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vibelladonna · 6 months ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…)

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished.

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender.

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after.

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment.

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment.

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin.

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew.

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore.

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer.

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable.

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy.

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down.

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions.

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous.

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters.

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory.

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him.

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you.

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences.

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor.

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability.

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there.

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed.

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching.

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares.

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away.

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break.

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior.

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable.

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it.

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ Somnophillia

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend.

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you.

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you.

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.

God, he was losing it.

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further.

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it?

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry!

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything.

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.

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bloomseishiro · 2 months ago

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THE NOT SO SILENT TREATMENT — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — you always text him updates about your day. but today, rin notices his notifications from you are lacking… he’s definitely not worried. not at all.

itoshi rin x reader. fluff, established relationship, pro soccer player!rin, rin is overthinking ;p that silly goose, reader referred to as beautiful + princess, does this count as clingy rin???, did i mention fluff :>

word count. 1.4k

Itoshi Rin hates when you give him the silent treatment.

He’s never noticed, nor cared, when others act quiet around him or ignore him, but the moment you don’t send him any text updates about your day at work, he grows worried.

It’s become routine for Rin to check his phone during breaks, smiling to himself as he read about whatever shenanigans you’ve been up to while working or running errands. But today, he checks his phone only to see zero notifications. At least, from you. He doesn’t care enough to acknowledge the others.

He places his phone back down, feeling slightly unsettled.

It might’ve been different if he hasn’t been away from Japan for over a week now, but the limited communication was really getting to him. Rin doesn’t think of himself as a physical touch guy, but the longer he’s away from you, the more he realizes he’s wrong.

“What’s with the long face?” Nanase asks as he peeks his head into the locker room.

“Nothing,” is Rin’s simple response.

Nanase raises his eyebrow questioningly but shrugs anyway, grabbing a clean face towel from his duffle bag and heading back to the field.

Once Rin is alone again, he sighs.

Could it be you are finally fed up with his infrequent responses? He reads all your messages, and he replies verbally once he gets the chance to call you, but he doesn’t text back much.

Worse, could it be that you are fed up with this bothersome, semi-long distance relationship? At home, the two of you have an apartment together. You furnished the place together (meaning you picked out all the furniture, then had Rin build it all himself), bought matching cookware, and even forced Rin to go to one art class so the two of you could make a painting and hang it on the wall. Everything is easy when he’s in Japan.

But during his frequent travels, you two are separated by both distance and timezones. A part of Rin wishes you could join him more often during away games, but a larger part of him is proud that you have your own passions and ambitions in your career, even if that means you can’t take as much time away as he would like.

Would it be only natural for you to grow restless of this type of relationship? Is that why you aren’t messaging?

Rin groans, slapping his hand to his forehead and trying to snap out of his useless spiraling.

He has a practice match to win. This can be worried about later.

The rest of the game passes by in a blur. His anxiety and frustration manifests into an even more aggressive playstyle than normal. The other team can’t keep up with the sudden change in pace, and Rin’s team wins. Not that he is surprised. Of course he would win.

By the time he next checks his phone, he still sees no new messages from you.

He frowns.

It’s about 4 p.m. where he is, meaning it’s around midnight for you. Surely, before bed you would have at least sent a goodnight text.

With a gnawing pit in his stomach, Rin doesn’t bother to wait until he gets to his hotel room to call you. The moment he enters his rental car, he dials your number for a video call.

You pick up on the third ring.

Rin’s shoulders suddenly feel less tense.

“Oh, my gosh,” you say, voice muffled with all the movement happening. Rin peers at his screen. The video of you is dark, but he can make out the fact that you are getting out of your car. “Today was absolutely crazy! I only got home just now. It’s so late! I’m so hungry but I need to get ready for bed and wake up early tomorrow. Ugh!” You sigh as you unlock the door to your apartment. “How are you, babe? Did practice go well? I missed you.”

After going all day without hearing from you, those three simple words brought a sense of contentment to him. Still, he remains cautious.

“You haven’t messaged me all day,” he states, voice neutral. “Is everything okay?”

The lights flicker on and he finally gets a clear view of your face. Your eyes look tired, but your smile is soft and cheerful.

“I’m a bit exhausted from today,” you admit sheepishly. “I slept through my alarm in the morning and I was so late to work, I couldn’t even text you good morning! Then, I ran over a nail! A fucking nail. Like, are you kidding me? Then, I had to go to a car shop since my tire popped, but they said they don’t have my tires in stock! So, they told me to go to another dealership down the street. By then I was so late for work I had to drop off my car, run to the nearest station, then go to work because I have a stupid project that the boss told me is due tomorrow morning for absolutely no reason whatsoever! So I had to stay late to finish up. Then, when I was finally able to leave, I have to take the train to the car dealership and pay way too much money to have them replace my tires. I was finally on my way home when my mom called and asked me to pick something up for her and she kept me for hours! Basically, I’m so tired and sleepy and what the fuck in the air was today?”

You gasp for breath once you finish talking, plopping down onto the couch dramatically.

“I want to sleep but I’m too tired to get ready,” you whine, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I wish you were here to help.”

“I wish I were there, too,” says Rin, staring hopelessly through the screen. Even tired after a long day, he thinks you look beautiful. “Sounds like your day was busy.”

You nod in despair. “Yeah, I barely even got to go on my phone. I had, like, zero downtime today. It felt so weird not being able to text you,” you say sadly, a frown on your face. “I miss you, Rin.”

He exhales through his nose, closing his eyes and laughing at himself for his stupidity from earlier. Of course, you didn’t text him because you were busy. It’s not because you got cold-feet, or because you were re-thinking this relationship. You were simply busy. Maybe if he weren’t an idiot, he would’ve come to that conclusion sooner.

“Rin?” you ask hesitantly, worried after not hearing a reply.

He blinks, turning his attention back to you. “I miss you, princess. I fly back tomorrow. Finally.”

Your eyes, once tired, are now filled with excitement as you beam. “I know! I marked it on my calendar. I asked to leave work early so I can greet you right when you return!”

The sound of your happiness feels like a familiar embrace and Rin can’t help but smile, though faint. “I’ll look for you when I land then.”

“Can I make a giant sign with your name on it?”

He snorts in amusement. “And when will you have time to do that before tomorrow? How about you get some sleep instead?”

You pout, but a yawn overcomes you as the exhaustion hits.

Rin lifts his brow as if to say, “See?”

“Coffee exists,” you mumble. “I have poster paper and some markers—”

“Y/N,” he says, deadpan. “It’s late there. Get some rest. Please.”

You sigh, but nod in agreement. “Okay, baby. I’ll rest now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I miss you a lot.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. “I miss you, too. A lot.”

“Can we cuddle all day when you get back?”

“Isn’t that always the plan?” he says dryly, but the corner of his lip quirks up into a smile. “Yes.”

“Yay!” you cheer, waving goodbye through the phone screen. “Love you! Good night!”

His phone grows dim once you hang up, but he feels like a weight has been taken off his chest knowing you weren’t ignoring him.

Now, Rin can’t wait for the flight so he can come home soon.

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spookyvalentine · 8 months ago

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fifty questions for rook

(no spoilers!)

Round two (spoilers)

veilguard is finally here yall!!!!! and now a set of character building questions for rook, because i wanna know all about them! there will be more question lists as I play the game, but those will be marked with spoilers and under a readmore for the next sixty days

1. How old is Rook?

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

4. Which faction did they join, and why? How long has it been?

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

6. What was the reason that brought Rook to Minrathous?

7. Why does Rook agree to join the Veilguard?

8. What makes Rook a good leader?

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

11. Does Rook keep up with current events? (How aware of the situation are they at the start of the game?)

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

14. What does Rook see when they look in the mirror?

15. What’s the first thing people notice when Rook enters a room?

16. Got any tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

17. How’d Rook get those scars?

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

21. What does Rook’s voice sound like? One of the voice options available, or do they have a different accent/voicecast?

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

23. What does Rook wear in the off hours? Do they like dressing up?

24. Does Rook have any nightly rituals before bed?

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

26. Rook is in charge of the grocery list. What’s on it?

27. When was the last time they cried?

28. Does Rook have any pets/animal companions?

29. Any vices?

30. What is Rook’s class? Did they choose it?

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

32. How would a desire demon tempt Rook?

33. What do fear demons look like to Rook?

34. How does Rook begin their day?

35. Ultimate comfort food meal:

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

37. Does Rook ascribe to a faith?

38. Did Rook have any relationships before Veilguard?

39. What is their room at The Lighthouse like?

40. Describe Rook’s bed:

41. What’s on their nightstand?

42. Something Rook regrets:

43. Is Rook the type to gossip?

44. What is Rook really good at?

45. Who was Rook’s closest friend before joining the Veilguard?

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

47. What’s Rook’s temper like?

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

49. What will always make them laugh?

50. Are they a mystery, or an open book?

+1 What does Rook smell like?

#reblog and I’ll send you some asks!#I can’t wait to meet everyone!!#and pls ask me about my rooks their names are lascaux lemuria and altamira 🥰🥰🥰#dragon age veilguard #rook ask game #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #oc ask game

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kedreeva · 4 months ago

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Hi Ked! Having chickens when I finally get my own place has been something I've wanted for a while (am currently putting it on hold despite in the near future acquiring said own place due to H5N1). However, I have become a little enamored of quail recently in comparison. My goal would be to have eggs and fluffy yard buddies, do you recommend either one over the other?

If you want birds that can free roam your yard, it can't be quail. They are game birds, like pheasants, and will just leave (or get immediately eaten by.... everything, but especially hawks and domestic cats.

If you don't mind having them contained, then 100% quail are a better option right now.

Quail don't take up nearly the same space; an average sized quail tower takes up approximately a 2x3 foot space, and depending on how many levels you have and how densely you populate them can hold anywhere from 15-40 quail. That amount of space cannot even house 1 chicken long term.

Quail are not NEARLY the same initial investment; on average people end up investing around $200-500 in quail equipment/caging/birds depending on how into it you want to get, and $2k+ in appropriate chicken equipment/caging/birds. These costs can vary greatly depending on how handy you are and what connections you have to acquire scrap materials, or how fancy you want to get.

Since quail are not kept on raw ground, they have MUCH fewer health problems on average- they rarely get parasites, they rarely pick up bacterial infections, they rarely pick up anything viral (and if their caging is kept in a more enclosed/covered space there is almost no chance of them picking up HPAI). Since they're contained, there's not very much chance for them to injure themselves (although like any bird, if there's a way they have the will to find it).

Their eggs are more nutritionally dense than chickens. You can compare nutrition per gram anywhere online.

They're (in my experience) more consistent layers than chickens; give them light and feed, and they will lay daily year round, only taking a break to molt in the fall.

Quail's full lifespan is shorter than chickens. This may seem like a downside, but the productive years for a chicken are generally 2-5 years, with a lifespan that should be 7-12 years. Quail have the same 2 years of production, but on average only live 3-5 years, so even if you don't want to butcher the spent hens (which most people do), you aren't caring for nonproductive birds for many years.

Quail are easy to butcher at home with almost no equipment- all you need is a hefty, sharp pair of kitchen shears, a 5g bucket (with or without a liner), and some ice water in a big bowl. No plucking, no scalding, no killing cones, nothing special for cleaning. They can be packed for freezing whole in vacuum sealed sleeves.

If you get or build rollout cages, the eggs gently roll to the front of the cage and "out" into the tray, where they can be picked up clean!

If you get or build wire-bottom cages, you don't technically have to buy bedding. Cost efficient! You can provide resting boards or have solid-bottom portions of the cage, and giving them a sand bath bin will be REALLY exciting for them.

Coturnix quail come in such a huge variety of color and patterns that you can surely find some type you like.

Both species can come with aggression issues- it takes FAR less time to breed it out of quail because they hit breeding age in a matter of weeks, not months.

The downside to quail is that most coturnix quail are not terribly cuddly. you might be able to imprint one (I did once, because my pigeons hatched him and then didn't like that, so I took Robert in), but the majority will just be cute look-don't-touch birds. They are FASCINATING to watch though, so it works out imo.

the downside to both species is. the roosters crow. terrible noises in both cases. I couldn't handle chicken roosters.

Anyway, I think that in all honesty, when MOST people are considering getting into chickens, what they ACTUALLY want is the experience of having quail. Small, cute, easy to handle/raise, genetic manipulation through generations of selective breeding easy to hatch, cute eggies. There's a LOT of people getting into chickens right now because they think it will be a solution to the expensive eggs in the supermarket, but it won't be. They'll end up spending more on the chickens than they ever would have on just getting eggs, and throw a stone in a chicken group on fb and you'll hit 17 people who have had horrific health issues related to parasites, illness, injury, predation, etc.

Meanwhile.... quail groups are largely chill and questions are usually about colors and feed/housing (since most of the problems are bad feeding habits or caging, or genetic issues).

#asks #chickens #quail #I kept chickens for like a decade #and I finally had to admit it just was not for me #Quail for me had a rough start with the quality of the birds I got #but once I corrected that.... I am having so much fun #the birds are SO cute #and they grow up so fast I don't have to deal with babies forever #they are SO much nicer #not that chickens are not great but I think you gotta REALLY be into it to do it well #and a lot of people get into it on a whim because chicks are cute #and then they turn into 3-8lb velociraptors and people are in over their heads #with waayyyyy too much invested to just give up so they spend a LOT of time and money trying to keep their heads above water

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mggslover · 6 months ago

Text

Between the lines

In which Spencer crosses paths with the woman he's been dreaming about. Their undeniable attraction turns fantasy into reality.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: lots of build up, perv!spence, lovesick!spence, lots of flirting, teasing, sex toys, p in v sweet sensual sex Word count: 4,6k A/n: part two of through thin walls! you can read this as a standalone, but it's a short one so give it a try ;)

It had been three weeks since Spencer last had a nightmare. Ever since his neighbor—a woman he had yet to meet—moved in next door, his nights had been calm, peaceful. Sleep had become something he looked forward to, but it wasn’t just sleep itself. It was the moments before, the quiet waiting in anticipation that became part of his routine.

Every time he came home from an exhausting case, he would crawl into bed and lean back against the headboard, his body settling as he awaited a movement from the apartment next to him. Feeling a sense of relief when her sweet moans would slip through the thin wall.

It didn’t take Spencer long to find a pattern in her routine. On weekdays, it was quick, urgent. The soft moans would rise, then fall—until Thursday. Thursdays were different. He could tell by the muffled groans and the frustrated sighs, that she was unable to find the release she so desperately sought. She would let out a final huff, signalling Spencer to stop his movements.

He was aware that he had no obligation towards the woman, but he found no pleasure in the act of touching himself when he knew she wasn’t enjoying herself. These days left a toll on him. Irritated by the fact that he couldn’t just knock on her door with the suggestion of helping her out. But luckily, there were still the weekends. The weekends were good. Her sessions stretched longer, her pleasure unraveling slowly but intensely. Spencer never managed to keep up alongside her, but he couldn’t help continuing to listen as he laid down with his eyes closed. Savoring each breath, each moment as he found peace in the fact that she felt satisfied by the end of the night.

It wasn’t every day that they would share intimate moments like these. On times she didn’t indulge, Spencer found comfort in the other sounds of her life. Hearing her television hum in the background, not loud enough to make out the words, but her occasional laughter—or her soft humming along with a song—was enough to remind him she was there, just beyond the walls.

It was strange, to feel such familiarity with someone he had never spoken to, someone who’s name he didn’t even know, but somehow Spencer had grown very attached to her presence. He often wondered what the rest of her life looked like. Making it a game to fill in the blanks with the inkling of behaviour he had.

One thing he could confidently profile was her loneliness. Whether that was by choice or by circumstance, or a mixture of both, he didn’t know. Only that he has never heard another voice besides hers, not even the typical hellos and goodbyes one would make on a phone call. He hoped she was settling in well, wishing he could bring her the comfort she has given him since her arrival.

It was noon, on a rare day where Spencer didn’t have to go to the office. But Spencer wasn’t the type to sit still on his free days. He grabbed his saddlebag from the leather chair next to the door, whistling a tune under his breath as he looked for his keys. He unlocked the door with a quick turn of the handle, but before he could step out, a yelp echoed from the hallway.

“I’m sor-,” he froze mid-apology, the automatic reply getting stuck in his throat as he processed the familiar sound. That gasp—it was embedded in his memory, a sound he could recognize anywhere, even though the circumstances were completely different. His cheeks flushed, heat spreading across his face, and he found himself afraid to tilt his head, knowing who he would face.

“It’s okay, don’t worry! I should’ve looked out.” The voice apologized.

Spencer’s mind scrambled. He wanted to tell her that he should be the one apologizing, that it was his fault for slamming the door open without considering who might be walking through the shared hallway. But all he could manage was a strangled silence, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look up. His stomach fluttered and his pupils blew wide as he made eye contact with her. She was more beautiful than anything beyond his wildest dreams. He was almost ashamed for picturing her any less than she is. He felt flustered as his mind began piecing her face and body together with the sounds that he’s been eavesdropping on for the past couple of weeks.

He realized how awkward he was making the situation when she looked up at him with big eyes, clearly waiting for some kind of response.

“Did you like my cookies?” She asked, breaking the quiet, her voice a little hesitant but genuine.

Spencer blinked, surprised at the question, his mind struggling to catch up. "Cookies?" he repeated, brows knitting together in confusion.

The girl noticed his expression and rushed to explain. “I brought you cookies,” she said, her hands moving slightly, as if trying to emphasize the story. “When I first moved in here.”

Spencer stayed quiet, getting her to elaborate further. “You weren’t home. I left them on your doorstep,” she continued, a little sheepishly.

He nodded, letting out a small sigh as he made the connection. “It’s my neighbor,” he pointed to the door to the left of him with a vague sweep of his hand, the gesture almost apologetic. “The other one. Miss Cavanaugh. She has a habit of stealing.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth hung slightly open at the casualty in which he mentioned this fact.

“Oh no, don’t worry! she won’t steal from you.” He quickly corrected, raising his hand to wave off any concern. “Well, she might but it’s not likely she’d, like, break into your apartment. That would be a criminal act—breaking and entering—which is a felony in all 50 states. Actually, it's a federal offense in certain circumstances.” He glances off to the side for a moment, thinking, then gestures with a loose hand.

“My point is, she’s more of a, uh, casual thief, if that makes sense? Like, you know, she might nab food or a basket or something left outside, but the odds of her actually coming into your apartment are really low. Statistically speaking, this building has an impressively low crime rate for DC, especially for this price range. It’s safer than 75.3% of comparable buildings in the area.”

His brows furrowed together at the end of his sentence, as if his brain just caught up with his words. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

The corners of her lips lifted, a soft but genuine smile lighting her face.

“That’s good to know. I didn’t do that much research when I moved in here.” She held out her hand, introducing herself.

Her hand was smaller than his, and without thinking, he clasped it gently between both of his, needing to know if he indeed had the connection with her he assumed he had. The touch sent a jolt through him, feeling the spark of electricity he was hoping for. He surprised himself with how much he didn’t want to let go and, more so, how she didn’t pull away.

"I’m Doctor Spencer Reid," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with a genuine awe as he looked at her.

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Doctor, huh? Good to know there’s one next door in case I drop dead.”

“Oh, uh—” His words came in a tumble as he rushed to explain. “Not a medical doctor. I’m with the FBI. I specialize in criminal behavior. So if you were to, say, die by murder, I’d be the one—uh, the one investigating it.”

The words hung in the air for a beat longer than he intended, and before he could stop himself, he added, “Not that I want you to die, or—uh, be murdered. That’s… that’s not what I meant at all. I mean, if there was even a chance someone wanted to hurt you, I’d make sure to stop it before it happened, but—”

Her laugh, bright and airy, caught him off guard. She then tilted her head slightly, studying him in a way that made her seem like the profiler.

“I’ll see you around, Spencer,” she finally said, her voice teasing but kind. His cheeks flushed at the way his name rolled off of her tongue.

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked off. Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, her presence lingering even after her figure disappeared down the hall. He stood frozen in the doorway, his heart racing from the exchange.

When he finally stepped back inside, he closed the door and leaned heavily against it, letting out a groan.

He’d forgotten all about the plans he previously had. Instead, his thoughts swirled around her—even more curious about his neighbor than he was before. As he replayed their brief exchange, one thing became startlingly clear: he needed to see her again.

It was like faith heard him. Later, on that evening, Spencer stepped into the laundromat of the apartment complex, the soft hum of dryers and the faint smell of detergent filling the air. He just finished taking his laundry out of the dryer when he saw her—standing at one of the machines, pulling her clothes out with an ease that made the mundane task look almost elegant.

Spencer moved toward her, a little too quickly, and nearly bumped into a man coming the other way. “Sorry,” he mumbled, placing his basket down beside hers.

Her eyes flicked up, catching his gaze immediately. The air between them shifted, filled with an undeniable spark.

“Hi, Doc,” she greeted with a warm smile. “We meet again.”

“Hi,” Spencer managed, his voice a little breathless.

He glanced down at the pile of laundry. “Sock day?” he asked with a smirk, genuinely curious.

She chuckled softly. “More like underwear day in general. I like to stick to a schedule.”

“Me too!” Spencer eagerly responded, excited to have something in common with her.

She sighed as she held up a sock, contemplating its mate. “Underwear day is the worst though. It’s going to take me hours to match these.”

Spencer gave a quiet laugh. “I gave up on that a while ago.” He casually rolled up his pants, revealing mismatched socks—one green with avocados, the other purple with yellow stripes. “It’s more fun this way.”

She crouched down to get a better look, her eyes scanning the colorful mismatched pair. Spencer bit down on his lip. The act was so innocent, but his thoughts wandered, imagining what it might be like if she were kneeling for a different reason.

Jesus, it feels like I swapped brains with Derek.

He cleared his throat, wiping his clammy hands on his pants. She noticed, getting back on her feet, though she didn’t seem embarrassed. If anything, her eyes twinkled with excitement.

“It is more fun that way,” she agreed. “You see a serious guy like you, dressed up all neat and then, poof, funky socks. Like magic.”

His face brightened at the mention of magic. “I could show you another magic trick—a sock trick.”

She snorted, clearly intrigued. “A sock trick?”

Spencer’s confidence grew, knowing he could impress her and wanting to make her smile again. He grabbed a polka-dot sock from his laundry basket, holding it up between his fingers.

“Alright. I’m going to take this sock…” He moved with exaggerated care, his hands precise as he folded the sock in half, then folded it again. “And just like that, I’m going to make it disappear.”

He made a quick move, waving his hands dramatically to hide how he tucked it into the waistband of his pants. “See? Gone.”

She looked at him with wide, amused eyes. “You can’t be serious. Where did it go?”

He smirked and leaned in. “Ah, but that’s the trick—you have to keep an eye on me.” The back of his fingers softly trailed up her cheek, his confidence growing as he felt the heat radiating off her. In one smooth motion, he pulled the exact same sock from behind her ear.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “No way.”

“Now look in your basket.”

She shook her head in disbelief. She looked at her laundry pile, and sitting right on top was the matching polka-dot sock.

She threw her head back, laughing, overwhelmed with amazement.

Spencer chuckled softly, enjoying her reaction. “I grew up in Vegas, so I’ve had some practice—but the real magic is in the timing. You were too focused on me to notice the disappearance.”

His words were meant as a mere observation, but the realization seemed to dawn on both of them. She had indeed been too focused on him—only him.

The tension between them grew. She toyed with her lip, and he adjusted the collar of his shirt as they maintained eye contact.

“Laundromat is closing, folks! Everybody out in five minutes.” The announcement through the speakers made them both jump, shaken out of the trance they were in.

“Can I walk you to your apartment?” Spencer asked.

Her eyes glistened, and her smile reached the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They walked out of the laundromat, continuing their small talk about magic and life while sharing the occasional giggle. The stairway was too narrow to walk side by side—especially when carrying a big laundry basket—but that didn’t seem to bother them. The sides of their bodies brushed, their pace matching as they ascended the stairs. Spencer kept an arm behind her back, ready to steady her if she stumbled.

They arrived at their neighboring apartment doors. The air was filled with a mix of the sorrow of their encounter ending and the anticipation of a new one.

The scene almost felt like the end of a first date. Tension hung in the air as they shifted back and forth on their feet, wondering if a goodbye kiss would follow.

“This is mine,” Spencer commented.

She let out a breathy chuckle. “I know.”

After a moment of lingering eye contact, she decided to take the lead.

“Good night, Spencer.” She smiled softly.

“Good night,” he repeated.

Spencer felt a rush of joy as he closed the door behind him. Flirting wasn’t his strong suit. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if their exchanges today could be considered flirting. But there was something comfortable about it. Something effortless. And, most importantly, he’d made her laugh. Several times.

Lost in his thoughts, Spencer set his laundry basket down on the table, preparing to fold the clothes. He wasn’t paying attention as he reached inside—until his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar material.

He looked down with a frown. In his hand was a pair of red laced panties. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he could only stare at them in disbelief.

A vivid image flashed in his mind—those same red panties, nestled in his neighbor’s laundry basket. He frowned deeper, replaying their interaction in his mind. Could I have taken them by accident? He was sure he hadn’t. With an eidetic memory, he’d be able to remember something like that.

His confusement and worry were quickly overcome by a feeling of curiosity and lust. Spencer’s fingers lingered over the fabric, the soft lace slipping between them.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine her in it. The delicate lace tracing the curve of her waist, the soft dips and rises of her hips. Her body seemed to shimmer in the dim glow of his imagination.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shifted in his mind. His fingers curled slightly around the fabric, imagining the way it would feel against her skin as she moved. She lowered her hands, fingers trailing over her body as she slid the lace downward, over the curve of her hips, the fabric teasing the soft swell of her backside. He could almost hear it—the quiet rustle of the lace moving, sliding over her skin as she undressed, the tension in his chest building with each slow, deliberate motion.

His heartbeat quickened as he imagined her pulling the panties lower. The lace graced the insides of her legs, following the shape of her thighs as she removed it with such ease, such grace. And then, just like that, it was gone. The fabric fell, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing before him, utterly exposed.

As his fingers twisted the delicate lace, the image of her in his mind began to fade, slipping away like a dream that was never meant to stay. His subconscious seemed to know that any attempt to imagine her would only fall short. With a quiet exhale, Spencer loosened his grip, folded the lace carefully, and tucked it into his pocket—out of sight, out of mind.

He decided to lie down on his bed, not to sleep, but simply to relax. But his body had other ideas. Before he knew it, his eyes had closed, and his mind had drifted off. The soft purr of his name pulled him from his light doze.

For a moment, Spencer thought he was in heaven—that his pulse had quickened from the thought of her and now he found himself in a place where he could hear her voice calling out his name, like an angel. But as his eyes fluttered open, he realized the voice was more muffled and coming from behind the wall.

“Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?”

Startled, he swiftly propped himself up on his elbows, his mouth parting before he swallowed his words. Admitting that he could hear her—especially after the sounds from the previous nights—felt like a confession. The idea of those nights ending made his chest tighten, but if it meant he could speak to her again, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“Yes. I can hear you,” he called back, his voice a little louder.

A long silence followed. Spencer cursed himself, anxious that he’d ruined it. But then, he heard the soft, familiar buzz.

“What about this? Do you hear this?” she asked, a playful edge to her voice.

“I- I do. What is it?” Spencer asked, his curiosity peaked.

Her giggle echoed softly through the wall, and his chest tightened with warmth. He smiled without thinking, his heart aching at the sound.

“You don’t know what this is?” she amusingly teased.

“No,” he admitted, sheepish.

“It’s a vibrator, Spencer.”

Her words hit him like a sudden jolt of electricity. He could feel the heat rise in his face, but then came her sweet laughter again. Spencer shook his head, smiling despite himself.

“Have you ever tried it?” she asked, her voice sounding almost daring.

Spencer quietly responded. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

“I- I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

A beat of silence passed, before she spoke again.

“You could come over and find out.”

Spencer’s face went red, his heart pounding in his chest. “N-now?”

“Yes, now,” she answered with a soft chuckle.

Spencer scrambled off the bed, his pulse racing as he hurried toward the door, afraid she might change her mind. He forced himself to stop when he stood in front of her apartment, drawing in a deep breath to steady the surge of nervous excitement. The moment he’d been fantasizing about for so long was a knock away from becoming reality.

Knock, knock.

The door creaked open, and Spencer was met with the breathtaking sight of her.

She stepped aside and gave him that look—the one that made every nerve in his body stir with need. “Come in.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer’s voice barely made it out, thick with anticipation.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she moved toward him, lifting onto her toes as she placed her hand on the back of his neck, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. And then, she kissed him.

There was no rush behind her soft lips. It wasn’t frantic like his thoughts had been. It was gentle—like she was savoring the moment just as much as he was.

She slowly lowered herself back to her feet, and she gazed up on him, a soft smile on her lips, eyes twinkling.

It took Spencer a moment to process what had just happened, but once he did, he pulled her back in, his lips crashing into hers with desperate urgency. She responded in kind, her hands sliding into his hair, tugging him closer. His breath came in shallow gasps as he lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and he carried her to the wall. Their bodies pressed against the same wall that had once held their whispered breaths.

His mind felt like it was spinning—this was real, she was real, and he was touching her. His lips trailed down her neck, the soft skin beneath his mouth sending sparks of desire through him.

“Spencer,” she murmured, and the sound of her voice made his heart stutter. He responded by lifting his lips from her skin, needing to look at her—to drink her in, to memorize every detail.

She met his gaze, her lips parted. “Take it off,” she breathed, pulling at his shirt, her hands shaking with the same feverish need.

Spencer stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving her, and pulled his shirt over his head. His eyes traced every inch of her as she began to undress too, throwing her clothes aside.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself as she revealed her nude body, wearing no underwear underneath the clothes she just took off.

She smirked, her gaze burning into his. “I told you it was underwear day.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with awe and desire.

Her lips curled into a satisfied smile as she pulled him back into her embrace, their bodies stumbling towards the bed. She fell softly onto the sheets, and he moved on top of her, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.

Spencer began to pepper her with kisses, unsure where to start. He hummed as his tongue swiped along the curve of her neck. His wet kisses trailed down to her collarbones, leaving purple marks on his way down, each one encouraged by her sweet moans.

As he moved further up the bed, his knee brushed against something. His focus shifted as he noticed the small, purple object. “Is this it?” he asked, curiously, and she nodded.

He picked it up, noticing it was smaller than his index finger. As he rolled the toy in his hand, it suddenly buzzed to life, making him jump back. She laughed at his reaction, clearly amused.

He quickly figured out how to stop the buzzing and he hovered above her, tracing her lips with the toy. She instinctively opened her mouth, her tongue rolling around it.

“Good girl,” he hummed. “That’s it.”

She moaned softly as she closed her lips around it, sucking gently while maintaining eye contact. He slowly slid the vibrator from her lips, its surface glistening with the trace of her tongue. Turning it on again, he moved it to her nipple, the bud instantly hardening. She let out quiet whimpers, her body trembling with the sensation.

Once satisfied, he placed his mouth on her nipple while the vibrator moved to the other one. She arched her back with a moan as he sucked on the sensitive bud.

Her hips rolled in response to his touch, and with every movement her skin brushed against his length, making it harder to hold back his moans.

“Don’t go quiet on me now. You always make such beautiful sounds,” she purred.

His face flushed as he looked at her, her fingers brushing through his locks. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. I think the whole complex has heard you,” she giggled.

He opened her thighs, and without warning, placed the vibrator directly on her clit. She let out a high-pitched cry.

“I’m pretty sure all they hear is you,” he teased back. Her voice was a mixture of laughter and moans and he kissed her passionately, desperate to hold onto that sound, to keep it locked within him forever.

She loosely wrapped her legs around his waist, her hand brushing against his to keep the toy in place. He leaned onto his elbows, hovering above her, moaning when his length slipped between her folds. He moved steadily, each thrust coating him in her wetness. Every time he thrust up, his tip brushed against the vibrator, sending shudders through his body. She upped the intensity, and their moans became synchronized, echoing in the air.

Their breathing grew heavier, only interrupted by soft kisses. Spencer felt her tense beneath him, her legs trembling against his back.

“You can let go for me. Show me how good you make yourself feel,” he encouraged, his voice low and warm against her lips.

“It’s you who’s making me feel this good, Spencer,” she whispered, and he could feel the butterflies flutter in his chest.

He held her close as she reached her peak, her soft cries muffled by her face buried in the crook of his neck. Spencer was pressed against the vibrator, the sensation overwhelming him.

She placed the toy beside her, her hand finding his hardness and guiding him inside of her. Spencer let out a needy whine as he was enveloped by her warmth. She pulsed around him, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She pulled him into a sloppy kiss, and he desperately moved his hips, driven by the overwhelming pleasure, until he spilled inside of her.

They stayed like that for a moment, their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath. Spencer eventually rolled off her, their legs remaining intertwined.

He turned his head to look at her, and she was already watching him with a sweet smile.

“That was nice,” he mused softly.

“Yeah, it was,” she replied, her voice just as soft.

They spent the rest of the night, and the entirety of the next morning tangled up in each other, until it was time for Spencer to leave for work.

She watched him with adoration as he pulled his pants on, her eyes tracing his movements. As he reached into his pocket, his hand brushed against the familiar lace, and he froze. His cheeks flushed as he pulled out the bundle of fabric—her red laced panties.

“I- uh…” he stammered, holding them out to her. “Here.”

She chuckled. “You can keep them. Consider it a welcome gift. You know, since the cookies didn’t exactly work out.”

“That’s okay. It’s yours,” he replied, holding them out to her once more.

Her smirk deepened. “I didn’t do that little magic trick just for you to give them back,” she teased.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait—you put them in my laundry?”

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. “You’re not the only magician here, Spencer.”

Spencer laughed, coming to a halt at the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked with a grin.

She chuckled softly, nodding. “I think I could get used to that.”

3K notes · View notes

cumironi · 7 months ago

Text

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, c��ck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

#suki.☆#geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto smut #geto suguru smut #jjk x reader smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen smut #anime smut #suguru smut #jjk fluff #suguru geto smut

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arachnidseyes · 15 days ago

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─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

BREAKFAST AND GOODBYES

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: First Part. Next Part. Breakfast with the Wayne's! I'm building their relationship, let me cook. They're like 19-20, Fem reader. w.c: 1.4K.

Damian sits at his desk, listening to the sound of the shower and your soft humming coming from his bathroom.

The last few hours were very much not how he expected the night to go. He didn’t expect Constantine’s spawn herself to show up on his balcony bleeding out. He didn’t expect to give her over a dozen stitches, let her sleep on his bed, use his shower and wear his clothes. He certainly didn’t expect her to be invited to breakfast with almost his entire family present.

It’s fine. He’s Damian Wayne. He’s gone through worse.

The door to his bathroom creaks open and you step out in a gust of steam. Since your clothes are more blood and dirt than cloth, you’ve chosen to wear a pair of his sweatpants and a stupid Robin T-shirt Dick gave him that he’s never worn.

“I feel spoilt Dames, Is this how you treat all your patients or just the pretty ones?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, watching you flop down on his bed. You look much better than you did a few hours ago and he doesn’t know why that lifts such a weight from his shoulders.

“So how’s Goliath? Haven't seen that big guy in forever.”

The unexpected question doesn't faze him.

"He is fine. I set him free on Lazarus island.”

You sit up a little to look at him better.

“You let him go?”

Maybe you’re overstepping a little but it’s a fair question.

“Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he’s gone. Real bonds don’t fray with time or distance, even with dragon-bat creatures.”

He makes the mistake of looking at you after he says that, seeing the look on your face as you gaze at him while absentmindedly touching your stitches. He should chastise you for that but he just clicks his tongue and tries to go back to reading his book. A futile effort.

You breathe in deeply before sitting up,

“Well, it would be rude to keep Alfred waiting. What’s for breakfast?”

─⋅⋆⁺.

Apparently everything.

You have to swallow the drool pooling in your mouth as you stare at the ridiculous amount of food set out on the massive dining room table. You can't even remember the last time you had a proper full breakfast.

The sound of utensils clinking on porcelain stalls slightly when you arrive. You do a headcount of all the bats present; Dick, Cass, Tim, Steph and Duke. Damian takes the seat next to Cass, leaving a seat for you right next to where Bruce sits at the end of the table, reading the newspaper with a mug of coffee. God, could he act more dad-like?

“Hey, Bruce. Long time, no see.”

“Y/n, Nice to have you join us today.”

There’s an implied question in there that you choose not to ignore.

“Right. Well, just thought I’d stop by, y’know.”

You can feel Damian's eyes roll at the piss poor answer you just gave but you’d like to see him choke up something better. Dick leans forward, elbows on the table and asks,

“And just how often do you do that?”

You ignore his imploring stare and give a longing look at the breakfast spread.

“Clearly not enough. May I?”

You ask Bruce, and he nods his head, motioning towards the food.

“Of course.”

You sit yourself down and waste absolutely no time stuffing your face with almost every type of food within reach; eggs, bacon, hash browns, french toast, sausages, pancakes, bagels, scones, some other sides you probably can’t pronounce the name of.

You’re so busy in your mission to full your stomach that you don’t notice the mental war game going on between Dick and Damian.

Damian stares him down, fork stabbing into his eggs, a warning. Dick looks just about ready to burst, a million questions building up in his head, waiting to spill out.

“Ok, I can’t do it! What exactly is going on here?”

You look at him blankly, chewing a mouthful of syrupy pancakes. You give a small, “hmm?”

“Why are we all acting like this is normal?”

He looks over to his other siblings, who offer no assistance besides knowing glances and stifled laughs. They’re all very content to watch him find the answers to their burning questions, offering him up like a sacrifice to the Demon’s son. Damian sighs woefully, aiming an accusing look at you,

“Why couldn’t you show up when he was in Bludhaven?”

Bold of him to think you wouldn’t delight in making this even harder for him.

“Well, he wasn’t here last time, Babe.”

“Last time?! Babe?!”

You almost choke on your laugh as Alfred sighs at the eldest son’s ill mannered volume. Damian groans,

“Don’t make it worse, he’s too stupid to know when he’s being fooled.”

Dick looks at him confused and when he notices the quirk in Bruce’s lips behind his coffee mug, he understands.

“You’re messing with me.”

He points an accusatory fork at you, to which you shrug. He sits back in his chair, eyeing the both of you.

“Oh, you’re perfect for each other.”

He swiftly dodges the fork Damian throws at his head. Alfred sighs again, stepping away to retrieve the utensil from the wall.

Slathering a generous amount of butter on your croissant, you turn to Bruce.

“So hows that demon ward on The Batcave holding up? I can replenish it before I leave.”

Bruce looks up from his newspaper to address you fully. You resist the urge to look away, it’s always a little nerve racking to have The Batman’s full attention on you.

“The candle is still burning, no demonic related incidents since you put it up. It should be fine for now. If there is a problem, I’m sure Damian will be happy to get ahold of you.”

You break eye contact then. Clearing your throat, you nod in confirmation, looking down at your suddenly very interesting plate, like you’re only now noticing how pretty the porcelain is.

You pretend not to see Bruce’s small smile, or Damian’s tight grip on his fork. You pretend not to feel both Dick and Tim’s smug grins or hear Steph and Duke's childish snickering from four chairs down.

Most of breakfast is uneventful. It’s nice to just sit and listen to the small talk, to see what a real family looks like. Nobody asks about your father or why you scratch at your waist every now and then.

Bruce does tentatively ask if you’ll be staying in Gotham for a while, and you answer him,

“No, after this I should head home. There are portals in every city if you know where to look, usually the cemeteries.”

Thankfully, nobody questions why you can’t just teleport back home, maybe because they don’t want to have to ask where exactly home is for you right now.

Alfred does offer you a chauffeur and you accept that graciously, not really wanting to walk around Gotham in Damian’s pajamas and your only surviving clothes; your old brown coat and converse.

After saying your goodbyes and thank yous to the family, Damian walks you to the front door, stepping out and closing it behind him. The way he looks when he turns his full attention to you, for some reason, reminds you of Bruce.

“Next time you visit, I would rather it be as a friend, not a patient.”

Your mind stutters when processing those words.

“Next time?”

He sighs a little, annoyance clear on his face as he looks out at the garden trying, and failing, to ignore the widening grin on your face as you lean forward.

“It almost sounds like you like having me around.”

It's not a question, it's an observation. He bristles.

“You came to me bleeding out. Took up my bed, my bathroom and my clothes.”

You lean in a little closer, taking the opportunity to make things worse.

“Well, when you sum it all up like that, Dick's theories really don’t sound so unrealistic.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Constantine.”

You chuckle. At least he looks you in the eyes when he says it. Standing a little too close now, you watch his demeanor, knowing you’ll miss it once you’re gone.

You also hear the shuffling and whispers from behind the door. Figures moving from behind the pretty front windows.

“Your entire family is watching from the windows.” You whisper to him, to which he answers through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know.”

You huff a laugh and, not one to overstay a welcome or prolong a goodbye, you start backing away.

“I’ll call you.”

Your mind stutters on that one too, how does he keep doing that? You raise a skeptical brow.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

No further explanation, as if none was needed, as if it was silly of you to even ask for one.

You nod at the very Damian-like answer and after another moment, one last good look at his face, you turn on your heels and start down the stairs, towards the fancy black car and chauffeur.

“See ya around!”

Damian watches you go and hopes to all hell you didn't hear the various disappointed groans from behind the door, especially not Dick's,

“Aw, What the hell! I thought for sure they were gonna kiss!”

Damian sighs and rubs his forehead, this migraine is going to last for months.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #dc comics #constantine! reader #damian wayne x you #dc x reader

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thewitchblue · 8 months ago

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You were a ray of sunshine in the Batfamily's life. You loved the children and Bruce with your entire heart, and everyone took notice. You loved each of the family members differently but equally intensely. No kid ever felt unloved by you.

You softly hum as you trace Damian's face. He always struggled to sleep. He struggled to relax enough even with sleep medication aiding him most nights. Until you start humming softly and draw patterns on his face lightly. His entire body physically relaxes as his eyes flutter shut, his breathing evening out after a minute. His face subconsciously leans into your soothing touch.

With a tender smile on your face and a gentle forehead kiss, you moved onto the next Batboy who struggles with sleep: Dick. You knock your secret knock with a smile on your face. You had a soft spot for Dick the second the kid lost his parents. How could you possibly not when his small body shook so badly in your arms? He had the same tormented look Bruce used to have before your loving family formed.

You hear a soft but excited "come in" from Dick, who seemed to have still been getting ready for bed. He loved it when you told him stories above all else. You told him thousands of your stories, but he was always excited to listen to you talk about the moment you adopted him. You'd tell him about how much you loved him as you reminisced on the first time he called you mom. How your heart had never been so full of love and adoration for your kid. He wasn't an easy kid, but you loved him deeply, and you reminded him constantly.

Dick gives you a warm smile as you set down his nighttime tea: always chamomile with lemon and sugar cubes on the side. It had to be sugar cubes, as the packets tasted weird to him.

"What story do you want tonight, sweetheart?"

He surprised you, honestly, when he asked to hear about how you met Bruce. You chuckle softly.

"It was a rainy Thursday night. We both became vigilantes the same day and met during our nightly adventures. We looked at each other for a long time before we heard police sirens and ran towards it. I must have saved his life hundreds of times that night. We have been close together ever since."

Dick cuddles into his bed and looks at you with wide eyes. He was always excited to hear this story. With a look of adoration, he murmurs,

"And you give us a hard time about our recklessness."

You roll your eyes but can't fight the fond smile off your face. You gently play with Dick's hair, continuing your tale,

"I'm not the one charging into burning buildings nightly without superpowers, darling.

Dick and Bruce adored your moral compass more than anything. You always did what was right no matter how hard it was to do. You saved thousands of lives throughout the time you were a vigilante with Bruce. He called you rash every night because of the way you handled being a superhero, but you see the endangered people and never hesitate. You are immune to damage of all types, so it was easy to run into the thick of danger to save everybody from a burning building or from the Joker's psychopathic game. Joker was angry when he found out you couldn't get hurt. You don't even feel pain because of your powers. You weren't a fun target to him, so he gave up.

"I wish I could've met younger you. I love seeing my mom being a casual badass."

You laugh softly, giving him a cheek kiss as a goodnight. Batboy number 3 was Jason. Jason took after your personality more than the rest and defends you even when it's just reporters talking bad about you. You taught him how to love and accept being loved, despite everything. You taught him to look for the best in everyone because their stories often run deeper than the surface.

You can hear his excited steps as he lets you in. He held up the newest book he wanted to share with you. You read to him every night, as he finds your voice soothes him.

He drags you to his bedside and climbs into his bed. You kissed his forehead before starting to read the book. He knows he could listen to Audiobooks, but he found it was you that soothed him. He found the narrators of Audiobooks often annoying or dramatic, but you read the exact way he wants you to and at the perfect speed.

He was soon drifting off as well, your hand holding his and squeezing morse code messages into his hand. You kissed the tip of his nose gently before moving on.

By the time you were done with all the children, Bruce was back. You grabbed the first aid kid you keep in your shared room. Bruce must've had an easier night because his injuries weren't nearly as life-threatening as usual.

He hissed through his teeth as you cleaned his wounds, but you murmured reassuring words and held his hand with your free hand.

"Just a few more, baby. You're doing so good, my hero."

He squeezed your hand when you were done. His exhausted smile was still so full of love for you.

"We're so lucky to have you in our lives."

He kissed your cheek gently. He loved you deeply, even when it was hard for him to express it. Love truthfully scared him ever since his parents' deaths, but you were the ray of sunshine in his darkest of nights.

"I'm lucky to have my little army of heroes. I love you and the kids."

He gave a tired hum of acknowledgement.

"We all love you too."

Alfred, appearing as silently as ever at the doorway of the bedroom, said,

"Master Wayne, if you don't marry her, I will."

You laugh at Bruce's shocked expression. He whipped around to face Alfred, who was staring at him with a look that was so serious you couldn't help but smirk at. While you'd love to marry Bruce, you knew it wasn't that simple for him. He struggles with the idea of having a loving wife waiting for him. He doesn't feel like he deserves it at the moment, and you respect that. You will continue to be the mother of his children and the warm presence in his life. You voice your thoughts,

"Alfred, I don't need to marry Bruce to be part of the family."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at Bruce, but Bruce was in another place.

"That much is clear, but I still want you officially part of the family. You're the glue holding everyone together."

You smile at the duo. Family is so much deeper than blood, and you continue to prove it to the Bat family every day. You ruffle Bruce's hair gently.

"I'd never say no to my boys."

Bruce took Alfred's advice on your anniversary. He proposed in front of the entire family, which inevitably ended in a dog pile of hugs from all your boys and a sweet kiss from Bruce.

Bruce, your private and loving fiancée, confirmed the engagement to the world the next day, holding up your hand and giving it a gentle kiss. He held your engagement hand everywhere he went, the rest of the Bat family fighting to hold your other hand, eventually scheduling who holds your other hand in an endless cycle.

#batmom #x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #ex vigilante reader

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kayleigh-83 · 4 months ago

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By popular demand (I saw two people asking) I thought I would throw together a quick guide to using the road editor tool in the newest version of SimPE! You'll see that this is a very easy tool to use, and best of all, goof-proof. If you do mess up (you probably will) it's very, very easy to correct.

Very, very, very important to make a backup of your hood before you ever do any tinkering in SimPE! I also recommend practicing on a test hood you don't actively play in to get a feel for it before you do anything to your main hoods.

We're starting with a vanilla Strangetown. I would recommend going in your game and taking a nice overhead screenshot of the hood like this first to look at for reference of where everything is situated the way that you're used to looking at it.

2. Open SimPE, go to Tools> Neighbourhood> Neighbourhood Browser and open the hood you're wanting to work on. If you're not so familiar with SimPE, opening your hood can take some time. Touch nothing until it's loaded!

3. Once it's all loaded, from the Resource Tree list pick Neighbourhood Terrain Geometry (NHTG). Then you'll see one file populate the Resource List - click that. Make sure on the bottom that you have Plugin View tab selected.

4. Now you should see this map of your hood pop up! There are different things you can toggle, I like to check the Show Lots box when I'm editing the roads. Then click the Road Editor button on the right.

5. To be able to see better, I've pulled this Plugin View window up a bit - it may rearrange the Resource List and Resource Tree windows a bit to accommodate. You can also press the Zoom 2x button to see closer, and then you'll have to use the scroll bars to move around the map and the road editor tool.

6. The road editing tools here will be placed down in the same orientation as the map. So the two parallel roads running through Strangetown from this perspective are the vertical straight road pieces (top row, second from left).

When you select a road tool, above it will indicate which tool you have selected.

Also - I recommend having Handle Stop Signs ticked.

7. Once you have the correct type of road selected for the spot you're working on, simply click on the map - it lays it down one tile at a time. If you miss a spot like shown here, just fill it in.

8. If you want to create an intersection, first delete the section of road where the intersection will go.

9. Then choose the type of junction for the intersection you're making, and add that piece in. You'll see a red circle appear (unsure if this is because it's an intersection or because you have handle stop signs selected, but I recommend you do have that selected either way).

10. Once you're done making all your changes, click Close Editor.

11. This is the part where you save your changes! First click Commit in the top right of the editor. Then, File> Save!

12. Load your game to check! Looks pretty good with all those new roads!

13. However, we have indeed made some mistakes! Which were absolutely for illustrative purposes and not truly an accident.

14. Never fear! Simply reload the hood in SimPE - I've deleted the spot where the T-junction should go and added one in, and deleted where the road just ended abruptly and added a proper end piece.

I have not experimented with what happens if you try to build a road through hood deco - if you have, please let us know in the comments how that went!

I also have barely touched the terrain editing tools, so that's outside the scope of this tutorial.

I hope this helped!

#the sims 2 #sims 2 #ts2 #ts2 maxis match #ts2 simblr #ts2 tumblr #simblr #brightmaple #ts2 tutorial #simpe tutorial #simpe road editor

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internetdaddy98 · 2 months ago

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The Beginning Of The End

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: A look into the evolution of Y/N’s relationship with Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, over the course of her three years in residency as she begins her fourth year as a senior resident. Their unspoken connection has simmered under the surface, building tension over shared glances, subtle touches, and buried feelings, with their emotional stalemate still unresolved, but undeniably present.

Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warning: Mentions of child death, medical procedures, panic attacks, unresolved tension, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times.

You have been doing this dance for three years now. You had met Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch on your first day of residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Fresh-faced and full of childish hope. Dr. Robinavitch had taken a stern approach when it came to your learning, and although it stung for a while, you understood it came with the territory. You knew what people assume when they saw you, you stood at just 4'11", but what you lacked in height, you more than made up for in quiet tenacity. Your brown eyes, large and observant, held a kind of quiet sorrow, like someone who had seen too much too young, but never stopped hoping for better. Your medium-toned skin often had a warm flush from running around the hospital, but you carried yourself with a kind of composed stillness, as if the chaos of the ER never quite penetrated the shield you'd learned to hold up.

You had a slight frame, graceful and almost delicate in your movements, what Dr. Robby once offhandedly described as “pretty, dainty little thing who believes in rainbows and butterflies.” But he’d also learned, sometimes the hard way, that beneath your soft voice and gentle manner, you could be immovable when it counted. You didn’t raise your voice often, but when you did, the entire room listened.

In scrubs, you often looked like a med student playing dress-up, but anyone who underestimated you regretted it fast. You weren’t the type to demand space; you simply claimed it with quiet skill and calm certainty.

Despite the barriers you put up, your compassion was obvious in the way you held a patient’s hand, the way you comforted families, and the way you never once treated anyone like just another chart. You loved deeply, especially your family, though you rarely talked about yourself. Whatever trauma shaped you, you carried it like a scar stitched into your core, quiet, but unignorable.

You had earned Robby’s respect fast once he saw past what you looked like and learned about who you were as a doctor. You had thought of Dr. Robby as a good mentor, but three years of learning about each other and learning from him had developed something between you that was unspoken, buried deep in its roots beneath the surface.

It had become never-ending game of chess where neither of the players was ready to admit defeat or their feelings. Stolen glances, small touches and unspoken truths that have been bouncing between you two for the past year, and although you both thought you were subtle, half the ER were waiting for the ticking time bomb to go off. Your relationship had shifted fast one day during your third year. It had been a brutal shift, twelve hours of back-to-back traumas, a code blue that ended with a mother screaming into her child’s chest, and the guilt of a missed diagnosis that wasn’t yours, but still felt like it belonged to you. The kind of shift that strips the bones clean.

You held it together until the locker room.

No one saw you slip inside. You were good at that, disappearing when your emotions started to boil too close to the surface. You perched on the bench, elbows on your knees, breath coming short and sharp like your lungs had shrunk.

Your vision tunneled.

Your chest ached.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will it away, but the past had already caught up, flashes of too-bright lights, sirens, someone calling your name while your voice refused to work. You weren’t here anymore. You were there, small and helpless and bleeding on the inside.

You didn’t hear the door open.

“Sheri?”

You flinched hard, jerking upright. Robby froze when he saw your face, your eyes wide and unfocused, chest rising too fast.

He stepped in slowly, voice gentling. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You tried to speak. Nothing came out. Your hands were shaking. Damn it, you thought, not here. Not in front of him.

But he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. He crossed the room like he was walking toward a wounded animal, careful, steady.

“Can I come closer?”

You nodded, barely.

He crouched in front of you, not touching, just anchoring you with his presence. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. You’re here at the hospital. It's over. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

You mirrored him, trying to follow the rhythm of his breaths. His voice was low and grounding, like the rumble of a storm you trusted not to hit you.

“Out through your mouth.”

You did. Once. Twice. A third time. The air started to reach your lungs again.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Good. That’s good.”

Without thinking, you leaned forward, maybe just to stay tethered, maybe because the gravity between you pulled you there, and he caught you gently, his hand slipping behind your back. You felt his breath near your ear, his chest against yours.

Too close. Too much.

But you didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The moment stretched, quiet and heavy. His hand didn’t leave your back. Your forehead nearly rested against his shoulder, and the smell of his cologne, faint, clean, familiar, hit you in a way it never had before.

You pulled back at the same time he did, eyes catching. Locked.

The air changed.

Not like before, not in the safe, platonic way. Something crackled between you. Something dangerous. New.

You could feel his breath on your lips. His eyes flicked there, just for a second. Just long enough to light your nerves on fire.

He blinked and stood up fast, breaking the contact like it had burned him. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your voice still didn’t work. Your heart was pounding for an entirely new reason now.

“Good,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly all sharp edges and avoidance. “I’ll give you a minute.”

And then he was gone, leaving you in the silence, staring at the door and trying to convince yourself it hadn’t just happened. That your skin wasn’t buzzing. That his touch hadn’t been gentle in a way that meant something.

You had no idea what the hell had just shifted between you. And for a long time after, you sat there in the stillness, breathing finally even, hands steady, but your skin still tingled from where his fingers had touched you, and your thoughts refused to fall back into place.

Something had changed.

Something that neither of you could pretend hadn’t happened.

After the panic attack, things didn’t go back to normal.

At least, not completely.

The next shift, Robby didn’t mention it. He was the same as ever, brisk, dryly sarcastic, sharp-eyed. But something about the air between you had shifted. The way he looked at you lingered just a breath longer. The way he stood beside you now left less space. Not suffocating, never that, but close enough that you could feel it.

And you told yourself it was nothing. Just him being kind. Just the aftershock of a bad night. Just you, reading too much into a silence that stretched a little too long.

But then came the day he reached past you for a chart and his hand brushed yours, and he didn’t pull away fast enough.

The morning he handed you a coffee, your order without asking.

The way he touched your elbow when you moved past him in, like he had to, like it was muscle memory.

Small things. Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone would question, no one except you. Because you noticed. Because your body noticed before your mind could catch up.

You weren’t foolish. You knew what you were to him. A resident. A student. Another junior duckling trailing behind him. And yet, it didn’t feel that simple anymore. It hadn’t felt simple since that day in the locker room, when your panic broke through the surface and he held you together with nothing but steadiness and silence.

You were careful after that. He was, too.

But carefulness didn’t erase the tension. If anything, it sharpened it.

A glance across a the ER became something charged. A moment of eye contact during a case presentation lasted a fraction too long. When you laughed at one of his dry little jabs, his mouth would twitch like he regretted making you smile. When you succeeded, he praised you with words that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It became a game. A never-ending match between two people who refused to admit defeat. You were always one move behind him, then suddenly ahead. He’d say something biting, and you’d parry with soft defiance. You started calling him out more in rounds, in front of junior residents, even in front of attendings. Not disrespectfully, but with a kind of quiet precision he couldn’t ignore. And he didn’t shut you down. He liked it. You could tell.

Somewhere along the line, you stopped needing his approval. You had it. You knew that now. What you craved instead was something less nameable, something that sat beneath your skin and hummed at the base of your spine every time you were near him.

Late nights turned into long silences filled with everything neither of you would say.

There was the night he leaned against the nurses’ station at 3 a.m., watching you work a code from across the room with something close to pride in his eyes.

The time you stitched a laceration on a pediatric patient with trembling hands after a rough trauma, and he rested a hand on your shoulder when it was over, brief, but grounding.

The time you laughed too freely at something he said, and he looked away too fast, like it hurt him to hear it.

You thought maybe he was fighting it. Whatever it was between you. And you hated yourself for hoping he’d lose.

Because the truth was, somewhere between the mentorship and the medicine, the rivalry and the long hours, you had fallen in love with him. Not in the sweet, safe, storybook way. No. It was a quiet, painful kind of thing. The kind that lived in your chest like a secret, blooming and aching all at once.

You never told anyone. You didn’t need to.

Half the ER was watching the dance. Waiting for the moment someone slipped.

But he never did. And neither did you.

By the end of your third year, you had become known for your calm presence, your steady hands, and your ruthless efficiency. Your charts were tight. Your instincts were sharper. You could run a trauma code with one look at your team and a steady tone.

But behind all of it was that tension. That thread between you and Robby that neither of you had cut.

And as your final third-year shift wound to a close, the kind of rainy, unremarkable Thursday that smelled like bleach and burnt coffee, you caught him watching you across the break room, his gaze unreadable, jaw tight.

And by the time you walked into the ER for your first shift as a Senior resident with a new badge, and a team of interns trailing behind you, you felt the shift again.

This was your year now.

But it still started with him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Your honor, I love my sad boi. Let me cook

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purplereina11 · 17 days ago

Text

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 14 Other Parts

Wordcount: 9.5k

Final 3k comes with a warning ⚠️🔞

The training ground felt quieter not empty, just… less vibrant. The internationals, including Alexia, had all left for camp. Their absence left a noticeable gap in the energy of the place, and in your chest too, though you didn’t show it.

You arrived at campus early, Teddy tugging on his lead beside you, happily sniffing at patches of grass outside the facility while you sipped your coffee. It was a comfort, having him there a little piece of normal, you greeted the security staff, a few physios, and the handful of players who were still around.

Ellie jogged up beside you, breath visible in the cool morning air, Jonny bounding behind her. “Teddy pulled you here again?” she teased, grinning.

You gave a small smile. “He’s the boss.”

Inside the training building, it was a slower morning. No buzz of media, no chaos of full-team sessions. Just five of you left, including a couple of the younger players.

You went through your session, focusing on touch work and small drills, pushing through the quiet with an intense kind of purpose. If nothing else, football gave you structure something to hold onto.

Afterwards, in the gym, you and Ellie stretched out next to each other.

"You okay?" she asked eventually, softly.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence sit for a second, then you nodded. "I think so. It’s easier when I’m busy."

Ellie offered you a bottle of water and nudged your knee gently with hers. “You’ve been a machine since the moment you landed here.”

“I don’t know what else to be.”

“Human?” she suggested, and you chuckled.

You glanced toward your phone on the bench, resisting the urge to check it wondering if Alexia had landed safely, if she’d sent a message, a big part of you missed her already, missed her grounding presence.

⚽️

Later, you sat in the lounge area of the campus, boots undone, watching Teddy nap beside you. The others were scattered, some in treatment, some lifting weights but you had a moment to yourself and that’s when your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Landed. Already miss you, Coco.

You smiled small, tired, but real.

You: Same. Just me, Ellie, and the dogs running Barça now.

Alexia: Then it’s in very good hands.

You stared at the message for a second, then typed out another one.

You: Come back soon.

A few seconds later, the typing dots appeared.

Alexia: I’ll come home.

Your phone began ringing you have expected it to be Alexia but when you saw the name on the screen, your heart did a little skip.

Sarina Wiegman

You sat up straighter, quickly brushing stray hair behind your ear before answering.

"Hello?"

“Hi, it’s Sarina,” she said, warm but straight to the point in the way only she could be. “How are you doing?”

You hesitated for a moment, not expecting such a simple question from her. “I’m… coping. Football’s helping.”

“I watched your debut,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “I was really impressed, not just with your performance, but your control, your form, your leadership. I wanted to call you personally.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, like it suddenly became harder to breathe in a good way.

“There’s been an injury in camp,” she continued, “and we’d like to bring you in. I know it’s short notice and there’s no guarantee of minutes against Spain, but… we want you with us again.”

You blinked, absorbing her words. “Of course,” you said quietly, then stronger. “Yeah, absolutely. Thank you, Sarina.”

There was a pause on the line. “I know it’s been a hard time. We’re not bringing you in to add pressure, I just want you back in the fold on the run up to the Euros. We believe in you. Take it at your pace.”

That nearly undid you. “I’ll pack my things,” you replied, throat tightening as you tried to keep it together.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Travel details will be sent shortly. Safe journey.”

When the call ended, you just sat there for a second. Ellie wandered into the lounge with a banana in her hand, already chewing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she mumbled.

You shook your head, a smile forming slowly. “Sarina just called. I’m going to camp. Replacing an injury.”

Ellie blinked, then grinned wide. “You serious?”

You nodded.“No promises of minutes,” you added, still trying to process it all. “But she just… wants me there.”

Ellie tossed the banana on the counter and flung her arms around you, almost knocking you off balance. “You deserve this,” she said into your hair. “And I swear if you play against Spain and Alexia tries to mark you, I’ll be in the stands with popcorn.”

You laughed through the sudden burn in your eyes.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, it didn’t feel like you were just surviving anymore. You were still in it. You were still wanted and for now that was enough.

⚽️

The chill of English air clung to your coat as you stepped out of the car at St George’s Park, everything felt familiar yet foreign the long drive through the grounds, the crispness of the Midlands air, the low buzz of staff going about their routines. But this time, it was different. You weren’t just back at the national setup. You were walking in with grief stitched into your chest.

You barely had time to take it in before you heard it the unmistakable voice of Georgia Stanway.

“Oi! Look who finally decided to come home.”

You turned just in time for her to barrel into you, arms locking tight around your shoulders. She held on longer than usual, and you let her, burying your face into her hoodie for a second as you felt your lungs squeeze.

“I missed you,” she muttered, barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

“Thanks, G,” you said thickly, pulling back with a watery smile. “Missed you too.”

From there, it was a chain reaction. One after another, the Lionesses made their way over. Leah was next, gentle and grounded as ever, her hug firm and steady. Lucy gave you a cheeky grin and a soft squeeze to the back of your neck, “Took long enough for you to get called back, superstar.”

Millie gave you a tight hug and a joking “We’ve been bored without you,” but you could see the compassion in her eyes.

Keira didn’t say much, just wrapped you in her arms and whispered, “Glad you’re here.”

You could feel it in the way they spoke to you their words carefully chosen, their energy warm but cautious. You appreciated that, you didn’t want a big scene, just their presence, their support and they gave it.

Even Sarina when you finally saw her, gave your shoulder a light squeeze, a flicker of softness breaking through her otherwise composed expression. “Welcome back,” she said. “Just take it day by day.”

As you set your bag down in your room later, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. This place, this team they weren’t just teammates, they were your people and today, that mattered more than ever.

Your heart warmed the moment you saw Alexia’s name flash across your screen returning your call quicker than you’d even expected. You stepped out of your room into the corridor for some quiet, and pressed the phone to your ear.

“¿Hola?” Her voice came through with a note of urgency, just enough to make you smile.

“Guess where I am,” you said, your voice playful.

There was a beat of silence, and then her hopeful smirk practically echoed down the line. “I’m hoping… naked in bed, because that’s an image.”

You burst out laughing, head tilting back against the wall. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“You called me,” she replied lightly. “Don’t act surprised.”

You took a breath and softened. “No. I’m at St George’s Park.”

There was a pause not long, but long enough for you to imagine the wheels turning in her head. “England camp?”

“Yeah. Sarina called this morning. Someone got injured. No guarantees of minutes, but… she said she was impressed with my debut for Barca so wanted me back in the fold before the euro’s.”

Alexia’s voice lowered, tender. “Coco… that’s amazing.”

You nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “Feels weird, coming back under all this, but it’s good. The girls have been unreal.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “And I’m glad they called you. You deserve this not just for how you play, but for getting up and showing up.”

The knot in your chest loosened just a little. “Thanks, Ale.”

“I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Me too.”

“Although,” she added, teasing, “if you were actually naked in bed that would have been a better start to the conversation.”

You chuckled again. “I’ll save that image for your next FaceTime.”

She groaned dramatically. “Don’t tease me” but then she sobered, her voice gentler again. “Go show them what you’re made of. I’ll be watching.”

“I know.”

“I’m free for that FaceTime now by the way”

You smirked, eyes narrowing slightly at the way Alexia’s tone shifted all honey and heat wrapped up in playfulness. “Oh, are you now?” you leaned back against the wall again, glancing down the empty hallway to make sure no one was coming. “I thought La Reina was busy with national team responsibilities.”

“I am,” she replied, and you could hear her grin through the phone. “But I figured I could take a short… strategic break.”

“Strategic?” you repeated, laughing softly. “That what we’re calling it now?”

“You’re the one who dangled the idea of a FaceTime from bed, Coco. I’m just following through.”

You chuckled under your breath, already biting your lip as you shook your head. “And here I thought you were worried something was wrong.”

“I was!” she protested. “But now that I know you’re okay and looking incredible in an England hoodie, I can shift my priorities accordingly.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You're impossible.”

“And yet,” she said, voice low and warm, “you called me first.”

“Because you’re my person.”

There was silence on the line for a moment the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket. “Still up for that FaceTime, by the way. I’d like to see you… even if you’re not in bed.”

You glanced back toward your room, a smile curling slowly on your lips. “Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she murmured, before hanging up.

And sure enough, when you opened the app two minutes later, there she was already smiling, eyes soft and tired and full of something that made your chest ache. Not La Reina. Not the captain. Just… her.

“You’re too cute coco”

You tried to hide the blush rising on your cheeks, but it was hopeless especially with the way Alexia was looking at you through the screen, that lazy, fond smile lighting up her whole face. “Don’t start,” you warned, lips twitching as you bit back a grin.

“What?” she said innocently, propping her chin in her hand, elbow resting somewhere out of view. “I can’t call my girlfriend cute now?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said. You said you’re cute. Like it was a discovery.”

Alexia laughed, soft and genuine. “Fine, then. Still cute.”

You shook your head. “You’re dangerous when you’re in a good mood.”

She leaned a little closer to the camera. “No. I’m dangerous when I’m in love.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, and you swore your heart skipped at least two. You blinked, then let out a quiet breath. “That a confession, Putellas?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I just miss you already.”

You smiled, gaze softening. “I miss you too.”

“And you’ll crush it in camp,” she added, more serious now. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, but if you do get minutes against Spain…”

You grinned. “I’ll try not to nutmeg you.”

Alexia laughed, full and unfiltered. “Try. You won’t succeed.”

“We’ll see.”

There was a pause, just the two of you, quiet and wrapped in each other’s presence even from miles apart. Then Alexia whispered, “You really are cute, you know.”

This time, you let yourself blush. “Shut up” you laughed as she made herself laugh laying back on her bed going out of view, “It wasn’t that funny”

⚽️

The media room at St. George’s Park was buzzing. Cameras clicked into place, journalists leaned forward with recorders at the ready, and the hum of anticipation filled the space. You sat between Sarina and Leah, strategically placed by your captain and manager to protect you. you were trying to look calm even though your heart was beating a little faster than usual. It wasn’t your first time in front of press, but it was your first time back in an England camp since you were dropped due to no minutes and since everything had changed.

Sarina opened with some expected remarks. “We’re obviously disappointed to have had an injury in the squad, but we’re very pleased to welcome Y/N back into camp. She’s had a brilliant start at Barcelona and shown resilience and professionalism in very difficult circumstances.”

You nodded politely, eyes flicking to the front row where a few familiar media faces watched with interest. Leah leaned toward her mic. “It’s been really good to have her back. You’ve all seen what she can do on the pitch, but the way she’s carried herself personally? Honestly, it’s inspiring, she's made of strong stuff our Y/N and she's proving it that every day with what she's doing on and off the pitch”

You tried not to visibly swallow, that meant more than she probably knew then came the questions directed at you.

A journalist in the second row raised his hand. “Y/N, first of all our condolences on your loss. It’s incredible to see you here. Can I ask what it’s meant to you personally, being called back into the England fold?”

You took a breath, “Yeah, it means a lot. After everything, football’s been one of the few constants I’ve had, it's given me that outlet to leave whats happening away from football outside of the lines and just focus on whats going on between them. Being back here… it’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way. I’m grateful to Sarina, to the staff, to the girls. It’s felt like coming home, in a way and the support has been incredible.”

The next question came quickly. “There’s a lot of attention on your move to Barcelona and your debut certainly didn’t go unnoticed. How are you adjusting to life over there?”

You smiled slightly. “It’s been a whirlwind, but it’s an incredible club. The players, the staff, the fans… they’ve made it really easy to settle in. I’ve had support from some amazing people and players, which has helped, especially with everything going on off the pitch.”

Leah gave your knee a subtle nudge under the table giving silent support, without drawing focus. Another reporter raised a hand. “Sarina, could we see Y/N on the pitch against Spain?”

Sarina smiled. “We’re not making any decisions public yet, but she’s ready, and that’s all I’ll say. All the players are available”

There was a ripple of laughter, and the tone lightened for a moment, another question came from the back. “Y/N, there were rumours you had offers from clubs in England too. Was it a difficult decision to go to Spain?”

You nodded, thoughtful. “Of course. There’s a lot of quality in the WSL, and England’s home, but sometimes a decision isn’t just about football. It was the right move for me on every level and I don’t regret it.”

“Y/N, obviously Spain's squad is full of world-class talent, many of whom you’re now teammates with. Have you had much contact with them away from the pitch? And, if I may ask, what kind of captain has Alexia Putellas been for you personally, especially during your recent grief?”

You sat forward a little, heart picking up just slightly. You were well-practised with this sidestepping the personal while still answering the question. Alexia wasn’t just a captain to you, but very few people knew that. Not publicly. Not even all your England teammates.

You gave a small smile and kept your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve had a good amount of contact with some of the squad. A few of them have reached out since leaving for camp, checking in. It’s a special environment, there’s a real sense of unity at the club, and I’ve felt that straight away.” You glance across the room, keeping your tone light but sincere. “As for Alexia… she’s the kind of captain who leads by example. She doesn’t have to say a lot to make you feel supported, she's a steading presence around the club for sure. Whether it’s on the pitch or around training she makes sure you know you’re part of the team, that you’re seen.” You pause for a beat, the emotion threatening to edge too close. “And with what I’ve been going through personally… all of the girls, at Barça, here with England, and the girls from Bayern, have been incredible. So yeah, I’m really grateful for that.” You clear your throat as your voice wobbled, "It's been the hardest time in my life and" You nodded just the once, "I've needed all the support they've offered.”

Leah nodded beside you like she felt the weight of it. Sarina gave you a reassuring look she knew how careful your answer had been especially regarding Alexia. Another journalist started to raise a hand for the next question, but the echo of your words still hung warmly in the room.

You didn’t say “Alexia stayed with me every night for a week.”

You didn’t say “She held me while I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

You didn’t say “I’m in love with her.”

⚽️

Boots laced tight, shoulders squared, you stepped out of the England dressing room to bring up the rear of the line, the hum of the tunnel hit you immediately, camera crews shifting, match officials checking watches, and the thud-thud of adrenaline in your chest syncing with the bass of the stadium.

You saw her the second you lifted your head from sorting your jacket, Alexia was at the back of the Spanish line. Hands behind her back, shoulders held in that effortless calm she always carried, but her eyes, her eyes were already on you your feet hesitated, just for a beat.

She didn’t smile, she didn’t have to. The corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, but her gaze stayed steady. The weight of shared things passed silently between you in that moment, grief, growth, quiet nights spent holding each other together.

You gave a tiny nod, letting your fingers twitch against your thigh, just enough for her to notice. She did, her fingers brushed her wrist like she was adjusting her imaginary bracelet, but you both knew what it was acknowledging your signal, like a soft I see you too.

Keira turned slightly ahead of you. “Alright?” she murmured, eyeing the way your eyes lingered.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, dragging your eyes forward. “Just focused.”

Alexia finally looked away, fixing her gaze on the pitch ahead, putting on the professional mask again, but that invisible tether between you both was still there tight as ever.

You were doing your best to stay composed, eyes forward, jaw set but Georgia turned in front of you, catching the subtle exchange.

With her usual smirk and just enough sass to make you blink in warning, she looked between you and Alexia before muttering under her breath, “No flirting at work please.”

Your eyes snapped to her, mouth parting in disbelief as you tried not to laugh. “I wasn’t—” you started, instantly defensive.

Georgia arched an eyebrow. “Mate, you were practically having a silent romance novel in the tunnel. I'm just trying to keep professionalism alive.”

You nudged her with your elbow. “You’re impossible.”

She just grinned wider, clearly proud of herself. "Not to mention she looks like she's mentally undressing you right now" Georgia muttered, barely keeping the laughter out of her voice.

You huffed a short laugh, tugging lightly at your collars as if trying to hide the heat crawling up your neck. “I haven’t even put out in weeks, it’s not fair.”

Georgia coughed out a laugh, then caught herself, straightening with mock seriousness. “Tragic. Truly tragic.”

You nudged her side with your elbow. “I've had other things on my mind.”

Georgia hummed, "I'm still judging, no reason you shouldn't be hoping on that every chance you get" Georgia leaned even closer this time, voice hushed. “You know she’s listening to every word of this, right?”

You blinked, glancing sideways sure enough, Alexia was standing very still, trying very hard to look forward but her ears visibly pink, her jaw tightening like she was fighting a smirk. "With your accent doubt she's caught a word"

Georgia grinned, triumphant. “Girl is thirsty, babe. Put her out of her misery.”

You snorted, hand coming up to your face to scratch it in an attempt to hide your smile when Leah looked down the line. “You are not helping.” You muttered to Georgia

“Oh, I’m not here to help,” Georgia said, casually rocking on her heels. “I’m here for the show.”

Alexia hadn’t heard, or at least didn’t react, she was focused, totally poised, but as you walk beside her on the way onto the pitch, just for a second, her hand brushed yours ever so slightly a finger coming out to run along yours, barely noticeable but definitely deliberate and Georgia was definitely going to bring it up again later because she of course saw.

⚽️

You were already exhausted as the second half was ticking on legs burning, lungs aching but you dug deep again, surging forward down the right. The space opened up and you shifted into top gear, brushing past the defender like she wasn’t even there. It was one of those runs that made the crowd rise, the kind that made your blood roar.

You felt something clip your ankle not a stray leg or a mistimed tackle, but deliberate. Your body pitched forward and you hit the turf hard, grass and dirt scraping your palms and knees. The whistle didn’t even matter in that moment your instinct had already kicked in.

You popped right back up, fury simmering just beneath your skin, and turned sharply toward the sideline. Montse Tomé stood there, just barely back in her technical area, arms folded as if she hadn’t just tripped you in front of thousands.

You were up in an instant, white-hot rage burning through the fatigue, “Are you fucking kidding me?” you shouted, storming toward the sideline, fists clenched. “You think you can get away with that shit?! You’re not even on the pitch!” The England bench saw it unfolding a second too late, coaches, subs, physios they scrambled to intercept you as you charged.

“She fucking tripped me!” you yelled, pointing violently toward Montse as Georgia and Lucy grabbed at your arms. “What kind of coach does that?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! No need your fucking winning already!”

“Y/N!” came Sarina’s sharp voice, cutting through the chaos, but you didn’t stop.

“Touch me again and I swear I’ll put you on your arse!” you bellowed, fury twisting your face as Alex Greenwood threw herself between you and the Spanish manager, arms braced against your chest, grounding you. “She’s a fucking coward! That’s a red card!”

Montse stood still, smug, unmoved, as the fourth official frantically tried to settle things down. “Get her out of here!” one of the England coaches shouted, as a stream of Spanish came from their bench added to the madness.

“You think just because you're the coach you get to put hands on a player?” you kept going, even as you were dragged back a few steps. “You messed with the wrong fucking one today!”

The referee arrived just as the England staff managed to start pulling you away, her whistle blowing sharp and short red card up for Montse.

The crowd erupted in boos and gasps, the cameras catching every second. You were still fuming, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs as Sarina stepped into your line of sight.

“Breathe,” she said calmly, her hand on your shoulder. “I saw it. The ref saw it. Everyone saw it, but you need to let us handle it now.”

Your jaw was clenched tight, the red mist only just beginning to lift. You gave a single, curt nod, your entire body trembling with leftover adrenaline. Alexia stood in the centre of the pitch, unmoving her eyes hadn’t left you once.

You stormed into the huddle in-front of the English bench like a storm cloud breaking open, boots thudding against the grass. Leah had one eye on the ref and one on you, raising both hands in a silent plea for calm as you approached.

You just shook your head, jaw clenched. “I’m fucking fuming,” you spat, the heat still radiating off you like a furnace. “She tripped me. Like what the actual—”

“I know,” Lucy said, firm but gentle, stepping slightly in front of you as a buffer. “We all saw it.”

“Ref gave her the red,” Georgia added, eyes darting toward where Montse was being ushered down the tunnel by security. “Let it go now. We’ve got twenty minutes left. We need you.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, like you were trying to swallow fire. “She’s a fucking disgrace.”

“She is,” Leah agreed quietly. “And the world just saw it. Now put that energy into the game.”

Your hands were still trembling at your sides, but the way the girls stood around you close, protective helped anchor you back into the moment.

Across the pitch, Alexia was still watching, not with fear, bot with judgment, with something closer to awe, like she'd never seen someone defend themselves like that before. Like maybe she hadn’t realised just how much fire lived inside you.

Back in the huddle, Sarina had her hands on her hips, looking between you all. “We play smarter now,” she said. “They’ve lost their head coach, you don’t lose yours. You’ve got fifteen, maybe twenty minutes left. Win it.”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your shirt and nodded. “Let’s fucking go.”

⚽️

You walked slowly, clapping toward the England supporters who had travelled, their voices unwavering even in defeat, some of them still sang your name. A few banners with your number were held high. It stung, the loss, especially in a game like that close, messy, personal.

You felt a hand press lightly to your back, Leah didn’t say anything, just kept pace beside you, clapping too.

“To be fair,” Georgia murmured from your other side, “you looked like a menace the whole game. Nearly broke the sound barrier down that wing.”

You huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Didn’t matter, though, did it.”

“It will,” she said simply.

You were always good at hiding your feelings under humour or silence, but this loss, after everything burned deeper, your first international game your mum wasn’t there for and you lost.

The post-match chaos slowly gave way to small pockets of quiet. Players swapped shirts, fans waved from the stands, cameras hovered but you barely noticed any of it. You’d caught Alexia’s eyes across the pitch again, and without really thinking, your feet took you toward her.

She met you halfway, her ponytail slightly frayed, sweat still glistening at her temples, but her expression was warm.

She stepped forward as you stopped, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but enough that your feet touched.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft beneath the ambient noise of the stadium.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice still hoarse from the shouting, from the frustration, from everything.

Her eyes searched yours for a moment not scanning for answers, but checking in, grounding you. “You alright?” she asked.

You nodded with a soft sigh. “Tired, frustrated, but I’m alright.”

She gave a small smile and lifted her hand gently. Her thumb brushed something off your cheek, dirt, sweat, maybe a tiny smear of black from your under-eye but the touch lingered for a second too long. To anyone watching, it was a simple gesture, but to those paying attention, it was more, the softness in her touch, the way her eyes didn’t leave yours, the intimate silence shared between you amidst the noise.

From the sidelines, a few whispers started journalists noting the quiet exchange, a few teammates casting looks that said are we seeing what we think we’re seeing?

“You were incredible,” she said under her breath, just for you.

You shook your head, eyes fixed ahead. “Didn’t win.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, and when you glanced sideways, her eyes were soft. “I’m proud of you.”

You swallowed, feeling something twist in your chest. “I’ll take that, capitana.”

Alexia smiled faintly, brushing her fingers against yours before the moment passed.

Georgia gave a low whistle from behind you, not loud enough for the media to catch, but definitely enough to be heard. Alexia smirked faintly at that and leaned just a little closer, dropping her hand.

“You’ve got people talking,” you murmured, eyes still locked with hers.

“They’ve been talking since you got here,” she replied just as softly. “Let them.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not subtle anymore, are we?”

Alexia tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m tired of hiding things that make me happy.”

The weight of those words settled into your chest. You couldn’t find your voice right away so instead, you just smiled, nudged her foot with yours, and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t get sent off.”

She laughed quietly. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch Montse myself.”

You and Alexia lingered just a little longer than necessary at the centre of the pitch, half-heartedly kicking at the grass beneath your boots, hands brushing occasionally but never quite holding. The crowd had thinned, cameras moved on to their next target, but the pull between you hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You always this flirty after a win?” you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

Alexia smirked, slow and smug. “Only when the person I’m flirting with plays like that. Shame the ref couldn’t give you a goal for pure rage and speed.”

“Montse’s lucky I didn’t go full WWE,” you muttered.

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head. “You were about five seconds from doing it.”

“I still might. Depends if she looks at me wrong on the way to the tunnel.”

Alexia gave a quiet laugh and stepped a little closer, her voice dropping. “Maybe don’t get suspended just yet. We’ve only just started this thing.”

You blinked, and your mouth parted to respond but footsteps approached fast behind you. “Oi, save it for later, yeah?” Georgia’s voice interrupted as she strolled over, sweaty hair stuck to her forehead, eyes twinkling with mischief. Keira was beside her, less chaotic but just as curious, arms folded loosely over her chest.

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t have one moment.”

Georgia ignored you. “Just came to say you did good. And also” She turned to Alexia, smirking. “please stop undressing our girl with your eyes in front of everyone.”

Alexia laughed under her breath, but didn’t step back. Keira squinted between you both, her brow creasing slightly. Then she tilted her head. “Wait.”You tried to keep your face neutral, but Georgia was already grinning. Keira pointed between you two like she was solving a murder mystery. “No way. No, hang on. This—this isn’t just flirty banter, is it?”

Georgia folded her arms smugly. “Took you long enough.”

Keira looked at you. “Are you—? Are you dating?”

You opened your mouth. Alexia beat you to it. “You’ve not been telling people?,” she said smoothly, tugging gently at the hem of your England top, eyes twinkling. “Impressive, i’ve been telling anyone who will listen about you.”

You flushed and Keira blinked, jaw dropping just a little. “Oh my God,” Keira said. “You’re dating Alexia?!”

Georgia patted her shoulder like she’d just cracked a world-class code. “Congratulations, detective.”

Alexia winked at you, you smiled sheepishly, cheeks warm. Keira laughed, still a little stunned. “Well damn.”

Georgia gave you a gentle nudge. “You two better not break up. I’ve invested feelings.”

You groaned as they both wandered off, already gossiping. Alexia reached for your hand briefly and squeezed it. “Still want to keep it quiet?”

You looked after Georgia and Keira. “Honestly?” you said. “I wasn’t trying to keep it quiet, i just, wasn’t telling people and now i don’t think i have a choice anymore”

Alexia smiled, eyes soft. “Good.”

⚽️

The sun was long gone, the buzz of the stadium replaced by the stillness of Alexia’s home her scent already curling into your clothes, your dog asleep near the edge of the sofa where you sat, wearing an old hoodie she’d tossed to you as you came in complaining you were cold.

“I won’t be long,” Alexia had said, pressing a kiss to your lips before disappearing upstairs, the sound of the water soon echoing softly through the quiet home.

You sat there, legs curled beneath you, picking absently at the edge of your sleeve. The match was still rattling in your chest, the sprint, the fury, the sharp twist of your ankle when Montse sent you flying. But more than anything, it was the moments after the final whistle that had stuck, her touch, her eyes, her voice softened with worry even when she smiled.

And then Georgia’s voice popped into your head. Put her out her misery, girl is thirsty.

You laughed to yourself, rolling your eyes, but the sound of the shower hadn’t stopped just yet. You headed up stairs and found the door was still slightly ajar that casual way Alexia always left it when she wasn’t expecting company… and yet maybe, just maybe, she was.

You hesitated, biting your lip and padded softly into the bathroom which was steamed up, the mirror fogged, and the glass door of the shower slightly misted over. Through the blur, you saw the silhouette of Alexia’s back to the door, head tilted beneath the stream, hair dark and wet down her back.

You swallowed as you undressed yourself and opened the door stepping inside as Alexia looked over her shoulder, closing it behind you.

Her mouth twitched. “You alright?”

You nodded, letting the warm mist kiss your skin. “I just remembered something Georgia said…”

“Oh?” Alexia turned, droplets rolling down the curves of her body, steam rising between you.

You reached for her gently, fingertips trailing the edge of her jaw. “We were gossiping” Alexia just smiled as her hands slid over your hips, “I then realised it was sometime since i saw you naked”

Alexia laughed, breath catching slightly as your palm found her hip. “So that’s why you’re here”

“Well,” you smiled, stepping closer into the heat, “you did say you weren’t going to be long. So i thought maybe we could save time and shower together, i’ll wash your back if you wash mine”

Her eyes darkened but there was so much softness there too, all the weight of the match, the loss, the months of hidden moments, aching hearts and missed chance

“Come here,” she murmured, your arms coming around her neck, and in the mist there was nothing but the sound of running water and quiet laughter between kisses.

The steam curled around you both, softening every edge. Alexia’s touch was gentle at first fingertips tracing the curve of your back, your waist, the hollow at the base of your neck. You leaned into her, noses brushing, mouths meeting in a kiss that deepened quickly, all slow heat and weeks of held-back want slipping free.

The water cascaded over you as she pressed you gently against the cool tiles, your hands gripping her hips, hers tangled in your damp hair. The mix of warmth from the water, from her body, from the look in her eyes made your knees feel unsteady, your heart pounding against your chest.

“Still want to help me finish my shower? I have another idea” she whispered against your lips. You laughed softly, but it melted into a sharp breath as her mouth moved lower, along your throat, across your collarbone. Words gave way to touches, to the quiet stutter of breath, to fingers curling and the wet slide of skin on skin. There was nothing hurried only knowing, tender pressure and unspoken understanding, like you’d both been waiting for exactly this kind of peace.

Her teeth grazed your hip on her way to your thighs, you would come undone the moment you looked down at her on her knees in-front of you so you didn’t look. Your head went back as her hand caressed your leg, “Open your legs” she mumbled,

Your hands found their way to her hair, guiding her as she explored you with a hunger that made your knees wobble. Each touch of her tongue sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, making you gasp for air. You felt her smile against your skin, the warmth of it spreading through your core like molten lava. The scent of her soap mingled with the heady aroma of arousal, creating a potent perfume that attached to your senses.

The water glided over both of you, tracing the lines of her shoulders and back as she moved closer, her breasts pressing against your thighs. You could feel her heart beating, matching the tempo of your own pulse. The warmth of her breath on your most intimate parts sent shivers through your body, making you quiver with anticipation. Her teeth grazed your inner thigh, and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out too loudly.

Her hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as her mouth worked its magic. The sensation of her tongue swirling around your clit was exquisite, a dance of pleasure that made you want to arch into her touch. You felt yourself growing wetter, the heat between your legs a testament to the fire she was building inside you.

Her eyes looked up at you, a silent question in their depths. You nodded, the only answer she needed. She slid a finger inside you, the sensation of her digit joining the warmth of the water made you moan. You could feel yourself stretching around her, welcoming the intrusion, eager for more, a rhythm that had your hips bucking. Your hand tightened in her hair, guiding her, urging her to go deeper, faster, harder.

The water streamed down her face, mixing with the slickness of your desire. Her eyes never left yours as she pleasured you, the intensity of her gaze as powerful as her touch. You felt your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that grew with each stroke of her tongue, each pulse of her finger. Your breaths grew ragged, your body tightening as you approached the edge.

The tiles grew slippery underfoot, but she remained steadfast, her grip on your hip unyielding. Her mouth was a warm, wet heaven, her tongue painting patterns that no artist could replicate. You could feel the muscles in your thighs quivering as you approached the peak of ecstasy. The water continued to cascade over the two of you, a gentle caress that seemed to amplify each sensation.

Her finger curled inside you, finding that perfect spot, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You gripped her hair tighter, pulling her closer as you whispered, “Oh, god, yes, right there,” your voice echoing slightly off the tiles. She responded with a hum of approval, the vibrations adding a new layer to the symphony of sensations. Her teeth grazed your clit, and you moaned, the sound music to Alexia’s ears.

The moment your climax hit, it was like a dam had broken. Your legs gave out, but she was there, supporting you, her mouth never leaving your sensitive flesh. You convulsed with pleasure, the waves of your orgasm crashing over you like the waves of a stormy sea. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched you fall apart, her tongue still working you through the aftershocks.

As your breathing began to even out, she stood, her body pressing against yours as the water continued to rain down. You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss, tasting yourself on her lips. Her hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin as if it was the first time she’d ever felt it. The heat between you was unbearable, the shower doing little to cool the fire she had stoked.

Your kiss grew more urgent, your tongues dancing together as your bodies moved in a silent symphony of need. You reached for the soap, your hands shaking slightly, and began to lather it over her neck, shoulders, arms. The feel of the bubbles popping against your fingertips was a stark contrast to the slickness of her skin. She moaned into your mouth as your soapy hands slid over her back, the scent of the soap mixing with the scent of your shared arousal.

With a gentle push, you turned her around, her back now towards you. Your hands roamed over her, soaping her up, each touch leaving trails of bubbles that only served to make her skin more tantalising. Her breath hitched as you reached around to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples in a rhythm that made her hips push back against you.

You couldn’t resist the urge to kiss down her spine, feeling her shiver as your lips traced the path of her vertebrae. You kissed lower, reaching the base of her spine, your tongue teasing the sensitive spot that made her legs tremble.

Her legs parted willingly, you took a moment to breathe her in, the scent of her arousal mixing with the sweetness of the soap. With a gentle touch, you traced the line of her thigh, feeling the muscles tense in anticipation. You kissed her softly, tasting the sweetness of her skin, moving closer to the apex of her legs. She whispered your name, her voice a shiver of need that sent a thrill through you.

With a smirk, you slid a hand between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for you. You slid a finger inside her, and she moaned, her head dropping forward as you began to move in time with the pulsating beat of your heart.

Her hand reached behind her, finding your neck, and she pulled you back up closer, your bodies melding together in a dance of passion. You felt her tighten around your finger, and you knew she was close. You added another, curling them up to hit that perfect spot, making her legs quiver. The sound of her moans grew louder, echoing in the shower, mixing with the water’s patter.

You leaned back, watching her face contort with pleasure, the droplets of water running down her cheeks like tears of joy. Her eyes met yours, a silent plea for more, and you gave it to her, your hand moving faster, your mouth finding hers in a kiss that was just as desperate. Her orgasm hit her like a storm, her body convulsing, her hand smacking the tiles in front of her to steady herself. You held her up, your arm wrapped around her waist, feeling the aftershocks of her climax ripple through her body and onto your fingers.

When she was finished, she turned in your arms, her legs unsteady but her eyes alight with satisfaction. She kissed you deeply, her tongue exploring your mouth with a new urgency. The soap was forgotten, the water growing colder, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the heat between you, the connection that had only grown stronger with every shared touch.

You reached for the shampoo, the bubbles sliding down your arms as you poured it over her hair, watching the suds cascade over her shoulders. As you began to massage her scalp, she let out a contented sigh, her eyes closing as she leaned into your touch.

The tension in the air had shifted, the urgency of earlier replaced by a tender intimacy that was just as potent. You washed her hair with care, the scent of the shampoo mixing with the scent of your love. Her hands found yours, her fingers weaving through the bubbles, and for a moment, you just stood there, holding each other, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

The water grew colder, the steam dissipating, but the warmth between you remained. You rinsed her hair, the water running over your hands in a clear stream, taking the last of the soap with it. She opened her eyes, her gaze locking with yours, and you knew that even as the water grew cold, the fire between you was still burning bright.

Turning her around, you kissed her neck, your teeth grazing the soft skin beneath her ear. She shivered, her head tilting back to give you better access, a silent invitation for more. Your hands roamed over her body, feeling the curves and angles that you had come to know so well.

Her hand slipped between your thighs, her touch feather-light as she found your clit again, now swollen and begging for attention. You gasped, your body tightening around her, the sensation of her touch sending sparks through your veins. She began to stroke you, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours, watching as you succumbed to pleasure once more.

The cold water was forgotten as the heat grew between you, your bodies moving in a silent dance of need. Your hips rocked against her hand, your breaths mingling in the space between your mouths. You could feel the tension building, the anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach, threatening to unravel at any moment.

Her other hand slid around your waist, her fingers digging into your hip as she held you against the tiles. You wrapped your leg around her, your movements growing more desperate. Her strokes grew faster, more insistent, and you could feel yourself racing towards the edge again.

You reached up to tug at her arm, pulling her closer, your mouth finding hers in a kiss that was as desperate as it was gentle. Your teeth nipped at her lower lip, and she responded with a groan, her hand moving faster, her fingers pressing harder. The sound of the shower was a white noise backdrop to your shared moans.

The orgasm crashed over you, a tidal wave that left you gasping for breath. You clung to her, your body spasming with pleasure as she held you upright. She kissed you deeply, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she could taste your release. You felt the warmth of her hand on your cheek, wiping away the stray droplets of water that clung to your skin.

When the tremors finally subsided, you leaned into her, your forehead against hers. The water grew colder still, but you didn’t move, didn’t want to break the spell that had been cast in this small, steamy chamber. Her hand remained between your legs, the gentle pressure of her fingers keeping you on edge, the aftershocks of pleasure pulsing through you.

With a final kiss, you pulled back, you turned off the faucet, the sudden silence deafening in comparison to the cocoon of sound you’d been in. Reaching for a towel, you stepped out, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth you’d been basking in. She followed, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent promise that this was only the beginning.

The bathroom floor was cold underfoot, but the warmth of the towel wrapped around you was a comfort. You dried her off, taking your time, each stroke a gentle caress that spoke volumes. She did the same to you, her touch lingering on your skin, as if memorising every inch.

She wrapped her arms around you, her body warm and welcoming, and together you stepped out into the hallway, the steam from the shower the only evidence of the heat that had just passed.

“On the bed” she murmured into your ear as she came up behind you holding her hips, “Loose this too” she tugged at the towel wrapped around you, it pooled at your feet as you turned to her.

You wanted to be the one in control however “Lie down” you tilted your head as you unfolded the towel from around her, “Don’t make me tell you again” Alexia smirked, “You’re infuriating.”

Alexia moved around you perched on the edge of the bed and leaned back on her hands, taking you all in, “You’re so sexy” You took a moment to appreciate the art that was her, she reached up, her hand tracing your jaw, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fervour of moments before.

“I’ll put clothes on if you don’t lie down”

Alexia couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she pulled her self up to rest her head on the pillow, the bed was cold but you didn’t care, the warmth of her body was more than enough.

Her legs parted for you, an invitation that made your pulse quicken. You knelt between her thighs, your eyes devouring the sight before you. She was wet, not just from the shower, but from desire. The scent of your combined arousal was intoxicating. You leaned in, your breath hot against her skin, and kissed her inner thigh, feeling her shiver.

Her hips arched as you kissed closer to her centre, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. You felt the warmth of her, the slickness of her arousal, and you couldn’t wait to taste her. Your tongue flicked out, a soft touch that made her moan. You explored her with gentle strokes, the sound of her pleasure music to your ears. Her hands found yours, lacing her fingers with yours, her grip tightening as you found her clit, swollen and eager for attention.

You took your time, savouring each gasp and tremor that passed through her body. Your tongue danced around the sensitive bud, teasing it before finally giving it the attention it craved. She bucked her hips, pushing herself closer to your mouth, her breathing ragged. You got comfy between her legs because you planned on being here for a while, giving her all the pleasure you felt you should have been all these weeks.

You took her in, exploring every fold, every curve, with a hunger that surprised even you. Your tongue, flicking and teasing until she was whimpering, her hips bucking against your face. You felt the tension in her thighs, the tightness of her grip on your hand, and knew she was close. With a deep, satisfied groan, you sucked her clit into your mouth, your tongue flicking it rapidly. Her body arched, her hand tightening in your hair, and she came, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave the first of many you had planned for her.

⚽️

You were tangled in the sheets, legs brushing, skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and curling against your temples. The bedroom was quiet, low-lit by the soft city haze filtering through the curtains. Alexia lay on her side, her hand tracing slow, thoughtless patterns on your stomach.

“Wasn’t planning on doing that tonight,” she murmured, a lazy smile curling on her lips.

You turned your head on the pillow to look at her. “What, showering?”

She gave you a soft look, then rolled her eyes with a grin. “No, tonta. You joining me in it and the events following.”

You smirked, reaching to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You looked like you needed company and motivation.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be that motivating,” she teased, lifting herself up slightly to kiss your bare shoulder. “You always surprise me.”

You exhaled slowly, letting the comfort of the moment sink in. “Is that good or bad?”

Alexia’s eyes met yours, serious now. “It’s good. You make everything feel… I don’t know. Lighter. Easier.”

You watched her hand rest just over your ribs, thumb pressing gently into your side, grounding herself in you. “Even now?” you asked quietly.

“Especially now.” She paused. “You’ve been through something I can’t imagine, and you still found your way back to the pitch, to me. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t either,” you admitted, voice softer than before. “I think I’m just moving. If I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.”

She nodded slowly, brushing her nose against yours. “Then I’ll keep walking next to you, until you’re ready to stop.”

You smiled faintly, heart tugging at how sincere she sounded. “You’re too good to me.”

“No,” she said, firm. “I’m exactly what you deserve.”

There was a long silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable it felt heavy with safety. You traced her forearm with your fingers. “You ever think about the future? Not just with football.”

Alexia’s lips twitched into a playful smile. “What, like kids, a dog and a villa by the sea?”

“I meant like... this. Us. If there’s an ‘us’.”

She leaned closer, kissed the corner of your mouth. “There is. And I think about it all the time.” You swallowed, the weight of her words settling somewhere warm in your chest. “I told you and I meant it, I could marry you,” she whispered suddenly, the tease in her voice not quite covering the truth behind it. “If you keep motivating me like that… I’d marry you tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, but your heart was doing things it hadn’t done in a long time. “You better be careful with promises like that.”

Alexia pulled you in, burying her face into your neck, her voice muffled but certain. “Coco,” she murmured, “I don’t make promises I don’t plan to keep.”

You lay there wrapped in her arms, the world quiet for once your grief softened, not gone, but lighter knowing that if nothing else, she wasn’t going anywhere. She shifted slightly beneath you, and you lowered your head just enough to meet her eyes. “What?” you asked softly, noticing how she was looking at you.

She blinked, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No, don’t do that. You’ve got something written all over your face.”

Alexia gave a quiet laugh, almost shy, which was rare for her. “I was just thinking... how stupid it is that I’ve wanted to say something for a while and haven’t just said it without making it a joke.”

You straightened a little, propped yourself up on your elbow, watching her closely now. “Say it then.”

She hesitated not because she was unsure of what she felt, but because she wanted to say it right and then, in true Alexia fashion, she just told you the truth. “I love you.”

You blinked. The room didn’t shift, the sky didn’t fall, but your whole chest tightened all at once, like everything inside you had been waiting to hear those words and finally, finally could exhale.

She sat up a bit, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I think I knew for a while, but I didn’t want to say it too soon or scare you or make it… I don’t know, a bigger thing when everything else in your life has already been so heavy.”

You were quiet. Not because you didn’t know what to say but because you felt it too. “I love you too,” you said, voice small but firm. “You haven’t scared me off, Alexia. You’ve kept me standing, I wouldn't of gotten through everything with out you”

She let out a breath, like she’d been holding it forever, and pulled you into her arms without a word, kissing your temple, your forehead, then your lips soft, slow, and full of meaning. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

You nodded against her, closing your eyes. “I know.” you smiled, "Not when I can make you come like that" Alexia threw her head back laughing.

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yanderenightmare · 10 months ago

Text

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, dehumanization, dollification, patronization, condescension

♡ FEM reader

This is his playroom. It’s got puzzle-piece foam flooring and is filled to the brim with all sorts of different toys—including you. He’s got stuffed animals, pretty dolls, toy soldiers, Lego builds, and a gaming station with all types of fun—and parental safety restrictions, of course, no talking to strangers for you. Your controller is a pretty baby pink, and his a cool camo-green. But today, they’re left on the floor, untouched.

Because today, he only wants to play with you.

“You’re gonna be so pretty…” His voice is as grating as always—synthetically childish, making you grit your teeth. Sitting with you between his legs before the mirror, working diligently.

You look at the floor to avoid your reflection.

He’d gotten you a brand new baby-blue dress and painted you himself—done your eyelids up in matching clear skies, black lashes moth-like and fluttery, cheeks a rosy pink, and lips a sheer gloss extra plump and pretty—no need for tint—you bite them so cutely, they’re already his favorite color. Your hair’s done up in curls and ringlets, so bouncy and soft, beribboned with plentiful white bows.

“This color suits you so well. Makes you look like a cake-topper. Bite-sized. I could eat you right up.” He hums behind you, fiddling with the many intricacies, doing them up perfectly—no rush.

Looking up, the person staring back at you looks no different from a life-sized porcelain doll. Pristine, mint condition, fit to be put behind glass. In your frilly dress, petticoat and stockings. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole.

The only thing that betrays the illusion is the leather collar on your throat and the chain running from it to the middle of the floor. But no matter.

He’s got a giddy smile on his face— chest swelled with pride at his work. You’re his most prized possession. You really are! There isn’t a single toy in this room that can compete with you.

He’s not wearing anything special to match. Bedhead, undressed, still in his pajama pants. Why wouldn’t he be? This is his playroom, after all—his downtime—where he can be a boy with his toy. Though, calling him a boy isn’t exactly right—what with him being nearly in his thirties. Not to mention that he’s about two heads taller than you, with abs like an athlete, toned and chiseled and hard to the touch, hard enough to strain your wrists when he bears down on you. Oh, and that thing in his pants.

You bite your tongue and steal yourself. It would be easy to cry, but he only gets weirder about it then. So you stifle it, even though you look so stupid you want to act like an animal. Tear the dress to shreds and rub your makeup into a mess—scream, bite, spit on him. You’d done all that once before to no avail other than punishments that still keep you up at night. Once was enough. He didn’t play nice with you.

But then again, when does he ever?

“Hmm, think I’m done…” he announces after having dallied with the lace of your corset for a quarter-hour—it’s so tight you have to appreciate every breath. “Time to have some fun.”

He treats you no different from a doll either. Scooping you up into his arms like an inanimate object and carrying off to the princess bed—the one that looks like a girl’s birthday cake with a veil on top, and mountains of pillows all too soft.

He places you down on top of the duvet and it seems to swallow you like an ocean. He dives after, covering you like a fishnet. You take a final breath before he can drown, your hand on his chest, holding him at a distance.

“I was thinking, uhm…” you start, the words coming out odd, barely recognizable as your voice—only noticing now how long it had been since you’d spoken last. “I was…” you restart, but it’s still no easier. His eyes are large and unblinking, staring down at you as though he’s just as surprised as you are to found out you speak. “Hoping we could play… a little differently this time?”

He blinks at the request, having fallen completely still above you.

“Really? How?” The suddenness of his words make you flinch. You don’t know what you had expected—maybe a smile and something dismissive. It had been a while since he’d spoken directly to you like that—and not to himself in absentminded comments about you.

You recover some time, seeing him stare down at you all expectantly in wait. He follows when you guide him into sitting instead of looming over you, putting yourself in his lap—straddling him. “Mh, like this. Maybe?”

It’s a gamble. He’d never had you on top before, nor ever shown an interest in it. Setting aside the time you’d been sprawled on your belly over his thighs, his hand riddled in your hair and his other hand branding your ass with his very own toy company logo.

His expression is unreadable—perhaps a little confused if you were to take a guess.

“Oh!” he erupts with a smile you hope is the good sort. “You mean I play the toy and you the master?” He laughs brightly, falling on his back with a hand over his face, cackling through his fingers as though it were the most absurd proposal he’d ever heard.

But despite his obvious amusement, you still feel it—his toy poking into you from beneath.

He settles after a moment. “Alright then, why not?” Looking up at you—his hair a tousled mess splayed upon the bed, eyes as gleeful as the quirk on his lips. “Who knows… it could be fun.”

He props his arms behind his head, lounging comfortably.

“I did call you a cake-topper, after all,” he snickers. “I’ll lie perfectly still, like a good toy, while you play with me. Sound good?”

You can’t believe how open he was to it. Still a little apprehensive, you nod your head.

And then the game begins…

He doesn’t exactly stay true to his word. But you suppose that would be too much to ask. His head still rests pretty on the pillow with his eyes closed, smiling in satisfaction—for now, sated with your performance. Groaning in absentminded bliss, “You’re right. This is fun~”

But he hadn’t stayed perfectly still like he’d said. He’d reached out when you’d finally begun riding and now his arms keep you snug against his chest, fine-pressed sweaty skin against your frilly bust, more in a lock than a hug. It makes it kind of difficult to do what he wants, but you try your best—knees and toes planted in the mattress for stability as you jerk your hips on his lap. It’s awkward, but riding him like this is still better than the alternative, after all.

You keep your arms around the back of his neck, resting your face in the cradle it creates beneath his chin, panting lowly—eyes closed in focus away from the pain, brows tight with your tongue between your teeth, trying to maintain the rhythm despite the blossoming ache that’s started to spread from your hips down your thighs—another ill sting in the small of your back crawling up your spine. It’s hard staying bent over like this, and your movements are turning sluggish…

There’s a sigh from above you, pitchy and just awful. “Aww, is it really time already?” he whines—previous satisfaction dwindling—bordering on something else entirely now, the opposite and so much worse—boredom with a hint of disappointment—a spoiled child with a toy that’s run out of battery.

You shake your head, burying your face in his neck and tightening your grip, stealing yourself with newfound strength to maintain the tempo you had before while muffling out a desperate, “No, I can keep going—”

He lets out another sound, this time in thought. “Hmm...” It doesn’t give you much confidence—how lax a sound it is—as if he isn’t even close to being spent yet. “I don’t know… You’re so slow. I’m gonna get soft if this is all you got, y’know?”

He starts moving—sitting up. He takes his own hold on your hips, and you know what that means. And you can’t handle being played with, not when he damn near breaks you each and evert time.

“No, wait! I can keep going, please, just a little longer?” you insist, both palms pushed flat on his chest with your round eyes looking at him hopelessly in plead for a second chance—even though you know he isn’t one with the patience to give you one.

He stares blankly back, big-eyed in surprise at your outburst. Though still not convinced it would be worth humoring you. If he was being honest, he’d enjoyed it more than he thought he would but had now had his fill and wanted to take charge as usual and finish the job. However…

Oh, you’re being so uncharacteristically cute today—and that pathetic look of desperation on your face is truly something else…

He smiles deceptively softly, so brightly it reaches his eyes. He very nearly looks innocent like that, but you know him too well—so well that the sight of his lips curling gives you nothing but a churning stomach.

“Okay then, doll. You convinced me.”

Suppose it doesn’t hurt letting you have your way sometimes. You have been on very good behavior lately, after all. He ought to reward you.

“I’ll be your toy a little longer.” He murmurs with a lazy smirk, nose-kissing you—patronizing, as though he’s doing you a big favor.

It doesn’t grant you any peace, and neither does the way he keeps his hold on your hips, rubbing smooth circles into the fat leisurely, letting you know he wouldn't be removing them—it serves as some type of encouragement as you start moving again.

It’s easier now when you’re upright. Holding his shoulders, you can jump rather than buck—up and down, up and down, up and down—it’s simple enough. Or it was for a moment, at least, before he planted your hips down.

“Not like that,” he shakes his head softly. “Like this.” He moves you after his will, wanting you to grind instead—putting you back in square one.

Your movement staggers, and you mask a wince with a moan—fuck, your muscles are so sore, maintaining this movement is enough to make your loins scream, feeling all but set on fire.

With one hand keeping you seated, the other takes hold of your leash and pulls you in close, his lips on the dew of your rouge-dusted cheek—you feel the grin, and like prey threatened by a hunter’s teeth, you shiver in respect of it. “Come on, dolly, ride or die, faster,” he simpers, voice laced with mockery and amusement.

Your thighs are shaking now, tightened up in anguish, begging for a break—soon to take it without your permission. How much you can take reaches a point, and everything goes slack not a second too soon.

“And now you’re done,” he snickers hotly under his breath, planting a kiss on the side of your glossy lips while you exhaustedly and gingerly take your break with a feeling of defeat. He speaks low, and you dread every eerie lick of his words, “My turn to play.”

You want to protest, but you know it’s no use. He’d made up his mind now, and challenging it any further would only turn you into a nuisance—toys are supposed to enjoy being played with, after all—best take it with grace and shut up before he reminds you.

He flips the both of you around with ease, reclaiming his spot—on top. He loves you like this, splayed out beneath him like a puppet—just waiting to have all your strings pulled.

It was good while it lasted, you think—maybe if you get better, you can make him finish and not have to endure what comes next.

“Don’t pout, dolly—that was fun,” he kisses you lips as they start to tremble. “But you suit being my toy so much better.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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