your skin, his breath hot against you.

His hand reached towards the button of your denim skirt, tongue still licking over yours. “May I?”

“Please,” You whimpered. Unbuttoning your skirt, he slides it off your legs smoothly, running his hands gently back up your thighs before squeezing, leaning back down to kiss you.

His lips roamed down, hands sliding up the edge of your lace top, pushing it up. You leaned your head back as his tongue suckled another mark onto your collarbone. Your skin felt hot, fire blazing wherever his lips trailed as he peered up at you hungrily. Your hand tangling into his hair, tugging wantingly as he groans against your neck.

He grabs the edges of your shirt, pulling it up and off your body, tossing it to the side carelessly as his mouth eagerly lands on the swell of your breast. His mouth lingers, leaving marks scattered across your top half, his teeth grazing your body teasingly. “Oscar.” You whimpered, breathless as his hand grabbed the cup of your bra, tugging it down, mouth latching onto your nipple. Tongue flicking and swirling teasingly as you writhe, his other hand gripping onto your hips harshly. You let out a moan, back arching as his teeth graze your nipple, tongue soothing the slight sting. Oscar’s hand slides up your hip, past your ribs, towards your back, reaching for the clasp. In one single motion, his fingers flick the clasp open, tugging the straps off your arms and entirely off your body.

“Greedy.” You whispered, Oscar chuckled darkly, his finger brushing over your nipples as you moaned. You can feel his bulge pressed against your thigh, hips grinding into you. Your hands trailed down his body, hand rubbing against his length, Oscar groaning at the contact. Unbuttoning his shorts, you try to push them, fumbling as his mouth continues to roam your body. Placing a gentle kiss on your breast, he stands up, sliding his shorts off the rest of the way before repositioning himself on top of you, lips placing a delicate kiss on your navel.

Oscar’s hands grab your thighs, pushing them apart, placing fluttering kisses on your thigh as you squirm. “You drive me crazy,” he mumbles, leaving sloppy kisses toward your core. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, dark and hungry as he places a wet kiss on your clit over your panties, blushing at how soaked through you are. His hand holds your thigh open, thumb rubbing over your wet heat lightly, making you whimper.

He pushes your panties aside, holding them tight as he licked along your slit. “Hold these to the side for me, baby,” Oscar instructed, voice husky as your hand reached down to hold them aside. His hands left marks at how tightly they were gripping you, your back arching to try and get more of his mouth, you can feel him smirk between your thighs as he places a kiss to your clit and suckling it as you moan. His tongue swirls around, tasting you feverishly.

His fingers slide up, teasing your hole as his tongue teases your pussy, your head spinning at the sensations. “Oscar, please…” You whimpered, hand reaching into his hair and tugging. Oscar slides a finger in, his tongue lapping at you as you whine, loving the stretch of his fingers. He can’t help but grind his throbbing cock into the mattress to relieve the ache, watching you fall apart because of him. He pumps his finger slowly, tongue flicking your clit as you writhe, his groans vibrating into you.

“Can you take another darling?” Oscar asks, checking you’re okay before continuing. Nodding wildly, you beg breathlessly, “Please.” You moan, looking down at him. He slips in another finger, pumping slowly, his tongue lapping greedily around your hole, his nose effectively nuzzling your clit, making your head spin.

“Fuck,” You whine out, a knot building in your stomach, his fingers pumping faster. “Osc-Oscar I’m gonna cum,” You whimper out, feeling yourself nearly come apart. Almost as soon as you said it, his fingers stopped, tongue delivering one last lick. You whined as he pulled away, missing the stretch of his fingers. Your hand slips out of his hair, your body shaking, his eyes running over your body admiringly.

“You taste so good, sweet girl,” He murmurs between kisses, trailing back up your body, finally reaching your lips. He kisses you slowly, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as you clench around nothing. His tongue slides across yours, his cock pressing into your thigh, throbbing.

You trail a hand down his body, scratching lightly before your fingers edge into his boxers, feeling his length. He grabs your legs, pushing them together and sliding your panties off your legs, tossing them aside before doing the same with his boxers, before climbing back on top of you and placing himself between your thighs. You shiver at his hands sliding across your body, one hand tweaking your nipple as your eyes fall to his length. Oscar watches you bite your lip, eyeing his cock wantingly. He was big, and your heart sped up, a little nervous.

His hand slips up, wrapping itself around your throat, forcing you to look back up at him, “You can take it, baby, for me, yeah?” Wanting to make him feel good, you nod, your body filled with desire.

Kissing you once, he smiles down at you, admiring your flushed face and glassy eyes. He grabs his length, pumping himself a few times, spreading his pre-cum down his length. He slides himself between your folds teasingly, coating himself in your wetness as you whimper. He lets go of your throat, placing his hand next to your head and leaning over you as he begins sliding in. Your hand grabs his bicep, the other brushing your breast and teasing it as Oscar fucks in his tip. You throw your leg over his hip, pushing him forward, silently asking for more. He slides in further, a delicious stretch, his eyes following the motion as your pussy wraps around him perfectly.

“You’re so fucking tight,” He groans, head dropping to your shoulder as he slides in to the hilt, hips flush with yours. You slide your hands to his back, nails digging into his back as he pulls out almost completely before sliding back in slowly.

You whimper at the drag, loving how well he fills you. “You take me so well baby, look at you, fuck.” He groans, lips trailing your neck sloppily. His hips speed up, the sound of skin slapping becoming louder as you moan. “Like this pussy was made for me,” Your mind dizzied at how he was talking to you. His hand reached down, thumb rubbing across your clit as he fucked you. His teeth grazed your collarbone, hands gripping your hips, pulling your body into his. He straightens up, fingers digging into your hips as he rhythmically fucks into you before slowly dragging himself out, you whine at the loss.

He grabs his length, slapping his length onto your clit, fucking only his tip into you, lightly teasing you. You whine at his teasing, needing more. “Oscar, please…” You whimper, clenching around him every time he slips in. He savoured the way you begged for him, “Sweet girl, c’mon, beg for it then.” He spoke darkly, revelling in your neediness.

“F-fuck off, you’re playing games, Osc, just keep g-going.” You whined, trying to maintain a sense of pride as he slowly fucked you, teasing drags in and out. “I could stop right now, darling, and you could sort yourself out,” He threatened teasingly, nearly sliding out completely. Your mind went fuzzy with need, swallowing your pride as his lips suckled yet another mark onto your tits. “Please Oscar, fuck I-I please, I need it.” With that, his hips sped up, fucking into you like he craved it.

“Yes fuck oh my god,” You moaned out, pussy clenching around him as he groaned. The sound of wet skin slapping against each other fills the room, feeling naughty. You felt a knot form in your stomach as his tip hit a spot inside of you, making your body convulse. “Fuck right there!” You moaned loudly, his lips falling onto yours to swallow your moans as he continued. “Shit Osc I’m so close, please,” you begged, asking him for release.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me sweet girl? Look so good like this, your pussy was made for me darling,” Oscar teased, his words making your body flush. Your stomach tightened, clenching around him as his thumb teasingly rubs your clit. His hips continued fucking into you as you came, your body clenching around him nearly blacking out. “That’s it baby, fuck.” His hips faltered a little, feeling you fall apart for him, his cock throbbed, close to his own orgasm as well.

“Gonna make me cum sweetheart? Gonna let me fill up that sweet pussy? C’mon baby,” He groaned loudly, your body overstimulated and tears brimming your eyes, but craving to make him feel good. You knowingly tighten around him as his abs clench, “Please, Osc, give it to me,” You begged, wanting to feel him. Scratching his back, Oscar’s hips stutter as he lets go, groaning as he fills you up, forehead falling to yours. “Fuck y/n… you’re everything., letting me use that sweet little pussy.”

You smile slightly at his words, head dizzy from your release and feeling him fill you up so intimately. He pulls out gently, placing a sweet kiss on your lips, “Sweet girl,” he murmured, slipping out as he watches his cum drip out of your hole in a filthy manner. He grabs your thighs, holding them open, savouring the sight as you flush with embarrassment.

“Fucking hell, never gonna get sick of this,” He groaned, your heart fluttering at the insinuation of staying with him. “I’m gonna grab a cloth, okay, sweetheart?” He reassured, squeezing your thigh gently before getting up and walking to the washroom, grabbing a small towel and wetting it to clean you both up.

As he came back, his eyes landed on your actions, hand between your thighs as you pushed his release back into you before popping your fingers into your mouth, tasting him and whimpering. His eyes darkened, hand grabbing your thighs to clean between them before cleaning himself up as well. “You’re insane,” he teased, tossing the towel alongside his other dirty laundry.

Grabbing the blanket, he pushes it up onto your body before sliding in beside you, arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling your body closer. You slide a leg up onto his hip, looking at him, suddenly feeling fairly shy.

“You okay?” Oscar asks genuinely. You nod, kissing him lightly, his lips chasing yours for more as you pull away. Your hands lay flat on his chest, and he kisses your face, making you giggle.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about all of this,” He confesses, eyes sparkling in delight.

“Did I meet your expectations?” You teased, reciting what you had said to him after the race. He chuckled at your antics, “Yeah, more than I could’ve ever imagined.” He took a breath before continuing, “and now I get to have you like this always,” He says hesitantly, unsure of your response.

You smile at him lovingly, “Yeah, Osc, I’m here to stay. All yours,” You murmur, heart fluttering at the way he’s looking at you.

“Perfect, don’t think I could take any more time without you,” He confesses quietly, “You’re perfect, only girl that matters.” He compliments, smiling bigger than you have ever seen him.

“You’re cute,” You giggled, hands sliding to play with his hair as his eyes shut, feeling content.

Perhaps everything did work out the way it was meant to.

[inkskinned]

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Octavian, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, wrist massage, wrist pain, slightly infantilizing behavior

WORD COUNT: 983

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a commission! Thank you to the commissioner! I enjoyed writing this! <3

Almost immediately does Octavian notice something off about you; you wince when picking things up, you rub your own wrists a lot. When he questions you about this, however, you seem adamant that everything is fine and there isn't an issue that needs addressing. This response alone raises every alarm inside of his head.

Of course, he doesn't allow this behavior to continue for very long at all, giving you time to maybe come to him and finally say something. But you don't, and his concern for you begins to overwhelm any sort of patience he has left in him.

His last straw is when he sees you rubbing at your wrists and groaning to yourself while doing so. That sound- such a pained expression makes him wince as though the pain had been inflicted upon him instead of you.

No longer is it acceptable for you to be dealing with this alone.

"Why haven't you said anything?" he demands quietly, the tension evident within his tone. There's anger and frustration, but it's not aimed towards you; rather, it's aimed at your suffering. "I thought you'd come to me if you're in pain, but I'm tired of just watching you suffer. Tell me what's wrong, (Y/n)."

It's very rare for him to pull out the stern voice, the parental one that leaves no room for disagreement or argument.

You go silent, unsure what to say.

He takes your hands into his, gently as if you're made of fragile glass. You don't pull away when he lifts up your sleeves, like he's expecting to see something horrific, only to see nothing.

Octavian softly squeezes your wrists, clicking his tongue when realizing the issue: they're swollen. He could feel it by applying only the slightest amount of pressure.

"What have you been doing?" Octavian murmurs. He takes off his gloves and gently touches where he squeezed moments earlier. His fingers are cold, yet it's soothing.

"Copies of scrolls," you murmur with a shrug. "Lots of them, lately."

"You know better than that."

"I can handle it..."

Your words earn a sigh from him as he stands. As he disappears upstairs for a brief moment, you fiddle around with some papers, feeling a bit nervous. This must've been the longest you've gone without telling him about any discomfort. Not like you can go long, he usually notices right away.

"Give me your hands," Octavian says after a few minutes, reappearing with a bottle of something you don't recognize and a bowl.

"...what for?" you ask, drawing your hands towards your chest defensively.

"I promise, I'm not hungry for hands," he chuckles softly. "Just let your Papa take care of you?" He holds one of his own hands out towards you, palm up.

Your gaze shifts to his open palm before you relent and slowly reach out both of your hands, earning a pleased hum from the older vampire who then takes the bowl, sitting in front of you.

Octavian pours the bottle over the water that's already inside of the bowl, swirling it around so that the contents mix thoroughly.

"What's that?" you ask.

"A balm that works wonders for your poor wrist." The mixture smells herbal, almost minty but stronger than that. Not too strong to become overwhelming, but it's definitely potent. "I've been alive long enough to make quite a few handy recipes like this one. When I was still human, I had a lot of bad chronic pain in my wrists."

"And that went away with being a vampire?"

He shakes his head. "Sadly not, but I did develop a good way to alleviate the pain whenever it flares up, so it's much more manageable. The super strength that comes with being a vampire did also do wonders too, even if it didn't necessarily cure it."

Gently does Octavian hold your hand in his while the other dips into the cool water, just warm enough for comfort, and slowly swirls around. The mixture itself gives a slight tingling sensation at first touch, cooling further.

Octavian is silent while he repeats this process on your other hand, looking pensive while he massages them. You notice that, despite the intensity in his expression, his movements remain as delicate as ever; he rubs and rolls your joints ever so gently while holding your palm between both of his hands, making sure that every part of your hands and wrists receive thorough care.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asks after several quiet minutes of the massage. When he looks up at you, you see pain in his eyes.

It almost makes you feel guilty.

You shrug. "I'm not a baby, feels weird if I go whining to you about something this small."

"But you are my baby," Octavian responds firmly. "And I'd prefer to know these things so I can help you, whether its a paper cut, or a broken bone." He pauses. "Extra emphasis on a broken bone, though."

He smiles warmly, watching how you return his smile before turning back towards his work. By now the numbing has begun, taking full effect to leave only a weak, tingling sensation in your hand and wrist.

For a few more minutes he continues massaging your wrists, kneading the skin carefully until he feels that they're both satisfied. He pulls out a roll of bandages, carefully wrapping one around your wrist until the end is secured with a clip.

"Aaaaand there we go," he coos, kissing the top of your hand. "Better?"

"Much better..." you murmur with a nod, smiling. "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me, sweetheart. Just promise you'll come to me next time, okay?"

"Okay," you hum. "I promise."

"Good. Oh, and you're taking a break from writing." You open your mouth to argue, but he wags a finger in front of you. "Ah-ah! No arguing, Papa knows best."

[hallelujahmeatgod]

Arranged Marriage, but make it Deadpan Overachievers

Soooo imagine this:

Sylus and the fem!Y/N are like a pair of second-eldest-only-children who treat emotions the way you'd treat a low-priority email: acknowledged, brushed off, and filed away. They're both high-functioning overachievers with no patience for romance, drama, or anything that doesn’t come with a deadline and neatly color-coded tags.

So when their parents drop the “We’re arranging your marriage” bomb, neither even blinks.

Y/N, in the middle of three deadlines and a dangerously full coffee cup, just nods. “With whom?” she asks flatly, not even looking up from her computer screen. Her assistant, already overworked, now has a new task titled ‘Background Check: Sylus. Blood type optional. Tax records preferred.’

Meanwhile, Sylus gets handed a “family photo” that’s actually MC’s LinkedIn profile. He stares. “That’s her? Cute. And she did that project? Since when are arranged marriages a win? K-dramas lied to me. Arrange me harder, Pops.”

Emotions? Who has the bandwidth. Flustered? For what. Their first meeting is peak corporate courtship:

Y/N: “Hi. I read your company’s last quarterly report. Nice cost-cutting strategy.”

Sylus: “Thanks. I liked your thesis. Wanna split a Google Calendar?”

To everyone’s horror, they become that couple. The annoyingly in-sync duo who treat romantic gestures like they’re fiscal strategies. Love language? Spreadsheets with consistent formatting.

Sylus straight up restructures his entire workflow to mirror his wife's. Templates? If they’re not in her style, he physically cannot process them. Reports? If they’re not written like hers, suddenly he forgets how to read. Schedules? If they’re not plotted like she does, he swears time itself becomes an illusion, and he will miss everything.

People expected passion or tension or at least some drama.

Instead, they got a power duo that accidentally soft-launched their love story through synced schedules, iced coffee deliveries, and the occasional “Drink this or suffer.”

They’re still burnt out. Still sleep-deprived. Still running on ambition and spite. But now? There’s late-night takeout, quiet laughter, and Sylus’s off-key humming while cooking eggs.

Marriage wasn’t a plot twist—it was a peaceful pact sealed over shared Google Docs and matching time-blocks. And somehow, without realizing it, it turned into home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm currently writing a fic based on this, ya'll! Stay tuned mehehhehehe <3 Hope you like this idea as much as I dooooo~

Let me know your thoughts??

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents (2)

in which there are many incidents where people forget you are the wife of one Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Singular Usage of Y/N, Mentions of Racism/Segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Death, Reader flirts with a woman jokingly but is otherwise of unspecified sexuality, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: whipped for his wife!bucky, not a John Walker friendly fic, some angst, comedy, angst with fluff, not good at tagging xo Riga, Latvia

Approaching the “safe” house that Zemo had apparently owned did little to settle your nerves regarding the entire situation. Madripoor had gone to shit, and fast, and you could not believe that they had convinced Bucky that it was a good idea to become the Soldat again.

Whole lot that did.

The two men walking in front of you knew better than to try and rope you into their conversation, though it seemed that Zemo was doing a lot of the talking. Bucky simply walked alongside you, slowing his gait to match yours as you let the events of the past twenty-four hours stew in your head. He had even wrapped his warm blooded arm around your waist, but you refused to lean into his touch–instead, you crossed your arms as you walked. 

There wasn’t much that could’ve taken you out of your current state. 

Sensing vibrational pulses that were abnormal for the surrounding climate, would.

Your pace had slowed even further as you looked around for the source of where the waves were coming from. Bucky’s arm tensed around you, as if he had also sensed what you were searching for.

“–of course not, why would you? We are here.” Zemo announced, promptly stopping in front of a door.

“We’ll meet back here. I need to talk to her alone,” Bucky blurted out, pinning you with a look that said trust me. You nearly rolled your eyes instinctively at how this man was an assassin for so long, yet couldn’t even come up with a convincing enough lie in the moment. It was no wonder why Hydra had you as the espionage asset and kept him behind the scope of a sniper.

Sam’s brows furrowed as he watched the interaction. “Y’all good?” He asked, his eyes darting back and forth between your figures.

“Yeah. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Sam gave you both one last suspicious look before walking into the building. You stood watch as Bucky leant down to pick up what you instantly recognized as a Kimoyo Bead. Hissing between your teeth, you ran a hand down your face; you were in for it now…

Bucky stood back up and turned, seeing you with an open and outstretched hand. He winced as he dropped it into your palm, already sensing the headache building on the forefront of his wife’s head. You snatched the bead up, beginning to massage your temple.

“Sweetheart–”

“Save it, James.”

You had already begun walking towards where you felt the next bead’s pulse, following it like a breadcrumb trail. His jaw quickly snapped shut and he nodded, at least having the wherewithal to look a little guilty.

— — —

You found yourselves in between what seemed to be an alleyway. The walls of the buildings on either side were peeling–and an eyesore yellow color to boot. The street itself, however, was immaculately clean. 

Truly, the alleys of New York could never. You half expected a rat the size of Bucky’s forearm to skitter across any second. The edges of your lips quirked up as you remembered when you both found out just how big the rats had mutated to over the decades. Time and a place, you reminded yourself.

“You dropped something,” Bucky called out, clearly trying to rouse whichever Wakandan had led you here. Something told you that you both had an idea on exactly who. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

You quickly turned around, coming face to face with Ayo.

The grin that creeped along your face was inescapable.

“Ayo, you finally came to visit me?” You purred, sauntering up to the Dora Milaje warrior. While she had meant to be all intimidating and serious business, the minute her eyes went from Bucky to you, there was a noticeable glimmer that came over her. You had pressed your cheeks to hers on both sides, making faux kisses in greeting. While it wasn’t one that was customary in Wakandan culture, you felt it appropriate to greet your friend.

You took a glance back at Bucky, where his eye twitched and his jaw ticked–a sign you knew meant that he was grinding his teeth.

The Wakandan warrior curled a hand under your chin, which made you let out a pleased hum in response. Her eyes quickly darted back towards your husband, and narrowed back into the expression that anyone knew meant that she wasn’t going to ask twice.

“I am here for Zemo.” She said in Xhosa, her grip on you leaving as she approached your husband. “How could you free him?”

“We need his help,” he answered plainly, and you sighed. You knew that you did need the man, but that didn’t make him less of a stain upon the earth.

Ayo had begun to prowl around the ex-assassin, chastising him. “With time, will, and the resources, the Winter Soldier programming was removed from you like a rotten fur.”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for everything you and Shuri have done–”

“Zemo murdered our King T’Chaka at the U.N. The man who chose us–” she paused, glancing down for a second before correcting herself, “who chose me to protect him.”

“I understand–”

“Very little, if anything, of our loss and our shame.”

You watched Bucky search for the words–any words, really–to respond to Ayo in a way that justified what he had done. You truthfully couldn’t find them either. It had not been you who had freed the psychopath, but…were you not one in your own right, after what you did?

You held your tongue, but it did not feel good. You swore a vow–in sickness, and in health. You trusted your husband’s decisions, even if you didn’t agree wholeheartedly with them. You would figure it out. Together.

“He’s a means to an end.”

Hearing him speak the language of the country you both had betrayed broke your glass heart into aching shards. It reminded you of your days together in the peaceful land. You had taken quickly to the people and your small community, even volunteering to assist in the childcare of the tribe. They had been weary to allow an outsider to do so, but the king’s trust in you was not taken lightly.

“Eight hours, White Wolf. Then, we come for him.”

She had held her palm open for Bucky to place the beads in, but you were quick to approach and place them in his stead. Her other hand gently enclosed over yours before you could pull away.

“Aneeka and I miss you terribly, Little Lamb.” Ayo smiled, her eyes softening as she gazed into your own. 

You couldn’t help but pout at that, sighing in defeat.

“You know I am a faithful woman, Ayo–”

“Please stop flirting with my wife.”

“I know, Little Lamb. But, if you ever change your mind…” She gave a chuckle and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows as she began to walk away. You suddenly felt like the sun was sweltering as she winked back at you, and you bit your lower lip in return.

Bucky growled, grabbing you by your hips and pressing your backside to his front. You gasped as he bit down into the crook of your neck, effectively marking you in front of the other woman.

Hence, the name White Wolf.

– – –

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

You quirked an eyebrow at your husband as he shed his jacket on his way to the cabinets, giving his figure a once over. He caught your look as he glanced back to offer you a glass, but you shamelessly kept gazing. It was a shame you couldn’t see the angry red blush that was surely creeping along his chest as his head snapped back towards pouring a drink, almost hitting against the open cabinet door.

“You don’t say,” Sam snorted, looking back down at his phone.

“Well, I know crazy when I see one–”

“I’d be very careful with how you finish that sentence, dear.”

“–because I am crazy.”

“Nice save,” you smirked.

“Can’t argue with that.”

You plucked the decanter from Bucky’s hand, holding his right hand in your own, forcing him to pick up the glass with his metal one. He squeezed it gently as he took a sip of the whiskey, going on to argue about the shield once more with Sam.

His thumb rubbed circles into your skin, not even flinching as the door was slammed open by none other than John Walker himself. He simply sighed and made to grab the decanter again, and you knew he wished for nothing more than to regain the ability to get drunk in this moment. You shooed his hand away from the alcohol, taking a swig straight from the glass bottle when he turned his back towards you to look over at Walker.

Next thing you knew, a vibranium spear was embedded into the wall inches from Walker’s face.

You gave a low whistle, knowing that it had been a warning; the Dora Milaje don’t just miss. You smiled and gave a wave to the now weaponless warrior who had appeared. She gave an enthusiastic wave back upon recognizing you.

Bucky scowled and grabbed your hand, stopping you from distracting the ladies joining in on the fun.

He shamefully looked down as Ayo began to speak, knowing she was addressing him specifically.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.”

You tilted his chin up to look at you. The gray in his eyes always seemed to become more prominent when he was thinking negatively like this. He leaned into your touch near imperceptibly, very much aware of the situation in the room.

“Release him to us now.”

Your head snapped towards Ayo once Walker started addressing her. “Well, let’s put down the pointy sticks–”

Your husband was born during segregation and you don’t think even he would voice such a microaggression.

“...you might wanna fight Bucky and (y/n) before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” you heard Sam say, only half paying attention to the conversation.

You watched in abject horror as John Walker went to touch Ayo. “Walker, don’t–”

The grimace that spread as you watched her lay Walker out on his ass was almost sympathetic. You were mostly just uninterested in being involved in the death of the newly appointed Captain America.

“We should do something.” Sam pointed out to you and Bucky.

The latter of which simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him, smirking like he was watching a cage match where his bet was winning.

“Lookin’ strong, John!” Bucky cheered sarcastically, making you snort.

“Bucky.” Sam hissed, looking to you as if he was asking you for help.

“You’ll land a hit eventually, Walker!” You added, looking Sam dead in the eyes.

You both begrudgingly conceded to stopping your affair-in-waiting-should-Bucky-fuck-up.

Watching your husband’s metal arm fall off his torso had startled you as much as it did him. You looked to Ayo, mouth agape, as she condemned him. The betrayal in his eyes as you locked gazes with him was nothing short of visceral. You quickly rushed over to pick up the fallen limb, helping him reattach it. His daze didn’t last very long; he never was one to allow himself to think instead of running on instinct alone.

“Buck, look at me.” His face locked back into an impassive expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to you. “I’m with you. ‘Till death do us part, remember?”

I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal. xo likes, reposts, comments appreciated <3 taglist: @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @mizz-kraziii @rafesgurl

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 17

Y/N stood on the balcony, the early dawn breeze tugging gently at her hair. Beside her, Jinwoo was still half-asleep, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. But she didn’t mind. She was too busy staring at her hand.

The sun was rising slowly, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. And when the light hit the stone on her finger— It shimmered. Not just pretty, but alive, as if it was holding a little piece of the sun itself.

Y/N turned her hand, watching it glow. Her chest felt strangely warm, like something quietly settled into place.

“…You okay?” Jinwoo murmured into her ear; his voice still rough from sleep.

Y/N smiled softly, still staring at the ring. “Yeah. It’s just… when I look at this, I feel safe. Like I belong somewhere. Like I’m… loved.”

Jinwoo squeezed her waist, tugging her closer, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are,” he whispered.

She blushed furiously but didn’t look away from the ring. It sparkled again. “…Also, it’s really shiny. I might blind someone if I flex hard enough.”

Jinwoo chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder again. “I’ll make sure they live.”

By the time they got back home, Y/N was still admiring the way the sunlight caught on her ring. She flexed it in front of random shiny things. The toaster. The window. Even Igris’ chest plate when he emerged briefly from the shadows to deliver coffee.

“I am powerful,” she whispered dramatically.

Jinwoo was too amused to stop her. But as soon as they stepped through the front door—

“THERE SHE IS!!” A shriek erupted from the living room. Y/N froze.

Jinah and Mrs. Sung appeared like they’d rappelled down from the ceiling. SWAT-mode: Activated. Y/N barely managed to squeak before they closed in.

“Hand,” Jinah demanded. Y/N instinctively held it up. Both of them gasped in unison like they were evaluating the crown jewels.

“Oh-hoh-hoh,” Mrs. Sung murmured, already dialing her phone. “The dress designer is getting a call right now,” Jinah said, eyes gleaming. “I’ll handle the venue,” Mrs. Sung nodded. “Florist is mine!” “Catering!” “GUEST LIST—”

Y/N stood there, completely blindsided. “Wait—wait!! We just got engaged! We haven’t even picked a date! Or—or—” “You snooze, you lose!” Jinah shouted. “Fast weddings are the trend now!” Mrs. Sung agreed.

Y/N gave Jinwoo a look of pure betrayal, who was… Just watching them with his arms crossed, clearly entertained. “Help me!” she mouthed at him.

He raised his mug in salute. “Good luck.”

Y/N groaned dramatically as Jinah and Mrs. Sung dragged her toward the kitchen table already covered in wedding magazines and fabric swatches.

The grand conference room of the Korean Hunter Association was filled to capacity. Not just with Korea’s strongest hunters, but with representatives and guild leaders from around the world. Some sat in person, others attending through massive holographic screens surrounding the room.

It was a historic event. The final debriefing after the largest and most terrifying threat the world had ever known. The Primordial Hunger—a cataclysm that nearly consumed existence itself—had been defeated.

And standing before them was the man who had made that possible. Sung Jinwoo. The Shadow Monarch. And beside him… Y/N. A mystery to many, but someone whose role was undeniable.

Chairman Go Gunhee cleared his throat to begin. But he did not speak. He gestured to Jinwoo instead.

Jinwoo stepped forward. He didn’t need notes. His voice carried across the entire room, steady and sure.

“The Primordial Hunger has been eliminated.”

“Its destruction halted the collapse of dimensional barriers. The rifts that threatened to devour our world have sealed. The balance between realms has been restored.”

He paused, letting his words resonate through the chamber.

“For now… there are no further threats.”

His gaze swept over the hunters gathered.

“Many of you felt the change. The unnatural silence that followed the chaos. You have asked whether this peace is genuine. I am here to tell you… it is.”

His tone softened, but his words remained resolute.

“For the first time in years, we are not standing at the edge of extinction. No Monarchs remain. No Rulers are moving behind the scenes. There is no enemy in hiding. And if anything changes… I’ll be the first to know.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, as if weighing something unseen.

“The sacrifices made… were not in vain.”

Jinwoo’s eyes shifted to Y/N briefly before continuing.

“Peace has returned. But peace, as I have learned, is not simply the absence of war. It’s the presence of something worth protecting. Family. Friends. Loved ones. This world.”

Another breath. A heavier pause.

“As hunters, we fight. We bleed. And sometimes we fall. But we do it to protect what matters.”

Jinwoo lifted his head fully now, his presence filling the room.

“And now… it’s time we live for it.”

There was silence at first. Then Go Gunhee stood. And he began to clap.

One by one, everyone in the room rose to their feet. Applause swelled from a ripple into a wave. A standing ovation that spanned countries and continents. Even the hunters online could be seen applauding on the holographic screens, some even saluting.

Y/N sat still. The thunder of applause washing over her like ocean waves. But her mind was somewhere else entirely.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She remembered the manhwa so clearly. Jinwoo had struggled for years alone. He had sacrificed everything—his humanity, his future—for the sake of victory. And he had found peace, yes… but only after losing so much.

Now he stood tall, smiling, surrounded by people who respected him and by shadows who adored him. He wasn’t alone. And she was here. By his side.

Her fingers brushed over the ring Jinwoo had placed there. Warm. Solid. Steady. A promise that wasn’t in the original story.

Maybe this isn’t how it was supposed to be, she thought. But she turned to look at him anyway. And he was already smiling at her. As if to say: This is how it should be.

She smiled back. Even if she didn’t quite believe it yet… She wanted to.

As the room calmed, hunters slowly gathered their things. Many came forward to shake Jinwoo’s hand. Baek Yoonho clapped him on the back with his usual grin. Choi Jongin nodded respectfully, though his eyes lingered curiously on Y/N. Even Cha Hae In gave a polite bow.

“Thank you,” one of the international guild masters said. “Without you, none of this would have been possible.”

Another chuckled. “You two are heroes.” He glanced at Y/N. “You’ve both earned your peace.”

Jinwoo gave a small, polite smile. Then— “Thank you,” he said. “…We’ll be celebrating soon.” He paused. “I’m getting married.”

The room stilled for one stunned beat. Y/N’ head whipped toward him so fast it was a wonder her neck didn’t snap. “WHAT?” Her voice cracked in disbelief.

Jinwoo blinked at her, completely calm. “You said yes, didn’t you?” He lifted his hand, showing the matching ring on his finger. “Seems clear to me.”

Baek Yoonho barked out a laugh so loud it echoed. Choi Jongin smirked faintly, arms crossed. Even Chairman Go Gunhee smiled, rubbing his temple like a tired dad witnessing his kids’ antics.

Another wave of applause erupted—this one lighter, warmer, and mixed with cheers and laughter.

As they exited the room, Y/N noticed Cha Hae In and Choi Jongin standing together. For a second, she panicked. Weren’t they supposed to be endgame?! She glanced at Jinwoo. Was she stealing someone else’s future?!

But Cha Hae In was calm. And Choi Jongin… Well, he was watching Jinwoo with professional curiosity, not personal jealousy.

Y/N shook it off. She smiled sweetly. And subtly held up her hand. The ring caught the light. Flex.

Cha Hae In noticed. She tilted her head, amused. “A good choice, You are lucky.” she said softly. Y/N nearly tripped over her own feet.

No broken heart? No jealousy? Just a sisterly approval?

After the conference and the sudden wedding announcement chaos, Jinwoo gets approached by one of the high-ranking officials from the Hunter Bureau or the Rulers’ envoy.

Jinwoo doesn’t know if this portal is another threat. He tells himself they’ll investigate it together, but deep down…

Y/N notices him getting quieter and more serious as they prepare to leave. She thinks it’s him being careful—she doesn’t realize it’s him being torn apart inside. He’s always been in control, but this? This makes him anxious. He never gets anxious.

They stood in front of it.

An arch of weathered stone, half-sunken into the forest clearing, humming softly with ancient magic. Pale, crystalline blue light swirled inside its frame—calm. Stable. Peaceful in a way most portals never were.

It wasn’t a gate to danger. It wasn’t a dungeon. They both knew it.

This was a door. Her door.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her hand tightening around Jinwoo’s. Neither spoke. There wasn’t a need. The knowledge settled between them like gravity.

This was her way home.

He couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, his heartbeat loud in his ears. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the portal as it shimmered like glass, like water… like a goodbye.

And then— He moved.

Quietly, Jinwoo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Not tightly. Not possessively.

But his hands trembled when they rested against her waist. And his forehead lowered to her shoulder, hiding the war in his eyes.

Y/N froze at first, then gently laid her hands over his. She could feel the tension running through him like a current.

Jinwoo didn’t trust his voice. If he spoke, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from begging.

She could hear him breathing, slow and uneven against her neck. Feel his grip, warm and grounding and terrified all at once.

The portal in front of them shimmered again, ripples of light flickering softly in invitation. It was ready.

But was she?

Y/N glanced down at his hands holding her, then at the ring on her finger—glinting faintly in the portal’s light. It wasn’t just an object. It was a promise.

Y/N sighed. Then… she laughed. Soft at first, but it grew louder, spilling out of her like she couldn’t believe what was happening. Jinwoo tensed behind her. “What?” She reached up and patted his arm—more like a playful smack. “You idiot,” she said, voice warm and teasing. “You really thought I’d leave you?”

He blinked, stunned by her tone. She half-turned in his arms to look at him properly, grinning up at him despite the shimmer in her eyes. “I already told you,” she said. “You’re my home now.” She tapped her ring against his chest for emphasis. “There’s no one waiting for me on the other side of that portal,” she went on, her voice gentler now. “No family. No adventure better than this. Nothing I want more than what I have right here.”

Jinwoo’s breath hitched as her words sank in, steady and sure, like an anchor pulling him back from the edge. For a moment, his usual calm shattered. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

He blinked, surprised at himself, and quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to have let it show. But it was too late. The weight he’d carried for so long—the fear that she would leave, that she would disappear from his life—unraveled in an instant. Ever since he realized he’d fallen for her, that quiet fear had lived in the back of his mind, gnawing at him in every silent moment.

And now? She’d cut through it like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Without thinking, his hand reached for hers, fingers threading through like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice rougher than he expected. His dark eyes softened, the unreadable mask slipping just enough for her to catch the rarest thing—his heart wide open. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

He smiled then. Not the polite, distant curve of his lips everyone else knew. This one was different—bright, unguarded. Like a golden retriever that had just been told they were a good boy after waiting forever to hear it.

And for once, Jinwoo didn’t care that he looked like a fool. Not if it was for her.

Together, hand in hand, they turned away from the portal. No second glances. No hesitation.

But then—

A ripple of energy made the ground hum beneath their feet. Jinwoo instinctively shifted, shielding her, shadows rising at his feet as they both turned sharply back to the arch.

From the blue light of the portal, a figure stepped through. Clad in muted silver and white, their presence was quiet but undeniable. Not threatening, but heavy with something ancient. Their face was calm—too calm, like they had seen too many futures to be surprised anymore.

Y/N gripped Jinwoo’s arm. “Friend or foe?” “Neither,” the figure said, their voice deep but kind. “Only a witness.”

They regarded Jinwoo first, then Y/N. “You both chose well.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” “A remnant of balance,” they replied simply. “My time here is brief.”

They gestured toward the portal, which flickered softly behind them. “You were right not to cross. That world has already moved on. Your thread belongs here now.” Y/N squeezed Jinwoo’s hand, steady.

But then the figure’s expression darkened slightly. “You’ve brought peace to this world… but do not mistake peace for safety.” Their gaze fixed on Jinwoo. “Even in the stillness, the future stirs. You cannot predict what lies beyond the veil of time.”

Jinwoo met their stare without flinching. “Then I’ll protect this world. No matter what comes.”

A faint smile crossed the stranger’s face. “I know.”

The figure turned back toward the portal. It pulsed once with light—then dimmed completely. The portal stone cracked down its middle, splitting cleanly as if its purpose was finished.

The figure vanished with it. Gone. No trace.

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “Okay, that was intense.” Jinwoo didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled her close again, holding her for a long, silent moment.

Then— “We’re getting married,” Jinwoo said suddenly, voice firm. Y/N blinked. “I mean… yes?” “No waiting,” he added. “No more portals. No more interruptions.”

Y/N laughed. “Deal.”

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting molten gold across the obsidian towers of the Shadow Castle. Everything gleamed, every corner alive with warm light and laughter. It was a day no one ever imagined would come. Not Jinwoo. Not Y/N. And certainly not the army of shadows who had spent weeks preparing for it like it was a royal coronation.

In a way, it was.

Y/N stood at the grand entrance, a soft breeze teasing her veil as she tightened her grip on her bouquet. Her gown shimmered like woven starlight, delicate embroidery reminiscent of shadow wisps curling along the hem. At her back, her scythe leaned casually against the wall, because she absolutely insisted on a candid with it later.

“Ready?” Jinwoo’s voice was warm at her ear. She turned, catching his smile—the rare, one he only ever showed her. He looked devastatingly handsome in a black-on-black suit, subtly lined with silver thread. His tie? Crooked. She fixed it with a smirk, tugging him down by the lapels. His ears went pink.

Their friends and comrades filled the massive courtyard. Cha Hae-In wiped a stray tear, pretending she wasn’t crying as she stood beside Jinah, who was a blubbering mess already. Jinwoo’s mother held Jinah’s hand, her own eyes bright with tears as she watched her son standing proud, waiting for his bride.

And the shadows? Oh, the shadows were thrilled. Igris stood like a stoic knight… except his usually rigid posture was now just a little too puffed up with pride. Beru buzzed in place, making a chittering sound like he was holding in a scream. Even Iron polished his helmet to a mirror shine.

A band of orc shadows played music. Badly. But no one cared.

As Y/N walked down the aisle, her gaze locked with Jinwoo’s, and everything else melted away. His hand found hers when she reached him, his fingers trembling the slightest bit. When he said his vows, his voice was steady—but there was that hitch, that one breath that caught when he said, “You’re my world now.”

And when the priest declared them husband and wife?

Jinwoo kissed her like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

Chaos.

Glorious, ridiculous chaos.

Jinah launched herself after the bouquet, tackling Hae-In like a linebacker. She popped up with it in her hands, cheering like she’d won the Hunter Association Lottery. Before anyone could stop him, Jinho scrambled under Y/N’ gown during the garter toss (with permission, obviously), and came out with the stocking in hand, beaming. He made direct eye contact with Jinah as he slipped it onto her leg. She turned red.

Everyone screamed.

Selfies were taken everywhere. The giants huddled awkwardly behind Y/N and Jinwoo for one, causing the balcony to creak dangerously. Y/N’ favorite photo? A completely candid shot of her leaning on her scythe in her wedding dress, sunglasses on, with Beru photobombing in the background, flashing peace signs with his claw-hands.

The shadows outdid themselves on the decorations—black roses, floating candles, and obsidian tables covered in elegant food spreads. There was even a chocolate fountain. Beru dipped a strawberry in it, offered it to Jinwoo, and Jinwoo (to everyone’s horror and delight) actually ate it. The crowd lost their minds.

Later, as the sun set in a blaze of red and gold, Jinwoo and Y/N stood on their balcony, away from the noise.

She leaned into him, their fingers tangled loosely. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his expression soft, that warmth slipping through again as if it was the most natural thing in the world now.

“We did it,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Yeah. We did.”

Below them, the courtyard still echoed with laughter and celebration. Shadows danced clumsily in pairs; Jinah and Jinho were now inseparable; his mom had somehow convinced Igris to teach her sword stances.

But up here, it was just them.

He turned her gently, arms sliding around her waist. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever leave me,” he said quietly, his forehead resting against hers.

She grinned. “You’re stuck with me, dummy.”

His answering laugh was low, warm. “Good.”

And as the sky burned with colors, Jinwoo kissed his wife again, while their world celebrated below.

The world faded away the moment the castle gates closed behind them.

No armies. No Guild business. No ancient Monarch wars to prepare for.

Just Jinwoo and Y/N.

He had carried her over the threshold—because of course he had—ignoring her playful swats and laughter. They’d arrived at a secluded villa Jinwoo had personally reconstructed in his Shadow Domain. It was something out of a dream. Warm sunlight filtered through sheer curtains. The walls were carved from smooth obsidian, lined with silvery etchings that shimmered faintly when touched. A private garden surrounded them, its flowers blooming in colors impossible anywhere else.

And the silence… was peaceful.

“I thought we’d just… rest here,” Jinwoo murmured as he set her down gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “No one can bother us.”

Y/N smiled, still holding his hand like she might float away if she let go. “You’re sure Beru won’t show up offering strawberries?”

Jinwoo’s grin was crooked. “I left him strict orders. He’s patrolling the castle walls for the next week.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and easy. It was still new—this comfort between them—but it was theirs. She watched him as he moved around the villa, taking his jacket off, rolling his sleeves up, undoing his tie. All casual, but something about him was still so effortlessly magnetic.

They ended up on the couch first. Just sitting. Talking. Her feet tucked under her as he leaned into the cushions, his hand never straying far from hers. He told her stories of his mom and Jinah when they were younger. She told him about her world—her old world—and all the things she missed. They laughed. A lot.

And when the sky turned pink, they found themselves in the garden. He had set up lanterns, their lights glowing like tiny stars. They ate dinner under them, Y/N having somehow learned to cook one decent dish. Just one. Jinwoo teased her, but ate every bite.

Afterward, they danced.

Slow, unpracticed, clumsy at first. But he held her close, his hands warm on her waist, his forehead pressed to hers as if he needed to feel her there. She laughed quietly when he stepped on her toes. He just pulled her closer and muttered, “Sorry,” against her hair.

It was like that all night. Quiet, sweet moments strung together like pearls.

By the time they were back inside, standing by the huge window watching stars spill across the sky, Jinwoo’s arms were wrapped around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and for a long time, they said nothing.

“You’re my home now,” he whispered eventually.

Y/N turned in his arms, and whatever she said next was lost in the kiss they shared. Slow, tender, and full of everything they couldn’t say with words.

The rest of the night was theirs.

The stars outside the window shimmered, mirrored faintly in the reflection of the obsidian walls. But Jinwoo wasn’t looking at the stars.

He was looking at her.

Y/N stood at the center of their room, bathed in moonlight, her veil set aside hours ago, her dress replaced with something softer, simpler. Something that was just for him. But to him, she would have been beautiful in anything. Or nothing. He couldn’t decide which stole his breath more—her laughter earlier in the garden or the quiet way she was looking at him now.

Like he was the only thing in her world.

His steps were slow as he crossed the room. Deliberate. But his hands were gentle when he touched her, as if she was made of light. Fingers brushed her cheek, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at him, a small, knowing curve of her lips, and leaned into his palm.

"You're staring," she whispered, her voice soft, playful.

"I’m memorizing," Jinwoo murmured back. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, slow and reverent. "Every time I think I’ve got you all figured out… you do something that makes me fall harder."

Her laugh was quiet, but her cheeks flushed warm. She closed the distance between them with a step, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers fisting lightly in his shirt.

"Good," she whispered. "I plan to keep surprising you."

He bent down then, his forehead resting against hers. For a moment, they just breathed each other in. His hands found her waist, then her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The warmth of her body, the soft sigh she gave when he touched her—it was intoxicating.

Their lips met softly at first. A gentle press. Familiar, sweet. But it didn’t stay that way.

Jinwoo deepened the kiss, his hands moving up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing over the apples of her cheeks as if he wanted to commit every detail of her to memory. She melted into him, her hands sliding up to frame his jaw. Their kisses became slower, but heavier, each one saying what words couldn’t.

"I love you," she breathed against his mouth.

His breath shuddered out of him as he whispered it back, his voice rough, "I love you more."

He didn’t give her time to argue. He kissed her again, slow and thorough, his lips dragging over hers like he had all the time in the world. And he did. This was their time. For once, there was no war waiting for them. No portals. No shadows in the dark.

Only them.

When his hands found the hem of her robe, he paused, his dark eyes searching hers for permission. She answered with a nod, her hands guiding his. She was warm under his fingers, softer than he ever imagined someone like him deserved. But she was here. She chose him.

And he intended to worship every inch of her.

They moved together toward the bed, stumbling a little as they laughed into each other’s mouths. His hands never left her skin, slow and reverent, memorizing the shape of her hips, the delicate curve of her spine. Her fingers were in his hair, tangling as she pulled him closer.

They lay down tangled in sheets and shadows. His touch was patient. His hands wondering around her body, finding a sensitive spot that made her arch forward and whine.

“You’re sensitive.” Jinwoo mumbled against her neck, trailing kisses down to her collar bone. His mouth moving down, his tongue licking the space between her breasts. “Only for me.”

He brought his large hands to her breasts lovingly cupping and massaging them. Goosebumps rose against his skin at the sound of her soft moans.

“Jinwoo.” Y/N whispered. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair without thinking.

He chuckled and brought his lips to her nipple, his dark hair, tousled and soft, brushed her bare skin with every movement.

He stilled for just a second, and then sighed against her skin, the sound so content and low it made her chest ache.

“I love your hair,” she whispered between moans, running her fingers through it again, slow and gentle. She let her nails graze lightly over his scalp, and Jinwoo’s entire body shivered, just faintly. “It’s so soft.”

“You do?” he murmured, lips brushing over the hollow of her throat.

“Mm, it calms you,” she said with a small smile. “And I like when you melt.”

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it sinking into her skin. “I don’t melt.”

“You do,” she insisted, dragging her nails lightly again. He exhaled a deep, shaky breath, pressing a kiss over her heart.

Jinwoo looked at her with mixture or awe and hunger – a deep lust filled hunger.

He brought his index and middle finger to her entrance, smiling when he felt how wet she was.

“How about I make you melt this time?”

Y/N nodded “Mmm’, yes please. I need you, Jinwoo.” She whined feeling him circle her entrance.

Jinwoo didn’t make her wait as he plugged his fingers in. Her back arched as she gasped, spreading her legs desperate for him deeper. Feeling his fingers arch against her walls.

Still Y/N wanted more.

“Please, Jinwoo.” She whimpered.

Her body whined when Jinwoo stopped and pulled his fingers out.

“What is it, my wife? Tell me what you want.” his voice purred, he brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his tongue over her sweetness.

“You,” Her lip quivered as she shuddered from the cool air of the room. “Please, Jinwoo.” As her hands held him.

He brought his large, hard cock out of his pants, stroking lightly. She swallowed at the sight wondering how she could ever take them.

Jinwoo lined his tip against her entrance, soaking himself in her juices and teasing her a little.

“Are you ready, my wife? I will take it slow so you will feel everything.” He whispered a for the first time tonight she heard his voice start to shake.

Y/N bit her lip as she nodded. “Yes, I’m all yours.”

Jinwoo slowly slid himself in as she let out a moan of tight, firey pressure. The moment he was fully inside her both let out a gasp; they both waited so long for this moment. Y/N wrapped her arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck while she got used to the feeling of all inside.

He waited for her to nod and give him the signal to continue. He planted a kiss on her cheek as he pulled out slightly before thrusting in again. Y/N spread her legs further apart, moaning at the next deeper thrust. She grasped at the muscles of his back for an anchor.

He slowly begins with a slow and steady thrusts. She feels hot around him, her walls sliding up and down his shaft, her canal moist and inviting as he goes back and forth. Her walls are tight around him, making Jinwoo grunt lowly as he places kisses on whatever part of her body he can reach. He drives his cock into her, making her breath hitch, every now and then, her body meeting his thrust, trying to make him go faster.

“Just like that, Y/N”. Jinwoo kept his eyes on Y/N as he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Uhhh – “ Y/N grunts, her eyes squeezed tightly, her legs are shaky,

He thrusted again, harder and faster as he felt her pleasure start to build. He kept a lovely, steady pace.

“Ohh, Jinwoo!” Y/N moaned, making him shiver.

“You like that, my wife?” Jinwoo asks, thrusting in a little harder, his cock coming almost completely out of her and then ramming back inside her.

“YES –!” Y/N hisses sharply. She looked at Jinwoo, meeting his penetrating eyes. ‘Harder” eyes beg, and he goes harder. “Ohh, Fu – “, she cries, out in a yell, eyes shutting again, her legs trying their hardest not to close.

“How’s that feel, my wife?” Jinwoo asked again, when his hand on her neck moves to her breast, cupping it, his palm grinding against her nipple.

She grasped and scratched at his back desperate to have more of him. His heavy breaths and grunts sent electricity through her while his cock pressed lovingly against that sweet spot.

They’re caught somewhere between a purr and a growl, both soft and hungry, needy.

“Hold on.” His voice was quiet whimper while Y/N held him.

Hearing him whimper always sent her feral but she did her best to keep still while Jinwoo pounded into her tight cunt. Her back arched as the waves of pleasure crashed down into a lovely orgasm.

“You feel so good. I love you, Y/N” Jinwoo whispered in her ears while panting, sucking the lobe into his hot mouth. Y/N walls tighten around Jinwoo as he does this and he pushes his hips a little harder. He suck on her ear, his lips and teeth pulling on it, making her moan loudly. He grunt loudly in her ear, “Arrghhh, Y/N” sound filing her ear. He moves one of his hand on top of her, lacing their fingers together, He can feel her shallow breaths, hear he pants. Her hips rolling back against him, his rock pushing in and out, making her croon.

Y/N knew he was close, and she wrapped her legs around him not letting him go.

“I’m, I’m – so close,” she whispers, voice dripping with arousal.

Jinwoo grins against her ear, “I know,” he rasps, pushing harder. He moves into her slowly, but hard, making her grunt and gasp at the same time.

Y/N’s heart is racing, her body on the edge, being thrust a little more each time. “Jinwoo!” she moans loudly, his name coming out with a deep, throaty groan. “Jinwoo,” she whimpers, breathy.

“I’m right here, my love,” Jinwoo tells her, grunting into her ear, squeezing her hand tightly. His pace picks up again, his cock penetrating her.

“Come for me, my wife.” Jinwoo whisper in her ear, his words barely being understood through his deep grunts.

“Yes” Y/N whimpers.

“My wife,” he says again, tasting it like something forbidden and precious at the same time.

Every time he calls her that, her breath hitches, and he feels her heart race beneath his touch. It makes him want more. Makes him need more. Because he’s waited—waited so long, fought through worlds, sacrificed everything—and in the end, she chose him. She stayed.

Jinwoo’s close, his hips working faster and faster, their bodies molding together against the bed.

“Mmmmm – “ Y/N hums again from her throat. She can feel the rush of blood in her body, the scorching heat flowing through her. She hears Jinwoo’s loud grunts in her ear, feels him jerking quickly, and then there’s a rush of hot fluids pushing into her, the delicious feeling throwing her right over the edge. “Jinwoo,” is the last word to come out from her mouth before she’s spiraling, falling into a blissful place of ecstasy.

“My wife,” he says again, voice rough against her skin. “Mine.”

Jinwoo’s arms held her tightly to him as she were wrapped around him lovingly. The heat of their bodies, the feeling of his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he heavily breathed.

“I love you, Y/N” his voice was a husky whisper as he pressed a soft yet deep kiss against her lips.

Her kisses were soft. They spoke quietly between kisses—sometimes teasing, sometimes serious. Promises made. Futures dreamed. It was messy and tender, clumsy and perfect.

He traced the line of her collarbone with his lips. She pressed her hand over his heart, feeling it race under her palm. They were both breathing hard but smiling. Always smiling.

Afterward, they stayed wrapped up in each other, her head on his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles on her shoulder.

"You’re shaking," she teased softly.

He huffed a laugh. "I’m trying not to pass out."

Y/N laughed too, pressing a kiss over his heart. "We’ve fought dragons and Monarchs. But this is what knocks you out?"

Jinwoo smiled, sleepy but happy. "You’re a different kind of dangerous."

She rolled her eyes but snuggled closer. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It was."

And they drifted to sleep like that, tangled together, their breathing slow and steady. Safe. Home.

Y/N had always suspected Jinwoo had an unfair advantage.

He was a Monarch. The Shadow Monarch. He could fight for days without rest, command legions with a thought, and tear through entire battlefields without so much as breaking a sweat.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for what that meant on their wedding night.

It had started gentle, slow and sweet. Reverent. Worshipful.

But now, hours later, she was pretty sure her legs no longer worked properly.

She lay sprawled across their bed, the sheets twisted, her hair an absolute mess, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Jinwoo hovered over her, dark hair falling in his eyes, his smile that rare, devastatingly soft one he reserved only for her.

And he was still looking at her like he was starving.

“Jinwoo,” she managed, her voice hoarse and breathless, “I… I think I need a break.”

He tilted his head at her, amused. “A break?” His fingers traced a lazy path along her collarbone, down to the curve of her waist. “I thought you said you could handle anything.”

“I was… clearly overestimating myself,” she groaned, flopping her arm over her face. “I’m not built like you, okay? You have a cheat code. You can regenerate stamina like a machine.”

He chuckled. A deep, low sound that made her toes curl, even now. “That’s true,” he agreed shamelessly. “But you don’t hear me complaining.”

Y/N cracked one eye open to glare at him. “Complaining?! Because you’re not the one who’s going to die from this.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her forehead, then her temple, then the shell of her ear. “I’m taking it easy on you.”

“Taking easy???! You are not,” she huffed, but the way her body shivered under his lips betrayed her.

“Hmm.” He nipped gently at her earlobe, and she bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound. “Then maybe I should slow down.”

Her heart jumped into her throat as he kissed his way down the column of her throat, his hand sliding down her hip again, fingers warm and possessive. She squirmed, but there was no escaping his hands. Not that she really wanted to.

“I… I need water,” she tried again, weakly.

His grin was wicked this time. “I’ll get you water after this round.”

“Jinwoo—!”

But he was already moving, catching her wrist and bringing her hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes dark and full of a heat that made her stomach flip. "You’re glowing," he murmured, tracing her wrist with his thumb. “I could look at you forever.”

“You are looking,” she gasped as he leaned back over her, their noses brushing. “Nonstop. For hours.”

“And I’m not even close to done,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers in a maddening tease. “You’re my wife now. I have the rest of forever.”

Y/N groaned again, sinking into the sheets as he kissed her thoroughly, slow and deep, stealing the last of her energy. She dragged her nails over his shoulder weakly. “You’re relentless.”

“You love it,” he said with a grin against her mouth.

“I might not survive it,” she breathed.

He chuckled again, low and warm. “You’re stronger than you think.”

She didn’t answer this time—mostly because she was too busy kissing him back, even if her body felt like jelly and her legs were about to mutiny. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. He touched her like she was something precious, even when his control frayed. Every kiss, every whispered promise made her fall harder.

And even as she gasped his name again, even as she clung to him and lost count of how many times he stole her breath, one thing was very, very clear.

“Jinwoo… Wait – Noooo! Let me – ”

....

“JINWOO! YEEEESSSS!!”

Jinwoo could outlast anything.

<< Chapter 16 | Chapter 18 >>

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes;

[ashlinxsloves]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Requested by Anon

W/C: 960 ish (it's short im sorry 😞)

A/N: I know it's already past Christmas and it's two days till 2025, but I was sick and couldn't write :,) I still have a horrible cough but I prevailed!! I hope you guys like it, I mostly thought about WFA Jason when writing this.

Tags/warnings: fluff, domestic!Jason Todd, no y/n, a little ooc Jason? Idk, Batfam mentioned, slightly insecure Jason (if you squint), romantic but awkward Jason, fluff, fluff, fluff– CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS PEAK– not proofread.

“Jason–! A little help with the lights please?” You called out for your boyfriend who was in the kitchen, decorating the cookies you've baked earlier today.

It was still a few weeks till Christmas and you always loved the holiday since you were a kid. You convinced Jay to help you decorate your shared apartment to give it some of the Christmas cheer– and it wasn't like he could say no to his sweet girl.

You were standing on a stool, trying to stick the Christmas lights above the window, only to lose your balance and almost fall. Jason caught you in time, holding you by your waist and helping you regain your balance.

“Woah there, pretty girl, be careful,” he grinned at you while still holding onto your hips as you finally got the lights to stay. He helped you down, leading you to the tree that was kind of decorated – with a few red and gold ornaments along with warm golden yellow Christmas lights. The only thing missing was the tree topper and some gold garlands.

“Mind getting the garlands from the box, babe? I got the tree topper in my purse,” you smiled innocently at him, making Jason irk an eyebrow before leaving the room– why would you have the tree topper in your purse? Did you buy a new one?

You hurriedly got the tree topper out of your bag, trying not to giggle too loudly. It was a custom-made tree topper, made by one of your colleagues who liked making Christmas decorations as a side hustle. When Jason came back and saw it, he almost dropped the box while blinking in surprise.

“Is.. is that a Red Hood tree topper?” he asked, mouth slightly agape but he didn't seem upset with it. He looked rather more baffled than anything.

“Well– I thought it would fit better than anything else.. plus, you're my star, Jaybird,” you smiled at him, caressing his cheek, making Jason lean into your touch. God, he loved you so much, he felt like he didn't deserve such a sweet, pretty thing like you.

Once you were done decorating the living room, the both of you headed to your room, but before you could, Jay cleared his throat, nodding upwards where a mistletoe was hanging. You chuckled softly at his antics and he pulled you in by the waist, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Before you could pull away he pressed more kisses on your lips, nose, cheeks, and forehead, making you giggle, placing your hands on his chest to make him stop.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair, burying his face in the crown of your head, inhaling your sweet shampoo while he kept you close.

“I love you too, Jay.. more than you'll ever know,” you whispered back, smiling against his chest before breaking the hug and tugging him by his arm towards your shared bedroom, “come on, our room won't decorate itself.”

“Your apartment looks like those super decorated department stores– gah- ow-! Jason, why did you hit me?” Dick rubbed his side while holding his cup of hot chocolate, pursing his lips at his younger brother.

“Don't insult our home, Dickwad. I think it looks great,” Jason smiled softly when he looked at you talking to Damian, seeming to be entranced in the conversation. He then decided to get behind you and grab you by the waist, stealing you away.

“Jay– what are you–” you tried to get out of his grasp, kicking your legs slightly. Damian was about to protest, but Dick shook his head at him, letting Jason take you away from your conversation.

“Stealing my girlfriend away for a moment,” he replied to you, taking you to your room and closing the door. When he put you down, he spun you around to face him before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, “I missed you.”

“But I was right there?” You hugged him back, a little confused but indulging in the moment.

“Just wanted a bit of privacy.. it's a little crowded in the living room right now,” Jason pulled away from your neck before pressing a kiss on your forehead. You smiled warmly at him, looking into his eyes with curiosity when he seemed to avoid eye contact with you.

“What's wrong?” murmuring softly, you rubbed his forearm but he only shook his head before chuckling awkwardly. He let go of you, going to his nightstand and grabbing something from the drawer. You tilted your head to the side, a little confused.

“I– uh.. I wanted to give you this in private since Dick won't let me hear the end of it. But.. you're the love of my life and I want you to have this,” Jay handed you a box, opening it, revealing a necklace with a heart pendant with your initials carved on the outside.

“I– I know I'm not the perfect boyfriend and I have my flaws, but I want to be there for every Christmas, helping you decorate, baking cookies and drinking hot chocolate with you while we watch the Harry Potter movies over and over.. God, I should've written a script or asked Babs what to say–” he groaned softly, making you giggle and before he could continue you pulled him down by his collar and pecked his lips.

“I think it's perfect,” you smiled as he helped you put the necklace on, opening the pendant to see the picture you both took during your first Christmas together, kissing under a mistletoe by the Wayne Manor. It was the perfect gift.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” Jason smiled at you, leaning his forehead against yours while he looked lovingly into your eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Jaybird,” you smiled back at him, holding the pendant with one hand while caressing his cheek with your other.

Pls reblog and like to show support!! <3

[temilyrights]

43) “god you’re so emotionally constipated.” for Emily x Reader please.

history smothers us

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: years of unspoken words and misconceptions threaten to destroy what remains of a once close relationship. you couldn't imagine your life without emily. now you look at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. featuring prompt "god you're so emotionally consitpated" from my prompt list.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mention of blood. no use of y/n. set in season 12. unit chief prentiss.

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 sorry it took me a while I struggled to find the right idea. I imagine this wasn't what you had in mind but I do hope you enjoy it anyway. also side note: i've deleted my taglist, i'm restarting because it was years old so if anyone would like be re-tagged or anyone new would like to be added pls lmk!

The police lights flash in the midnight sky. Agents and local police spread across the farmhouse. And you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, blood dripping down the side of your head, the beginnings of a headache making itself known.  

The bright torch shining in your eyes makes you wince, but the EMT clears you of a concussion and hands you pain meds to swallow. You drag your hand through your hair, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. 

The unsub had come out of nowhere and whacked you over the head with a metal pole, and he probably would’ve done a lot more if it wasn’t for Tara being two steps behind you. 

Honestly, you were fine. A little banged up, with a nasty bruise already forming, but the blood had been wiped away and it was almost like it had never happened.

Well, apart from the very angry Unit Chief Prentiss stalking towards you. 

You wish this was an unfamiliar sight, but god she’d been back months now and you don’t think her smile had been pointed in your direction once. 

“What were you thinking?” She scolds, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. You don’t miss the shaking of her hands as she holds them tightly on her hips or the rising flush of her cheeks, both she would blame on the cold but you knew they were born out of concern, not that she’d ever admit it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise the FBI now required its agents to have the abilities to see through walls.” You roll your eyes, the half-joke an attempt to fix her glare, but you know even as the words pass your lips it’s futile. Your shoulders slump, already too tired for the fight ahead,  “He came out of nowhere, Prentiss.” 

Her lips purse, “They require you to be able to clear a room. It seems you might need a refresher course. Maybe until you can be trusted and I deem you requalified it’s best you stay back in quantico.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. Of all the dumb things- “Let me get this straight, you’re benching me over nothing? Tara was through that door seconds later. I wasn’t defying your orders. You have no reason to do this!”

“I want you to redo your basic training so I know you can be trusted in the field.” She demands, stoic, serious, and so far away from the soft woman you used to be able to reach out to. 

You laugh, but the noise is sad and wild. You shake your head in disbelief, watching the woman in front of you that years ago used to be the person you were closest to in the world. Now you stare at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. “God, you’re so emotionally constipated.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You push yourself off the end of the ambulance, bringing yourself to your full height and meeting her gaze. You knew the day she accepted the unit chief position this wouldn’t end well, there was too much history, too much the two of you had left unsaid, hurt and anger smothering any possible relationship left. 

“Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my performance.” You begin, words low enough that if she didn’t listen the words threatened to disappear with the wind, “It’s because I got hurt and you’d rather damage my career and ruin the tatters of our relationship than admit that me getting hurt scared you.” 

Emily steps backwards, face stricken. Her hands fall from her hips, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles for words. 

You decide there’s nothing left she can say. You excuse yourself and grab a lift with Luke, happy to leave the crime scene and your boss behind. After everyone’s finished at the farmhouse and packed up at the police station it’s nearing two am and everyone is ordered back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep before the flight in the morning. 

Your feet are dragging by the time you make it to your room. The meds have done their job though and your headache had faded away, but nothing but sleep was going to help your heavy and aching bones. You wave a tired goodbye to Tara, who unlike Emily had no issues checking in and making sure you were okay, and then retreat to your room. 

You slump into the chair at the desk, telling yourself you’ll find the energy to get ready for bed in one minute. But so thankful to finally be off your feet. Your reprieve lasts only minutes before a knock sounds at your door. A withered sigh leaves your lips and you consider ignoring it but still find yourself pushing yourself upright and making your way back to the door. 

When you open it, you wish you’d listened to your thoughts. 

“Hi?” You say hesitantly, staring into the tired face of Emily Prentiss. There’s no anger, her shoulders are almost slumped, defeated maybe? You look away, too scared to analyse further. 

“Can I come in?” 

You open the door further allowing her entrance. She smiles, tight lipped at you, nodding her thanks. You close the door and wait for her to speak, pondering how in the hell you both got to awkward silences and forced tight lipped smiles when years ago you two could share looks across the room and know what the other was thinking, spent hours talking and laughing together, how you had built a life and never thought there would be a day that she wasn’t in it with you. 

“We can’t go on like this.” She starts eyes meeting yours before flickering away, “Things between us have not been right since I returned and I think maybe we should clear the air. I want to be the Unit Chief, I want to be back here at Quantico but that only works if we can be a team.” 

You scoff. It slips from your mouth, uncontrolled and harsh. Emily’s gaze snaps to yours, her surprise at the sound clear. You shake your head, “What is there to say?” Where would we even begin?

“I-” She chokes, blinking as the emotions claw at her throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Your brows draw in confusion as you shake your head, “What are you talking about?”

“After everything that happened with Doyle-”

Your eyes bulge, “You think I'm still upset about that? God, do you think I’m a monster? You survived. You lived. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her gaze shifting to the wall as her fingers pick at a hangnail. She looks back at you, still picking, gaze more open and lost than you’ve seen in a long time. “Then why? I hurt you. I can see it in the way you can barely stand to be around me, like it hurts you to even be in my presence.” 

You blow out a breath, eyes moving around the room before they land back on her and then away again. “It’s not your fault.” You breathe, emotions lodged in your throat and heart beating wildly against your chest as you try and force the words out. “You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself. There was never going to be a life I led that you weren’t right with me, you know?” You laugh, wet and broken. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, her eyes emotional pits that you don’t dare hold. 

“And then you left for London and I couldn’t exactly be upset because I had no say in what you did with your life. We were just friends. I knew it’s what you needed and I don’t resent you for that. I just…” You take a breath, “I was so angry at myself for missing you, for thinking that I could be someone you would stay for.”

And there it was. The truth. Because at the end of the day, you’ve always just wanted to be enough for the woman in front of you. For her to see you as more than just your friend. To one day have your feelings returned. 

She’d left and you’d both been busy and you’d deliberately tried to separate yourself as well, drawing back from the painful reminder that you weren’t enough. And since her return, all those emotions have been resurfacing, however much you tried to keep them buried. Because falling out of love with Emily Prentiss was just not something you were capable of, and you’ve spent years trying too. 

Emily approaches you, the space between you closing ever so slightly. Your gaze sticks to the ground, scared to see the easy to read emotions across her face. She takes a breath, the sound muffled by the beating of your heart.

“After I came back from Paris, I used to find myself looking at you and knowing I couldn’t be that woman you remembered, the one you sought for. I wanted to. Desperately.” Her voice hitches, and then lowers to a hoarse whisper, “I wanted to be the woman you fell for.” 

Your eyes finally rise, against your will. Tears make their way in delicate paths down her cheeks, she looks every bit as lost as you feel. The only thing stopping you from falling apart is the fear that if you let go you may never recover. 

“I didn’t need you to be anyone. I just wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to trust me.” You respond gently.

She shakes her head, “No, everyone was looking for that version of me that I couldn’t grasp onto.”

“Emily,” You sigh painfully. Her face crumples, eyes squeezing shut at the sound of her name from your lips. It’s been so long, you know. “You were healing from a trauma. I’ve always wanted the authentic you, whatever that includes. Why would that suddenly change?” 

She nods, a deep frown on her face as she accepts your words. Then a wet laugh, as she wipes away her tears. “I’ve missed you. Every day. I hate being in the same room as you and it being awkward. I used to be able to look at you and know what you’re thinking. I want that back.” 

A small smile curves your lips, “Me too, more than anything.” 

“Yeah?” She questions. Her teeth run across her lip, as she dares to hope. “You think we could get back there?” 

Your heart hammers. “I just need you to be really clear here. What exactly are we getting back to?” 

She steps forward, finally close enough to touch. Her hand hesitantly reaches out and touches yours, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. Your body remembers her touch, relaxes and leans into it automatically. You eat it hungrily, tracking the movement before your eyes rise to meet hers and find soft, open eyes watching you. “I want to make you fall in love with me again.”

Your breath catches in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand shakes in hers.

“And this time, I promise, I’ll be there to catch you.” 

“We might have a slight problem with that plan.” You laugh, trying your hardest not to sob.

She frowns, nose wrinkling in the way you adore. “What’s that?” 

“It’s pretty difficult to re-fall in love when I never stopped loving you in the first place.” You huff, and Emily laughs, rich and free and bright. Her face joyful and happy, and with the wide bright smile you’ve waited months to feel pointed in your direction. God the sight makes your head spin.

“Is that so?” She asks, hand moving up to cup your cheek, eyes full of love and pointed at you. 

You can only nod, dizzy from her attention and the emotions coursing through your body. 

When her lips find yours it feels like finally coming home. Soft and delicate, both too scared to push too hard, exploring slowing even as her hand holds your cheek and yours fists in her shirt. You’ve waited years for this, and if you get more of these than it will be worth it. Everything is worth it for the feeling of Emily in your arms. 

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. You follow her mouth and she concedes and gives you a couple more slow kisses before she stops herself, resting her forehead against yours.

“I just want to say sorry for earlier.” She whispers into the safe space you’ve built. “You were right, I was scared when you got hurt. Dave’s already kicked my ass for my response, you won’t receive any disciplinary action.”

You nod slightly, her forehead moving against yours, “Thank you.” 

“It won’t happen again.” She promises, sealing the words with a kiss to your lips. 

“I know.” You kiss her again, but this time you break out into a yawn midway through. Your momentarily forgotten exhaustion, making itself known. 

She melts against you, caressing your cheek. “Oh, you need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to take over your face, “A date?” 

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, a date. But only if you sleep first.” 

“Your wish is my command.” You can’t stop the grin from taking over your face anymore. You press a peck to her lips and lead her back towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees, eyes fluttering over your face as if she’s committing every aspect to memory. “Sleep well.” 

“You too.” 

She presses one last kiss to your lips before she opens the door and makes her exit. You close the door quietly behind her, sinking back into it and allowing the giggle to finally escape your mouth.

What the fuck had just happened. 

Emily Prentiss kissed you. 

Emily Prentiss has feelings for you. 

You weren’t alone.

You bite your lip and push off the door, finally ready to get ready for bed and praying come morning that this would still be your reality.

taglist: @aburman03

[uraichievents]

UraIchi Week 2025

Monday, July 7th, 2025 - Tuesday, July 15th, 2025

AO3 Collection

(Info and Prompts Under the Cut)

What is UraIchi Week?

An event to celebrate the Urahara Kisuke x Kurosaki Ichigo ship. For this year, the "week" will stretch for 9 days, with 8 days of optional prompts and 1 free day on Ichigo's birthday. There is no sign-up, and everybody can participate. Completed works and wips are both acceptable, and any type of fanwork (fanfic, fanart, gifsets, fanvids, etc.) is welcome. NSFW and/or potentially trigger-y content is allowed, although please remember to tag your works properly.

The ship itself can be written romantically or platonically, as lovers or friends or even enemies, so long as it stars these two characters together in some way. Poly ships are also fine so long as Ichigo and Kisuke are still the focus of the fanwork. And crossovers and fusions are also allowed even if it isn’t one of the given prompts for the event. Basically, anything goes, and the only criteria is that it has to be UraIchi-centric.

Posting:

UraIchi Week is hosted here on Tumblr and on AO3. For posts on Tumblr, remember to ping @uraichievents and tag #UraIchi Week 2025. For AO3, you can add your work(s) to the collection linked up above. You are also welcome to join the UraIchi Discord server if you haven’t already and come and talk about what you’re working on!

Prompts:

This year's prompts were collected from six categories - general/platonic, fluff, romance, angst/whump, nsfw, and dark/dead dove. The mods voted for their favourites, and here are the results. Each day has six prompts, for eight days, with the last day being a free day. Prompts are entirely optional, you can just use them for inspiration, and you can interpret them however you like.

Monday, July 7th, Day 1:

Outsider POV: Implied Time Travel Fix-It

Sharing a Bed

"My blade is yours to wield."

A Fragile, Mortal Shell

Monsterfuckers

Came Back Wrong (Came Back Hungry)

Tuesday, July 8th, Day 2:

Soul King Ichigo

"You came?" / "You called."

"Wherever you lead, I will follow." / "And if I don't want to lead?" / "Then I'll walk beside you, wherever you go, for however long you'll allow." / "And if I want to follow?" / "Then I will never lead you astray."

"Who did this to you?"

Cockwarming

Codependency

Wednesday, July 9th, Day 3:

Dimension Travel

Moving In Together

Flower Language

"Abominations against the natural order are within the Royal Guard's remit to take care of as they please."

Non-Traditional A/B/O AU

Ichigo as Urahara's Experimental Subject

Thursday, July 10th, Day 4:

World Tour / Road Trip AU

"I didn't think I would get this far."

King x King Maker AU

"It's them or the world." / "Fine, I choose them."

Body Worship: Scars

Murder Boyfriends/Husbands

Friday, July 11th, Day 5:

Forward Time Travel - "They thought you died." / "You didn't?" / "I stopped assuming things about you."

Devotion

"I'd recognize those eyes in a hundred lifetimes."

Touch-Starvation

Biting / Blood Kink

"No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering." ― Hellraiser

Saturday, July 12th, Day 6:

"Trust me?"

Bad at Taking Care of Themselves But Good at Taking Care of Others, So It Balances Out

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up." ― Neil Gaiman

Post-Apocalypse

Pinned Down

"You're not allowed to die."

Sunday, July 13th, Day 7:

Arrancar Ichigo

Meeting the In-Laws (Zanpakutou Spirits)

Destroying Obstacles or Enemies for Each Other

"I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you." ― Friedrich Nietzsche

"I want to hear you."

"I didn't ask you to kill for me." / "You didn't need to."

Monday, July 14th, Day 8:

Outsider POV

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever."

"A world without you in it isn't one I care to live in."

Buying Flowers For a Partner’s Grave But Talking About Them to the Florist Like They're Still Around

Unexpected Soul Magic Side-Effects (ie. Touch Telepathy)

Mind Control / Brainwashing - "You're a weapon and weapons don't weep."

Tuesday, July 15th, Day 9:

Creator's Choice!

[pennyserenade]

money (that's what i want) | tom (the party) x reader

summary | tom and reader are pragmatic about their situation. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | post the party, power dynamics, power imbalance, age gap (a little bit of a sugar baby/sugar daddy ordeal), pinv, fingering, greed of slightly biblical proportions, money hungry tom (as per usual), unprotected sex, mentions of drugs and alcohol, she doesn't make him better, capitalism jump scare, no use of y/n or you. word count | 3.0k+ a/n | week two of cillian murphy's beatles birthday bash celebration. this week's song is money (that's what i want) from the beatles second 1963 album, with the beatles.

Tom liked these work mandated “cultural outings” best when the art part was blotted out by extravagance opulence, and tonight it certainly was: an arthouse gallery full of his money-hungry co-workers dressed in their most expensive apparel, looking at the pieces peppered throughout the gallery with distracted focus. He relished in the moneyed sounds of their champagne flutes being clacked against by their one million dollar bracelets and rings as they talked politely of all they intended to spend, obtain, and offer.

Money was the language he spoke best of all, and this made these places familiar territory to him. It was somewhat curious, then, that the only person in the museum actually paying attention to the art pieces as she passed by them was the one that he had come to, as of late, tentatively refer to as his partner. He knew this, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Tom pulled her gently back into him as he stood behind her. He was happy to see that the perfume he’d given her months ago was finally on her skin, luxurious and smelling of vanilla. “Hey,” he told her, kissing up her neck. Patently ignoring those who turned to look at them, he added, words muffled against her skin, “What happened to not leaving my side, eh?”

She turned in his arms to look at him, smirking already. “Your company was boring. That’s what happened.”

The dark lipstick she wore on her lips tonight made him feel insatiable. He wanted to kiss it all off right then and there, but knew better than to act on the impulse; he figured his co-workers could only take so much. While they all openly admired and envied his ability to date someone like her—younger by half, prettier by miles—Tom had long suspected that they all thought this relationship was some midlife crisis that would sort itself out in time. 

And perhaps they were right. Theirs was an odd relationship and they both knew it. It was a thing borne of her necessity and his stupidity—or, his necessity and her stupidity, depending on who you asked. 

Months ago he had met her at one of their mutual friend’s book readings, and they had slept together that night because she had been introduced to him as “a budding writer.” He, having been made a cuck by a creative woman a year before, had been long craving a sort of revenge and when he saw the girl, hardly out of university then, he thought about what his ex-wife would think if she found out that he had fucked the younger, flashier version of herself. When he imagined the upset it might cause, how broken up to pieces she’d be to know he could fuck other people too, Tom felt good. So he did it. 

It was meant to be a one night fling, but Tom came to pity the girl because she was poor the way all budding writers her age tended to be. It began as a little thing: paying for the breakfast in the morning and the taxi home, and later, when he asked if she might like to meet up again sometime, the taxi back. Then, quietly - but obvious to anyone who knew them for more than an hour - Tom had begun to pay for a good deal of her expenses: her rent, her phone bill, the red satin dress that hugged her body beneath her leather jacket tonight. Hell, probably even the lipstick, too. If she was using him for simply money and he was using her simply for sex, it would be a considerably less complicated endeavor for them both. 

Tom rolled his eyes at her, but his lips curled up into an undeniable grin. “They probably wouldn’t like you too much, either, you know?”

“Oh, I’d certainly hope not,” she teased, moving out of his arms and on to the next painting. Tom lingered close behind her. He could sense that she was happy, even if she didn’t particularly like the people at the event, and he liked seeing her happy. It made him feel good. It was funny, how little effort it took on her part to make him feel that way. 

“We could skip the dinner,” he told her, just to see the faint lines around her mouth crease again. “I know you don’t want to go.” 

“I was really hoping you were going to say that. It’s Becca’s turn to cook tonight and I really wanted to see what she’s making. She’s gotten quite good at it ever since she started taking classes at the university.” Catching Tom’s lip curl up in distaste, she added, “What? Have you no regard at all for the proletariat anymore?”

“It’s got nothing to do with being poor,” he said humorlessly, “I just don’t want to hang out with your flatmates.” 

She had told him once—when he’d asked her about her flatmates’ often dismissive attitudes towards him—that they didn’t like what he stood for, or what he believed in.  When he had pointed out the fact that what he believed in—money, any way you put it—had benefited all in some form or the other, and that they never objected to his own when he bought them dinners or drugs, she’d shrugged. The conversation had begun and ended there. Tom knew the score, though: they were all okay with him being rich when he bought them shit, but besides in those specific instances, it was an offense.

In truth, he didn’t like them either, and never had. Even at first glance, he could tell they were the self-important artistic types that had marred his life when he’d been married to his ex-wife. 

“Let’s just go to mine, yeah? Order chinese.” He could hear the whine in his voice, but didn’t mind it, as it always seemed to soften her. One of his hands moved down lower on her back as he turned to look at the painting with her. Purposefully, he brushed his fingers over the top of her ass. She leaned her body into his. “I don’t understand how you can stand here and look at this shit all night. It all looks the same to me,” he told her. 

“That’s how I feel about your…people. I couldn’t stand listening to them for more than five fucking minutes. It was like watching the wild-life channel,” she replied. She didn’t sound disgruntled, though. She never did. “I don’t really want chinese.”

“What do you want?” he probed.

“Oh–” She considered it for a moment, her bottom lip jutting out. Then she grinned. “Hm…everything you’ve got, and the very best of it too.” 

He liked the way he wasn’t quite sure she was being serious or not. “So you’re coming over, then?” 

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m no class traitor, as you know.” 

He smiled a fool back at her, forgetting for a moment the type of man he thought he wanted to be. 

——

Her lace underwear was on his kitchen floor and her dress was up around her waist. Sat on the edge of his kitchen table, with his body between her legs, Tom had her just where he’d been wanting her. 

“Tell me you want my money,” he murmured against her cheek.  It amazed her at how gruff and demanding his voice could sound when he willed it. It was like a hidden power he stored away for moments just like these.

She dug crescent shaped indents into biceps, uncaring of the way it creased the expensive fabric of his suit. There was nothing she would not tell him when he asked for it like that. “I want your money,” she drawled, rubbing her nose against his. The quiet desperation etched into her voice was specific only to him, only to this. 

“I know you do, baby,” he teased. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her underwear. They both breathed in together as his fingers reached down and grazed along her clit. “My greedy, greedy money hungry girl. What would your friends think?” 

“Fuck,” she gasped, arching up into him. Her ass drew nearer to the edge—nearer to his body. Against her thigh, she could feel his erection beginning to strain against the fabric of his suit. Her fingers twisted up in the lapel of his coat jacket and she watched him. 

Tom’s eyebrows drew together. He looked solemn, but he wasn’t; it was how his face set, his natural way of being when he didn’t think about it. She liked it. It was far more genuine than whatever he put on around his fucking evil co-workers. 

He rubbed two fingers along her cunt, eyes flickering up to catch hers as he did. The tease of his touch made her ache. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder as his fingers teased his fingers against her again. “Do you tell them you’re with me for money? Do you say you fuck me because I pay for your rent half the time? Do you tell them—“ He teased over her hole with his finger. His voice caught for a moment. “Do you tell them I’ve got a nice house to myself, and that I never say no? Do you tell them you need me to survive so they don’t hate you? Do you believe that, too?” 

He slid a finger inside of her. The stretch of it was overwhelming, but also not enough. Tom prodded the tip of it in and out of her, watching her carefully, proud to be in control. But there was not a hint of malice in his eyes, or in his voice. He did not care what she did, what she said, who she aimed to please, because he knew the truth. He was happy to be her moral qualm, the piece of complexity she and all of her self-righteous friends chewed on and made sense of in their myriad of self-righteous ways. 

He wanted to tell them money didn’t just make the world turn, money built the world. It was in their favorite pieces of art, in the theater they watched, in the universities where they learned to be so self-important and pompous. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, hoping it would encourage him to go faster—or to do more with his finger. It didn’t. He stilled his single finger inside of her and let her pulse achingly around it as if to prove the depth of her want. 

Aggravated, she reached between them and unlatched his belt. He let her as he kissed her, vaguely aware of the earthy sweetness on her tongue from the wine. He sighed against her. “You know, you drink 300 dollar wines carelessly when you’re with me.” He was so hard, he was surprised he could speak at all, let alone so clearly. His words became measured, slow. “You even taste like money right now, your dirty little thing.” 

She pulled his underwear down only enough to take his cock out. He watched wordlessly as she began undulating her hips, fucking herself on his finger as she had him in her hand. His composure began to slip when she nibbled at his bottom lip.

At times hated himself for how much her cleverness turned him on. Once he’d gotten hard reading one of her stories, not because it was erotic, or even because he understood it — he hadn’t. It was the simple fact that she’d thought it up. The idea of her sitting there, laboring over her laptop as he’d seen her do on the rare occasion he’d stayed at hers, whispering her own words back to herself, drove him crazy. Everything had all been too much for him. 

Tom withdrew his finger from her cunt. Before she could say anything in protest, he brought it up to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it, her eyes connecting with his as her cheeks hallowed as she sucked. She swirled her tongue around him, tasting her own self, her eyes dark and proud as they fixed on him. How pathetic he must’ve looked, watching her. 

She was not like his ex-wife, as much as he’d thrilled about the idea of it when he met her; Marianne had been pragmatic, posh, not the sort to fuck older men until much later in her life. She’d always had a leg up in everything, from her career as an artist, to her relationship with him, to her general position in life. People loved her: loved to hear her talk, to see her move, to see her smile. The world was Marianne’s to take. Tom felt on equal footing with this woman, only out of his depth in ways that didn’t matter very much to him. 

Not that it meant she was worse than Marianne. She wasn’t. Not at all.

She guided his cock inside of her, both of them conveniently forgetting that he wasn’t wearing any protection—a fire they both liked to play with. She hummed around his finger as his cock stretched at her entrance. When he jutted forward, easing the rest of himself inside of her, the table groaned beneath them, unable to take the strain.

They felt intertwined, one of her legs wrapped around his ass, his finger sat, heavy, on her tongue, their bodies pushed so close together that he could feel her hardened nipple through the fabric of his dress shirt. She gripped onto his suit jacket and he began to thrust inside of her, his hips focused on making her emit the delightful little moans she could never seem to stop, even with a finger in her mouth. 

The heat of his suit was becoming a bit much, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure he was getting from driving himself, unsheathed, into her. She was the wettest she’d ever been and she seemed nearly as reluctant to let him go as he was to let her go. Tom buried his head into her neck, and let his finger slip from her mouth in favor of clenching up the fabric of her dress around her waist. He laid his head against her chest and watched as his cock plunged in and out of her cunt. She clenched around him again. 

“So good at being money hungry,” he purred against the dampening skin on her chest. She tasted like salt. The words were coming out of his mouth before they were thought now, things deep inside of him. “So fucking wet and horny just from admitting it. Because you like fuckin’--” He clenched his jaw as she began to match his pace, pushing herself down onto him. “You like winners. You like to be taken care of.”

“Fuck,” she panted. One of her hands ran through his hair, uncaring of the way sweat was beginning to bead through the dark locks. She held the back of his neck, fingers burying just beneath the collar of his shirt. Tom lifted his head to kiss her on the mouth and caught the words, “I’d be anything for you,” against his top lip. 

He gripped onto her hips with bruising intensity. His mouth began to go dry as his thrust became shorter and more sporadic. “Touch yourself,” he demanded. She did as he told her, her hand wedging between their bodies. 

He attempted to delay his thrusts, hoping to stop his quickly rising orgasm, but it didn’t help. Seeing her reach between them and take what was hers without any sort of shame or delay, seeing the way the pleasure etched across her face, her chest, her whole body, feeling the way it traveled through her as she tightened around him…it was one of the finest drugs he’d ever been on. Irreplaceable. Devastating. He didn’t care about anything at that moment but her, but what they were when together: A blaze of desire, two bodies and people who understood what they wanted and needed, and then took it. 

“Tom,” she whimpered, “Oh, fuck. Tom, you feel so…Oh. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck. Yes.” He clenched his eyes shut. All he could feel was her: the wetness, the warmth, the clench of her cunt around him as he began to pull out. His fingers wrapped around the back of her neck as his cock twitched and his cum drippled down the inside of her thighs, dangerously close to her cunt. He dipped his head, and accidentally kissed her teeth, catching her mid-moan. He didn’t care, though; every part of him was in a state of unbridled ecstasy. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Tom laid his head against her chest, listening to her heart pound in her chest. His free hand rubbed soothingly over the hip he’d been gripping viciously at. 

“And they say the best things in life are free,” he joked against her lips.

“Mm,” she laughed, running her fingers through his unruly, sweat-damped hair. “I think sometimes two things can be true at once.”

His nose nudged against hers affectionately. Kissing her on the lips again, he said, “No you don’t. But that’s okay, because I wouldn’t want you to.”

“No?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You wouldn’t want me to want you even if you were poor?”

“No, because then you wouldn’t be very clever.”

“But I’m poor, and you like me.”

He laughed, swiping his thumb against her cheek. “I consider you an investment. In my line of work, those are just as good when the stock is promising.”

She shook her head, grinning. He kissed her again, once, twice, three times, liking the way he could feel her smile curve his lips. “You’re odd, Tom,” she said. “Which is why I like you only for your money.”

He laughed too, his finger sliding the thin strap of her gown down her shoulder. His eyes flashed down as her breast became exposed. “Mm,” he hummed, arousal forming already in his groin. “Just as I expected. Think we should fuck again in a little, just so we can both get our worth.”

She nodded in agreement, guiding his hand down to her nipple. “Yeah, and then you’ll order us an expensive dinner and snort your worth in coke, I’m sure.”

His eyes darkened, the blue of them drowned out by his pupils. “And you’ll like it, because money is what you want.”

“Because money is what I want,” she echoed.

[faithsmadhouse]

Woohoo! 🎉 on 1000!

Charles Leclerc fem reader and 🍯 #faefucked but with far reader?

A deal with the devil||Charles leclerc x fae trickster!fem!reader

Summary — after a few seasons of bad luck Charles makes a deal with the devil or rather a trickster who gives a championship winning car.

Word count—611

Warnings — riding Charles being slightly manipulated and taken advantage of and basically selling his soul.

A/n— thank you so much 😊 also this was so much fun to do!!!!! (I also went over the limit) also this isn’t edited so there might be some slight incorrect grammar

Follow my 1k celly with the tags faiths1kferalhours and faiths1kspicecelly and here’s the main post

Ferrari’s upgrades weren’t cutting it. The car was a tin can on wheels and wasn’t giving the results everyone wanted so, when you—half-laughing, half-glowing with moonlight—offered him a deal, he didn’t hesitate. Fae trickster or not, Charles Leclerc would do anything to win.

The moment he said the words, you knew he didn’t understand what he was asking for.

“I want a championship-winning car,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours like he could already taste the glory. “Tell me what it’ll take.”

You smiled slow, sharp. The moonlight kissed your skin like it worshipped you, curling around your magic, pulsing like a heartbeat. “That’s a steep price, mon cœur.”

“I’ll pay it.”

You stepped closer, your eyes glowing violet for just a moment. “Then let’s seal the deal.”

His brow furrowed. “With what?”

Your fingers brushed the waistband of his fireproofs. “With you.”

And before he could respond, your fingers were already unzipping his red fireproofs, tugging him back into the shadows of the motorhome, where time twisted in knots and the air smelled of magic and sex.

“You’re not human,” he groaned as you straddled him, pinning him to the plush seat like he weighed nothing. “ should i be scared.”

“You should,” you whispered against his throat, biting gently. “But you want this.”

He did. God, he did.

Your magic thrummed through your skin, buzzing where your thighs spread over his. You weren’t soft—you were sharp, teasing, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds like you were deciding whether or not he deserved it. Charles gripped your hips, desperate now.

“Don’t tease,” he gasped. “Please.”

You laughed. “Oh, you sweet mortal thing. You made a deal with a fae trickster. You will be teased.”

And yet—when you sank down onto him, tight and slick and too much—he swore he saw stars.

“You’re trembling,” you whispered. “Is it the magic? Or me?”

“Both,” he rasped, hands gripping your thighs.

“Fae rules,” you said sweetly, biting his earlobe. “Deals must be earned. Pleasure must be given.”

Charles groaned as you kept grinding, slow and cruel. “You’re torturing me.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “You’re the one who begged for the title and a winning car. Desperate men don’t get to set the pace.”

“F—fuck,” he choked. “You’re—tight—fuck—please.”

You rode him like your body was made to break him. Wet heat clenching around him, thighs flexing, back arched as you slammed down, again and again. Each movement deliberate. Each bounce of your ass dragging a raw moan from his throat.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. “So pretty when you beg. Moaning for a monster.”

“You feel—god—you feel unreal.”

“I’m a monster Charles what did you expect,” you say smiling wickedly, fucking him harder.

Charles was wrecked. Whining. Eyes blown wide, mouth open. You leaned back, letting him watch the way his cock disappeared into you over and over, your cunt sucking him in like he belonged there because, after tonight, he would.

He spilled without warning, body arching, a gasp ripped from his chest like magic itself had seized him. You whispered ancient words over his skin as you milked him dry, your cunt fluttering around his pulsing length.

The moment the spell sealed, the air shimmered.

“It’s done,” you whispered, glowing in the low light, your body still pulsing with power. “Your car will be a championship contender and You’ll win it all.”

He was panting, eyes still dazed. “And you?”

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “You’re mine now, champion.”

“Mind. Body and soul.”

[animeyanderelover]

This will be my first request, I am very happy because I LOVE your writing.

Alas aside, Yandere falls in love with a woman older than them who is very maternal for having a child, when he proposes she rejects him because she feels that they should not waste themselves on a woman who already has a child (You can do with the father whatever you want ).It would be with Atsushi, Akutagawa, Daichi Sawamura, Oikawa and if you want to add any more I don't mind

Sorry for my bad english😘😘

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, stalking, threats, violence

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani

You shouldn’t waste your time on me

Sawamura Daichi

🌅​Cries of a small child are what guide him through the crowds on that day, his eyes flickering over the people before they finally land on the boy who is standing there all alone. Upon asking him what happened the child tells him that he got distracted and lost his mother. As not only a police officer but also a decent human being Daichi immediately helps, asks the boy where him and his mother were last together and if he knows where his mother planned to go. If worst comes to worst and he won't be able to find the boy's mother he'll just ask the boy where he lives and will bring hm home to wait together with him until his mom returns. Luckily it never comes that far as Daichi is able to find you after half an hour of searching, the boy instantly leaving his side and running to you with tears in his eyes. He's far too humble in your eyes as he is confronted with your gratefulness, tells you that he only did his job and that anyone would have helped a crying child. Still, you make some small talk with him as you ask for his name and both of you start talking for a while with each other. That's how he finds out that you recently moved to the Miyagi prefecture with your child and live close to his neighbourhood.

🌅​The fact that he doesn't live far away from you and that he helped your child are major reasons that aid the two of you in getting so close to each other. Also, your son's dream is it to work for the police later on so he obviously views Daichi as his hero, something that flusters the man deep down a lot more than he shows. He visits you once a week when he has a free day, often bombarded with questions from your son about his job until you softly chide your child for his uncontrolled excitement. You admit to him relatively early that you moved here because your husband died and your parents live nearby as you also need to work and need someone to look after your son. Hearing that your husband died strangely enough makes more sense to him than if someone would have divorced you as only an ignorant fool would have let someone like you go. Daichi is not even going to deny his own feelings, he knows that he's extremely attracted to you. You're kind yet not too coddling, you're responsible and patient, you listen to the worries of others and are always willing to help where you can. Watching you raising your son sometimes reminds him of his high school days, a fond look on his face.

🌅​Daichi is able to stay patient in spite of his obsession, especially if the loss of your husband has been very recent. He gives you time, he allows you to grieve and focuses in the meantime on helping you and your child to integrate into the new city. The thing is that he fills that role of a supportive husband and father so nicely that neighbours and even your own parents and son can't help but support the two of you getting together. When you reject him he is a bit disheartened but he takes it really well because he realises that you didn't do so because you do not love him. You reject him because you feel not good enough but that in itself is still quite hurtful. You're such a wonderful person after all. He doesn't mind the little age gap nor does he think of you less because you have a child. In fact he's grown very fond and protective of your son who you have raised wonderfully. Still, it's wiser to not pressure you so he steps back for now. His confidence remains though, knowing that you didn't deny not being able to see him as a partner. He'll just stay in your life as a pillar of support for now and will slowly make you realise that you are everything but a waste to him.

Oikawa Tooru

👑​After a difficult divorce you make the decision to completely change your life and decide to try to reach for a dream you had when you were younger but gave up later on, deciding that you might not make it. It's better to try and fail then to never take the step. After many months of interviews, exchange of mails and documents you receive the news though. You did it. You're one of the managers for your favorite volleyball club, Club Athletico San Juan. You're so joyous, almost feel like a school girl all over again as you read the letter over and over again, kicking your feet and grinning like an idiot. Oikawa is still Oikawa even if he is by now an adult, his charming attitude still there as soon as you're introduced to the team as their new manager. His other teammates just watch with half amusement and half pity as Oikawa's charm ultimately never works. Sure, he manages to charm people quickly but he never manages to hold a relationship and they would hate for their setter and new manager to be on bad terms from the very start. You, with the divorce still freshly on your mind though, put your foot firmly down and clarify it to Oikawa very clearly that you have no intention of dating.

👑​Obviously Tooru is miffed about your blunt rejection yet another part of him can't help but respect your determination. You know what you want to focus on and he wants to acknowledge that, especially since he is essentially the same. The keyword here is want because who would have thought that his feelings would slip out of his grasp of control so quickly? You know when to put him and his childish antics in his place, chiding him almost as if he were a child and the experience feels only more realistic when he realises that you're a few years older than he is. The fact that you work so closely with him only enables him to be very overbearing as he dreams up all kinds of minor inconveniences so that he has something to complain about to have your attention on himself. Your daughter is a shocker as you have never talked about your private life before and whilst other players gush over your child he gives her a strange look at first, his mind trying to process what it could mean. He pesters you privately about it, his eyes desperate and his body tense. The tension leaves his body at least partially when you admit with a heavy sigh that you had a rough divorce before you started working here.

👑​Oikawa doesn't take the rejection very well, his heart dropping even though it doesn't have to do with the fact that you don't see him that way. Still, it is hard to stay logical with a heart as sensitive as his, especially since he is prone to being delusional. He just doesn't understand. What is it that he could have done better?? He has made it more than obvious that he is deeply in love with you. He's showered you in presents, constantly demands your attention and has even made the effort to get closer to your daughter despite initial caution he held. Is that still not enough?? What do you want him to do?? Please tell him what he as to do in order for you to accept. Honestly, your maternal instincts will come quite in handy as you're confronted with Tooru whilst his feelings threaten to burst out of him. Because it helps him to calm down and gives him the reassurance he so desperately craves from you in that moment. Nevertheless though, he ramps up his affection from a 10 to an 11 after that incident. If the problem is simply that you don't feel good enough he will change your mind. You're forgiven this one time. Do not reject him a second time though or else he might just make your job more difficult.

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅​The gentle love of a parent is a notion so foreign to Atsushi that the first encounter he has with you leaves him almost on the edge. Your kind words, the patient look in your eyes, the warmth and comfort you provide him with by simply being in the room threatens to burst his heart right at the seams. After cold deprivation for as long as he can remember your presence feels like being drowned in a bathtub filled with hot water. It's overwhelming almost, scorches his skin yet he gladly submerges himself in the heat and the sensations that come with it. He's almost immediately infatuated with you, finds himself yearning for your affection in his dreams as well as in the real world. The age difference is something that weights on his soul though as he realises how experienced you are and how clumsy he seems to be in comparison. There's a lack of knowledge with certain machines or customs that he hasn't been exposed to due to his time in the orphanage but he is always too ashamed to tell you about it. Adamant to not let himself look like a young fool in front of you, Atsushi simply refuses to ask for help or advice from you. He wants to prove to you as well as himself that he can provide for you.

🐅​As shameful as it is, there is an undeniable twinge of jealousy directed against your own child. He envies the little boy for being able to cling to you as often as he does as those are all things Atsushi desperately wishes to do as well. He wants to be held, comforted and loved by you too but he could never admit such things as he stares at your son. What would you think of him after all if he were to confess to you that he feels jealous of your own child? It doesn't stop him from clenching his hands into fists every time he witnesses you giving affection to your son, nails turning into claws as he imagines what it would be like if he were to be the one in your child's position. You and your husband have parted ways a few years ago but you still keep in contact due to the child and that just about kills Atsushi. It takes always more willpower than it should to not outright growl at the man whenever he visits. Atsushi can't even fathom how a man could let someone like you go and occasionally he imagines what it would be like to just tear that man apart whenever his jealousy gets the better of him. Chances aren't exactly zero for Atsushi to confront your ex-lover and accidentally kill him during an argument.

🐅​The beast within him tries to tame itself as good as it can for you even if results are mixed. With time he grows closer to your child though he struggles to be a parent for the little boy as he more than once acts just as childish and needy. Still, he does his best to show you that he can protect and provide for you and your child all whilst seeking emotional comfort from you. It has taken him a good chunk of courage to finally confess to you only to be met with a direct blow to his heart. The shock of your rejection numbs him for a few seconds before the weight comes crushing down. He hyperventilates, he cries, he bites his bottom lip bloody and his nails threaten to rip through the skin of his palms. That is only because he does misunderstand your rejection as you telling him that you have no interest in him. Once he has come to understand that you didn't reject him for that reason hopefully he manages to calm down at least a bit. That means that he still has a chance, doesn't he? Still, he feels like it's his fault for not having made it clearer to you just how deeply infatuated he is with you. That has to change now. Hopefully some of his seniors can give him useful tips how to woo you.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

⬛​It is through Gin that Akutagawa finds out about you as his beneath the mask quite shy sister has befriended you and finds herself visiting your small shop once a week. Whilst he is anything but an overbearing brother this piece of information still manages to stick to him. It's the first time he has heard that Gin has made friends with someone outside the Mafia and initially he starts directing hostility against you. Akutagawa isn't an individual to trust easily as he distrusts with far more confidence and this is what he finds himself doing against you. Who are you? Are you really just a regular citizen? His sister assures him that you are not some spy nor does she plan to give you any information about the Port Mafia or her real identity but for Akutagawa actions speak louder than words. He finds himself stalking you occasionally, dark eyes trailing after you. A scoff appears on his face the moment he notices the boy following you, realising that you have a child. How naive you must be, keeping a child whilst involving yourself with a mafioso. If you really are just a normal person you must have no motherly senses at all or else you wouldn't hang out casually with Gin.

⬛​Akutagawa never had a mother who raised him as he has grown up in a violent environment from a very young ago. None of his mentor figures have ever given him even an ounce of affection which has led him to believe that love is a weakness. A weakness he has fallen victim to. A part of him itches to use Rashomon to tear you and that little brat apart yet he holds himself back. Partially because his emotions are messy and partially for his sister's sake as she cherishes you. It's Gin he turns to as his curiosity grows and it is through her he finds out most information about you. The most pressing issue for him is who the father of your son is and even if Gin tells him that you have parted with the guy long before your child was born that doesn't stop Akutagawa's urges to rip that man apart for his mere existence. Stalking you becomes quite difficult, his possessive side flaring up the moment you talk to another man and give him a smile. It's the horrified gaze of his sister that holds him back but that is no guarantee that it'll work every single time. Only to his sister is he able to admit his conflicting feelings to you and both of them know that it is only a question of time when you will find out.

⬛​Still, even if it comes that far Gin wishes for her brother to not terrorise and hurt you even with his obsession. She cares for Akutagawa but you're still her friend and she likes your child as well. She wants him to attempt to confess to you the normal way at least once and if you reject him she kind of knows that there's little she can do. Unable to live with herself if she wouldn't try though Gin introduces her brother to you who finds himself incredibly awkward as he is completely out of his comfort zone, easily irritated and with little patience, especially when your son is around. Big chance that Gin is lurking around in the distance when Akutagawa tries confessing, already looking like he is glaring at you. He honestly only knows what to do in case you reject him because you don't like him which is instantly doing what he can do best. Inflicting fear upon you whilst using Rashomon. He isn't prepared for you rejecting him because you think he shouldn't bother with you and is left so perplexed with that answer that he just stares at you for a good while. Ultimately this only delays the abduction though because it'll still happen. He's promised Gin to not harm your son though.

[getosbigballsack]

Random thought! Rebellious boyfriend Gojo Satoru X shy nerdy reader anymore cause now reader Chan is

"I'm pregnant!"

You're eighteen years of age, and you are still a senior in high school. You only had a few more months until college entrance exams and graduation, but the choice you made to sleep with your boyfriend on the night of his birthday is how you ended up in this situation.

But how? He was wearing a condom that night and when he finally pulled out of you a few long hours of passionate sex, the condom he used still held his cum. So how and why? You probably know the answer; it must have been ripped somewhere, but you didn't want to admit that.

You're devastated, to say the least. You couldn't stop crying as you stared at the pregnancy test in your hand. What were you going to do now, keep the baby? What if your boyfriend hates you for this? How is he even going to react? How are you even going to tell him?

Well, there's only one way to find out. He was already on his way to Shoko's house after receiving a message asking him to come over as quickly as possible.

So, in a matter of minutes, he was at her house in her room sitting on the bed with you and the pregnancy test in his hand. You couldn't look at him, too afraid of what his face might look like. Too afraid of what he might say. You were just preparing for the worst-case scenario.

"Take another one, just to be sure."

That is what he said to you, shocking you, Shoko, and his best friend Geto that somehow tagged along to be a part of whatever that was about to happen.

That was the last thing that you're expecting. And honestly you were about to ask him why you need to take another pregnancy test when he already had one in his hand that clearly reads positive, but then he rested his hand open your cheek and whispered, “Please, take another just to be sure.” 

So you did, and after five minutes of waiting, the second test came back positive.

“You really are pregnant,” he said in disbelief. He tossed the test on the bed and rested his face in the palm of his hands. Reality finally hit him all at once. “Shoko, Sugu, can you leave us here for a moment? I want to talk to Y/N alone.” And they left, not without looking back at the both of you, though. 

Soon, the door closed, leaving a weeping and almost drained looking Gojo Satoru. There is a moment of silence, an uncomfortable silence that had you assuming the worst. Is he going to break up with you? Is it over? You couldn't help the thoughts that were running through your mind all at once, the anxiety you felt sitting next to him as you waited for him to say something to you. Then, finally, he spoke. 

“Y/N I…” 

“Are you going to break up with me?” You said to him, bursting into fits of tears. Gojo’s eyes grew wide, and his hand quickly slung itself around your shoulder to pull you closer. “Please don't break up with me… I didn't… I-I.” 

“Y/N, baby, calm down. Who said anything about breaking up,” Gojo said, quickly pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his other hand around your waist. You laid your head on his shoulders, tears still running down your face and soaking his shirt. 

“I… I just thought that. I mean, we aren't ready for… you didn't - I'm sorry. I'm just scared.” 

“And I'm scared too,” he admitted. “But I’m not going to break up with you. I told you haven't I that you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together."” 

“But I messed up. I… I caused such a huge mess that is going to ruin your life and, and I- I…” 

Unable to finish your sentence, Gojo gently fisted his hand in your hair and pulled your head back a bit just to kiss your lips in hopes that it'll calm you down. It broke his heart to see you in tears over something that wasn't your fault. If anything, he should be blamed. 

He should have checked the condom for leakage when he pulled out. He should have been more prepared. After all, he has a bit more experience than you, so he knew that it only takes one time, one slip up for you to get pregnant. 

“Y/N,” he whispered your name against your lips. He gave you one last reassuring kiss then he said, “If you are looking for someone to blame, then put it all on me.” 

“But… but I can't do that to you,” you cried. 

“Yes you can, because I knew better. I should've been careful knowing that anything can happen during sexual intercourse. So if you want someone to blame…” 

“No I won't, I can't,” you quickly spoke. 

He sighed, “Alright then,” before pulling you into a warm hug. You both sat there in silence for a while, Gojo was raking through his mind, thinking about what he possibly could say next. Well, he knew what he wanted to say to you, but he didn't want his opinion to sway you away from yours. 

“What do you want to do?”