#So tiny in front of the magic circle

[completeoveranalysis]

[5]

The wording here makes Yuuko's message a bit ambiguous. When she says they went into the Jam Jar so that “neither of them would vanish” I can’t tell if she means so THEY wouldn’t vanish, or if she means the two futures. Maybe it’s the latter? The more I read it the more it feels like the latter.

And when she moves on to the topic of herself the “And I as well” could mean Herself in terms of Not Vanishing, or that she is also doing something to prevent the Two Futures from vanishing. Probably the latter here as well? The more I read this as well it also seems like the latter.

So. They had Jam Jar time so that neither of the two futures would vanish, and Yuuko's Time moving again means she can also do something that will help with that. I think that's it?

Language is so weird.

Oh! But here we go!

Since the Yuuko’s time is moving, and because the barrier between life and death is still in place, she can finish her 5D chess move and send the Jam Jar Sakura and Syaoran into the World of Dreams. Which they APPARENTLY were not in already - CONFIRMED. That's good to know, since the last time we had a Jam Jar it kind of also WAS the world of dreams?

I constantly feel like I just need to reread everything all over again

HERE WE GO! 

JAM JAR: BROKEN!

MAGIC CIRCLE: GIANT

EVERYONE: SHOCKED

I am forcibly removed from the Jam Jar.

[tonycries]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[alygator77]

── try again

a/n. i've been sitting on wanting to create a small scene like this for a while now. so here ya go! lemme tell ya'll... breastfeeding is not always this magical and beautiful thing that people make it out to be. it hurts like hell, my bloody nipples can attest.

cw: domestic fluff. angst with comfort. satoru's trying to make breastfeeding easier for you.

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice tight with frustration. “She won’t latch.”

You’re trying not to cry.

Looking down at your newborn, you can see her frustration—tiny fists clenching, soft, hungry cries spilling from her mouth as she wriggles restlessly in your arms. You shift again, adjusting her position, cradling her closer, trying—begging—for something to click.

But it doesn’t.

Her mouth bobs and searches blindly, cheeks flushing red with effort, and the desperation building in her fragile little body mirrors your own.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you choke out, blinking hard as tears blur your vision.

You’re exhausted. Beyond it. The sleepless nights at the hospital. Your body aches in places you didn’t even know could hurt. And this—this thing that was supposed to be natural, instinctual, beautiful—feels awkward and impossible—like a test you’re failing over and over again.

“Please, baby girl…” your voice trembles as you guide her to your breast one more time. “Just—c’mon—o-ow!”

She latches, but it’s wrong. A searing pain shoots through your chest and you flinch, instinctively pulling her away. Your nipple throbs—red, sore, screaming for relief. With a shrill cry, your baby’s tiny face crumples in protest, and your own tears finally fall—hot and helpless.

“Why is this so hard?” you whisper, voice cracking as you hold her close, shaking.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. You’re doing everything right.”

Satoru's voice is low behind you—steady, but laced with worry.

His hands come to rest gently on your shoulders, warm and trembling, his thumbs moving in slow circles like he can massage away the frustration knotting in your muscles.

“She’s only a few days old…” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair. “She’s still learning. Fuck… we are too.” He exhales shakily. “You’re doing the best you can, sweetheart. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He straightens, blue eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for something—anything—to help.

“What can I do? Do you need anything? Where’s that—hang on—where’s that damn pillow thing…?” he mumbles, and you watch through watery eyes as he scrambles, clumsily grabbing the nursing pillow, adjusting it like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without the picture on the box. His movements are uncoordinated, frantic—but full of love.

Satoru kneels beside you as you try again, baby blue eyes flicking between your face and your daughter’s, willing the pieces to fall into place.

"C'mon baby girl... be nice to your momma for me, yeah?"

But when your little one latches again and you gasp, pulling her off with a pained cry, your resolve shatters.

“I—I can’t do it Satoru!” you say, brokenly. “I can't get her to latch, and when she does… it just hurts. So much.”

You feel like a failure. How can you not feed your baby?

As you look up at him through watery lashes, tears clinging to your cheeks, Satoru's expression cracks. He nods quickly, white brows furrowing as his lips press into a tight line, like he’s holding back the helplessness swelling in his chest.

“I know, baby. I know. Just… wait one sec.”

He’s on his feet in an instant, practically tripping over the edge of the rug as he rushes across the room. A moment later, he’s back—dragging a stool with one hand and clutching a spare pillow in the other. Dropping down in front of you, he crouches low, gently lifting your legs and placing them on the makeshift footrest.

“There,” he murmurs, positioning the pillow with care. “Put your feet up. Maybe if you’re more comfortable…”

Satoru fluffs the nursing pillow again with extra care, tucks the baby’s blanket around her tiny frame, then grabs your water bottle from the side table—uncapping it as he gently places it in your hand.

“C’mon momma... gotta stay hydrated.”

His voice is hushed, but purposeful. You sniffle, taking a sip of water, and he's shifting back toward the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder.

“Um… do you want a snack? I think there’s some of those lactation cookies in the kitchen…" his blue eyes flick back to you, and you see the gears turning in his head. "Or... I can make you something? Or—shit—I’ll Postmate something! What do you want? Fuck, I’ll Postmate everything if it’ll help.”

A tired, wet laugh escapes you—half amusement, half relief. “Great..." you wipe the tears from your eyes, smiling softly. "Now you’re spiraling too...”

He huffs out a sheepish breath, dragging a hand down his face as he plops beside you again. “Yeah… yeah, I am definitely spiraling.”

Reaching up, he brushes a damp strand of hair from your face, fingers grazing your temple with featherlight tenderness.

“You’re in pain...” he murmurs, blue eyes shimmering with concern. “And... I feel helpless just standing here. I can’t feed her. I can’t fix this…” he pauses, lips dropping into an exaggerated pout. “My nipples are completely useless, by the way.”

A choked, breathless laugh escapes through your tears, and his entire face softens at the sound, like it’s the only thing that’s mattered all day.

“What?” he grins. “It’s true. I’ve got nothing going on up here. Decorative at best. Yours, on the other hand—” he gestures with a flourish, “—doing heroic work. Damn sexy, too. Just sayin'.”

You roll your eyes through the blur of tears, laughing again, and lean into the warmth of his palm as it cradles your cheek.

It still hurts. You’re still exhausted, still raw, still aching in every possible way.

But in this moment—wrapped in Satoru's love, soothed by his gentle chaos and relentless care—you don’t feel quite so alone.

And somehow, with him by your side, you find the strength to try again.

And again.

And again.

Until finally… you get it right.

[oreo-creampies]

“𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲!)”

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭! Sukuna fucks you, queen of the fae, into a messy cum covered whore

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! queen of the fae!reader, demon king!sukuna (true-form), size kink, hentai logic lets say his monster sized cock fits in your fairy cunt, pussy drunk, overstimulation/hints of mindbreak, cock-drunk, monster sized cocks one has a knot the other is softly ribbed, HUGE HUGE HUGE SIZE KINK, sensitive wings, squirting, degradation/some praise, sukuna is 10ft tall in this one, your pussy is like a pocket of holding and it can take that shit, lets say you have tits even if you don’t for this one, titty fucking, double pentration (cunt and anal), pain kink, restraining/rough manhandling, fucking you in front of a mirror then on the bed, reader has magical abilities, sukun eats your ass a little with one of his hand’s mouth, sukuna is mean but gentle with your wings, pussy slapping, some anal fingering (he doesn't touch you with the hand after), belly bulge from both his cock and cum, squirting his cum when he pushes on your stomach, he covers you in his cum too, fingering

Fey; i get it if you judge me for this one, but in my defense my coochie held me at gun point to write this one. I'm giving you one more warning to use hentai logic with this one!!!

Sukuna strokes the base of your iridescent wings making them stretch out and flutter. Trembling, arching your back, digging your nails into the arm of the hand clenching your waist. Getting off on how Sukuna can hold you up, to use like a cocksleeve, with one massive hand.

“I look so big taking your stupid lil bratty ass from behind, look at yourself, you’re built like a handheld toy for me to use whenever I want.” Sukuna that’s massive, from his height to his hands, to the cocks stretching out both of your sloppy wet holes.

He croons, “You’re hot crying with your tiny wings fluttering n’ your stomach bulging.” Slowly stretching your wings out then pulling you upright by a firm grasp on your throat. Your wings occasionally brush Sukuna’s warm chest.

Your sloppy wet cunt is gushing on his cock, thick warm cum squirts and trickles onto the floor. Both of your wet holes quiver, clenching his thick cocks.

Sukuna moans, “Stupid slutty lil princess make a mess on my cocks, cumming so damn much you’ve made a puddle on the floor.

His four eyes fixating on how his thick knot tugs on your cunt. “Nnnn look at that you’re clenching me too tightly for me to pull out?” You squirm and cry when he sucks on your clit with a hand’s mouth.

Insisting, “Princess? I'm a queen?!” He licks your cock-stuffed cunt with a hand’s tongue. When he moves his hand away you’re fixating on how your cunt is split into a perfect circle by his thick knot.

Sharply crying when Sukuna pinches your sensitive clit. “Yet you’re taking my cocks like a common whore.” He roughly pulls his knot and cocks out eliciting a needy whine from you when you’re empty.

Dropping you on the massive nearby bed which floats with with a wave of your hand. “It doesn't make me any less a queen.” Spreading your legs for him, “It just means I'm a queen whose a monster cock loving slut.”

Sukuna pins your thighs by your side, lining his bottom cock up and nudging your asshole with his cockhead. Unlike his other cock’s blunt head it has a thinner cone-shaped like tip, which gets thicker after each soft ridge.

He rests his other cock on top of you, covering your cunt and resting between your tits. “And to think you were just takin’ me in your soft lil‘ cunt, I knew fae magic was something else but this is isn't what I expected.” His cock is so big, yet he feels no deeper than your belly button when inside.

Pressing your breasts together, squeezing his fat cock. He grabs your hair yanking your head up, making you look at his cock peeking out from between your tits.

Sukuna groans when you lick his cockhead. “I wonder how much you can take before your magic runs out and you break.” Slowly rolling his hips fucking your soft ass, his cock on top stroking your sensitive clit.

Pleading with Sukuna, “Break me, fuck! Nnn it won't be too long before I'm ready for more! Please! I can't get enough they’re so big, I can't get enough! Please fuck me with both cocks please! Please! Please!” He covers your mouth sticking his fat tongue into your mouth, you can faintly taste yourself.

“What? You’re looking up at me like you want to kiss some different lips.” He smirks gliding himself out of your ass and takes his other cock off your body to let them both hang

He leans down, “Hah you’re too small to properly kiss me.” You lean forward covering his larger lips in kisses, sliding your fingers into his hair.

“I can cover you in kisses.” Sukuna’s lips covers your cheek when he kisses you. Standing up he’s a ten foot monstrous demon and you love it. You love how small you feel beneath him, restrained in a mating press for him to mercilessly fuck both sensitive, sloppy wet holes.

He roughly smacks your cunt, licking your asshole with his thick tongue. The sharp pain rips wonderfully through the pleasure of having your ass ate. Loudly pleading, “Fuck me please, please fuck me. I wanna cum again!”

“Greedy lil brat is a better title for you, after you squirted and made a mess all over my floor you’re begging to cum again.” Another harsh slap to your cunt has you crying.

Pleading with Sukuna, “Im a greedy slut for your thick cocks! I can't help it! It feels like I'm about to go into heat. Please use whatever hole you want my King it gets me off how you use me for your pleasure.” Grabbing the bottle of lube left on the bed, taking his tongue out of your ass.

He pours a lot onto your tight hole then stuffs it in with two thick fingers. Some of the lube drips onto the sheets, “Good girl.” Pumping his fingers faster, smearing the lube. “Call me me your King again.”

He lines himself up, “Please fuck me My King.” He roughly stuffing both holes in a swift thrust. Your body tenses up with a sudden jolt, he’s too big. And being unable run away from the overwhelming intensity magnifies it.

Sukuna demands, “This is my sloppy lil’ cunt to cum in till I get bored of you. Say it!” Putting his weight into your thrust watching your stomach expand when his cock nestles in deep.

“Nnnn!” You can’t focus his words his cock stretching out both holes making the strip of skin between go taunt. You’re a fuck toy for him and it feels so good.

He’s so perfect from cocky smirk, to the condescending way he is looking down at you, and his thick cocks stirring you up pushing you towards cumming again.

He sneers, “Are you already too cock drunk?” Trailing his fingers gently along the top of one of your expanded wings. “Be a good girl and tell me who owns you brat.” Licking your clit with his stomach’s tongue, the pleasure is building rapidly.

Even after squirting on his cock he’s getting you this worked up so fast. It's hard not to with the intense stimulation from Sukuna licking your clit whilst mercilessly fucking you sloppy holes into a loose with his monster cocks.

You whine, “You do my King! ‘S your cunt! Nnn I wanna covered in your cum.” Picking up his pace, even with your magic the bed is rocking. “Fuck you’re so big! Nnnn please please! I'm your good girl.” Grabbing his thick, tattooed forearms, digging your nails in.

“Good girls get cummed in don’t they?” He fondled your breasts, biting and sucking on your nipple. The way he’s toying with your body is wonderful.

You beg him, “We shouldn't, we aren't married, but I want you to! Nnnn! Fuck! You’d cum so much, I would be so full!” Softly clutching the sheets when he flicks your tongue faster, adding a little more pressure. “I wanna feel your warm cum.”

A couple more strokes and your reasoning is quickly crumbling as you cum. All you can think about are his cocks throbbing inside you, filling both holes up. It’s too tempting you're begging with Sukuna, “Please cum! Please cum! Wanna feel your warm thick cum!”

He wonders, “How long did you spend making a spell that can let you take cocks bigger than you should. Or did it come naturally to a slut like you?”

You’re unable to process his question instead you’re loudly moaning, “Please cum! Please! Please! My king! Daddy! Sir! Please! Suukunnna.” Sukuna squeezes your throat and lifts you off the bed. Using his grasp on your throat and his to make you meet his merciless thrusts.

It’s hot to hear Sukuna sound so needy as he whines, “Nn!!! Nn! ‘S tight, wet! Fuck!” He grabs your hair yanking your head back so he can watch you cry while he fucksyou. Keeping eye contact with two eyes while the other two fixate on how your stomach bulges.

Softly growling and grunting “Mine! All fuckin! Nnnnn! Stupid pretty lil’ brat.” His jaw drops with needy loud whines as he loses himself in the intoxicating pleasure of your wet holes clenching his cocks.

There is a crash as the bed hits the floor. Sukuna turns around and lies down on an uneven half-broken bed. He digs his heels into the bed and roughly rutting his hips. “Fuck so damn hot! So fucking small, I wanna make you cry and ruin your tight cunt.”

You lean forward resting your hands on his abs above his stomach’s mouth. “Please cum! Sukuna please!” He softly growls then fucks you harder making it hard for you to string a word together in between your cries.

His brows pinch together and his jaw drops with a loud groan. “C-cum on mmmmm!” It’s impossible to think with the way your soft, soaking-wet holes are gripping and rubbing his cock. Your tears rolling down your beautiful face spurring him on getting him so close to cumming inside you.

“Cry! Louder! Fuck me!” Your cunt spasms as you cum on Sukuna’s thick cock. Sukuna’s eyes roll back, shoulders curl in and he tosses his head back. Whining loudly, “Nnn too-too too tight! Too much! Please!” Thick hot cum spurts in your stomach making it swell.

When he lets your throat go you use your first steady breath to whine “Please?” Sukuna's cheeks flushes a dark shade of pink matching his hair. He stuffs a finger in your mouth and fondles your soft breast, sucking on your nipple.

His cock pulses as more thick cum keeps trickling out. Your aching holes spasm around his cock. It’s wonderful to be so full of Sukuna’s cum and cocks.

He rolls over, towering over you with two massive cocks stuffed in each hole. “Don’t think this means we are done. Im going to clean up then see if your lil’ bratty cunt can take both of my cocks.” Slowly gliding his cocks out, Sukuna pushes on your building stomach making his cum squirts onto his hand and the bed.

Sukuna smears his thick cum over your thighs, tits, and waist. Gliding his finger inside you costing himself in cum which he stuffs into your mouth. “How do we taste?” You groan whilst sucking his thick finger as he holds his dirty hand to your asshole, licking your cum filled asshole.

He pulls his finger out with a wet pop. “Bitter, but I love being filled with and feeling your cum gushing out of me!” Lifting you off the bed by your hair Sukuna dangles you in front of the mirror.

“You look hotter covered and dripping with my cum.” He glides a thick finger into your cunt, pushing more thick cum out of you faster with slow pumps.

Letting your hair go causing you to flutter your wings to afloat. “How long can you keep hovering with those little wings while I'm fingering you?”

Oreo’s m.list

[genieswishes]

gotcha workin’ for it ft. Saxon Ratliff

MDNI 18+

pairing: Saxon Ratliff x Reader

cw: p in v (unprotected), pwp, mentions of breeding kink (no follow through), teasing, “baby” as a pet name, established relationship, random pop culture reference

a/n: this was supposed to be a Saxon and locker room talk, but the more I wrote, the more it divulged from its original plot… maybe I’ll revisit that idea when I can write a clear enough story for it.

“You’re always so whiny and pitchy.” SAXON RATLIFF mutters in your ear. He goes on to mimic your moans, exaggerating the way your breaths are stuttered. You punch at him hard to get him to shut up.

“What?” He grins at your response, taking advantage of the wide mirror in front of you two, lifting your chin so that you’re forced to face yourself. “Look, you’re literally heaving!”

He has your back arched enough that you can see how your chest is moving to his rhythm. Your hands are placed on his bed post as he’s got your hair in one hand and your chin in the other. He’s got his hips pummeling into you, his own body arching over yours so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re like…” He’s chuckling a bit. “Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh!”

Your words were about to form a snarky comeback when he hits a particular thrust that makes you choke on your spit a little.

“Hey,” This asshole has the audacity to snicker at you. “Breathe, baby, breathe.”

Thank god you don’t go into a coughing fit. But you also curse whatever reverence is out there as your boyfriend leans back and straightens himself, stopping when you’re so close to your climax.

“You’ll need air if you’re gonna be moving, right?” His voice raising an inflection towards the end of the question.

“Huh?” And your voice does come out quite pitchy.

“Well, I’m not doing all the work,” He slaps your ass. Hard. “So, come on, back and forth.”

“God, you’re seriously a grade A asshole.” Yet you find your hips are already slapping back to him, your back arching to his pelvis.

His hands find themselves steady on your waist, only there to hold on to some stability and guide you to some sort of pace. Soon, your bedroom is filled with nothing but your wet squelching and a speed comparable to that of Ariana Grande when it comes to switching races.

“Uhh, fuck,” Saxon has long abandoned his motive to stay still, rocking into you as he palms your tits and enjoys how your ass bounces back on him. “Fuck, fuck, you feel real good...”

You’re so close, and you know he is to with how he twitches inside of you. You got him whispering into your shoulder, your name repeated like a prayer.

He’s calling you pet names in between his moans. “Let me cum inside…”

In usual Saxon fashion, he’s not asking with a “please” or a “can I…?” but masking his demand to sound like a request.

“Nooo,” You’re telling him unconvincingly. “Pull out…”

“What? You scared I’m gonna baby trap you?” He’s got a lilt in his voice, still teasing you when you’re both so close to finishing.

“Yes, don’t fuck around!”

“Yeah, maybe I will…” Saxon’s got his arm snaked around your waist now, thrumming into you all harsh. “Have a tiny me go running around…”

You’re yelling “Saxon!” but he feels you clench him at that notion.

“Yeah, and you’re probably gonna be calling for me just like that too.” His fingers are working magic on your clit, circling your bud in quick motions. “You know me… I’m a family man.” And boy, is he.

You can’t even respond, too focused on finding your end of the bargain. Your boyfriend is also stuttering in his movements, rutting faster to get to his arrival.

You reach your release before him, Saxon cumming right after and painting your back in white.

He falls on top of you, warm to the touch. You bask in the comfortable silence, deciding to ignore the mess that’s gonna need to be cleaned. Better to enjoy this quiet before Saxon catches his breath, right?

[hazelira]

2 wittle hands, 1 heavy heart

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

The apartment felt both too full and too empty. It was filled with the cries of a six-month-old and the occasional tantrum of a two-year-old, yet it was missing something—someone.

Jungwon had been gone for weeks, barely home for more than a few hours before heading out again for rehearsals, recordings, and endless schedules. You understood, but understanding didn’t make the exhaustion any easier to bear.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you whispered, rocking Jung-ah against your chest, her tiny fists gripping your shirt as she wailed. Your arms ached from holding her all day, your patience worn thin from how Jung-woo had spent the afternoon throwing his blocks across the room, demanding, “Where’s Appa?”

How were you supposed to answer that?

Jung-woo sniffled in the corner, curled up against the couch, his bottom lip trembling. You crouched beside him, brushing his messy hair back.

“Baby, I know you miss Appa,” you murmured, kissing his forehead, “but he’s working hard, okay?”

He pouted, rubbing his eyes. “But he’s always busy.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t wrong.

Jung-ah’s cries grew louder, her tiny body trembling against you, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from breaking. It was too much—all of it. You were doing your best, but you weren’t enough.

And then the front door clicked open.

You froze.

Jung-woo’s head shot up.

Jung-ah hiccupped through her sobs.

Jungwon stood in the doorway, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hoodie pulled over his messy hair. He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his posture slumped with the weight of everything on his shoulders.

But his heart shattered when he saw the scene before him—Jung-ah’s tear-streaked face, Jung-woo’s sad little pout, your tired, defeated expression.

“Hey, my loves,” his voice was hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

Jung-woo’s face twisted, and suddenly, he was sobbing.

“Appa!”

Jungwon barely had time to drop his bag before Jung-woo crashed into his legs, clinging to him like he’d disappear again if he let go. Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, guilt twisting like a knife in his gut.

“Hey, hey, I’m here, I’m here,” he whispered, scooping him up. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Jung-woo buried his face into Jungwon’s neck, tiny arms wrapped so tightly around him it was as if he was trying to mould himself into his father.

Jungwon turned to you next, eyes filled with something unreadable, something heavy. His gaze dropped to Jung-ah, who had quieted in your arms, her big, watery eyes blinking at him.

You bit your lip, shifting your weight. “She’s been fussy all day. And Jung-woo…” Your voice wavered. “He missed you so much.”

Jungwon’s throat bobbed.

He reached out hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right to or if he wasn’t sure if he deserved to. But you let him take her, let him pull her to his chest, and the moment he did, she let out a tiny, shuddering breath and nestled into him.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “I missed you too.”

Jung-woo’s sniffles softened, but he clung to Jungwon, his tiny fists gripping his hoodie. “You won’t leave again?” he mumbled.

Jungwon felt his heart crack wide open.

He met your gaze over their heads, eyes filled with unsaid things—I’m sorry. I love you. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

You exhaled, shoulders sagging. You weren’t sure if things would magically get better overnight, but at least—for tonight—your little family was together.

Jungwon didn’t let go.

Not even when Jung-woo’s sniffles turned into slow, steady breaths against his shoulder, not even when Jung-ah’s tiny fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, her cheek squished against his chest, not even when he felt his exhaustion settling deep into his bones.

You watched him from the doorway of the nursery, arms crossed over your chest. The weight on your shoulders hadn’t disappeared, but seeing him here—finally here—was enough to make your heart ache differently.

He looked down at the two little humans who depended on him, his throat tightening as guilt burned his lungs. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you moved closer, brushing your fingers against Jung-ah’s soft hair. “You missed a lot.” Your voice was quiet, tired.

Jungwon swallowed hard.

“I know,” he murmured. “I—I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think… I thought I was doing the right thing by working hard, by making sure we had everything we needed, but—”

“But we need you more than anything else.”

Silence. Heavy and thick.

Jung-woo stirred, mumbling something sleepily against his father’s shoulder. Jungwon instinctively rubbed his back, something deep and instinctual in him responding to his son’s slightest movements.

When he finally looked at you, his eyes were red-rimmed, glossy. “I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s just a picture on the wall.”

Your heart clenched.

“You won’t be,” you whispered. “But you have to be here.”

Jungwon nodded, pressing a kiss to Jung-woo’s temple and then to Jung-ah’s forehead. “I will be.”

You wanted to believe him.

And maybe, with how he held them—like they were the most precious things in the world—you did.

Jungwon let out a breath as he gently tucked Jung-woo under his blankets, brushing his son’s soft hair back. After what felt like forever, the toddler finally fell asleep, his tiny fingers still curled loosely around Jungwon’s hoodie.

Carefully, he pried them off, pressing one last kiss to his forehead before stepping back. The exhaustion in his bones felt deeper than any stage performance, heavier than any schedule. But when he turned around and saw you standing in the doorway, holding a half-asleep but still-clinging Jung-ah, all he felt was warmth.

“She’s fighting it,” you whispered, sighing. “She keeps whining for you.”

Jungwon reached for his daughter, cradling her against his chest as you gave him a tired but knowing look. “Good luck,” you murmured before finally retreating to catch your breath.

With soft steps, Jungwon carried Jung-ah into the nursery and lowered her into the crib—or at least he tried to.

The second her tiny body touched the mattress, her grip tightened around his mullet, her little fingers tangling into the strands like a lifeline.

“Ah, princess—” Jungwon winced, holding back a laugh as she let out a slight, sleepy whine. “I know you love Appa, but you’ll make me bald before I turn thirty.”

Jung-ah only clung tighter, her brows furrowing as if she knew exactly what he was saying and refused to care.

Jungwon tried to untangle her fingers gently, but she whimpered, eyes fluttering open. His heart clenched. He had missed so many nights like this—nights where she just wanted to be held and needed him.

With a quiet sigh, he gave in, settling down on the rocking chair beside the crib instead. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “I’m not going anywhere, princess.”

Jung-ah let out a content sigh, her fingers still woven into his hair as she nuzzled against his chest. Jungwon leaned his head back, exhaustion washing over him, but his heart—*his heart had never felt more full*.

An hour later, Jungwon finally untangled Jung-ah’s tiny fingers from his hair. Her soft, squishy body had gone completely limp; her little mouth slightly parted as she breathed peacefully against his chest.

Jungwon exhaled, kissing her forehead gently before standing up and laying her down in the crib. This time, she didn’t stir. He watched her momentarily, his heart aching with love, before quietly slipping out of the nursery.

The apartment was silent, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards under his feet. Walking into the living room, he found you curled up on the couch, half awake, waiting for him.

Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but you still looked up at him with a small, tired smile. “She finally let you go?” you murmured.

Jungwon let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Barely. I think she wants to keep me on a leash.”

You laughed softly, reaching out a hand. Without hesitation, he took it, letting you pull him down onto the couch with you.

When he settled beside you, your body instinctively curled into his, fitting against him as if you belonged there—because you did. Jungwon let out a quiet sigh, wrapping his arms around you, his nose pressing into your hair.

For the first time in weeks, he felt at peace.

“You’re staying, right?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungwon tightened his hold around you. “I’m staying,” he promised.

You didn’t reply, but how you relaxed against him told him you believed him. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Neither of you made it to the bedroom that night.

Wrapped up in each other’s warmth, in the comfort of knowing that for tonight—just for tonight—everything was okay, you both drifted off to sleep on the couch.

And Jungwon didn’t dream of anything except *for the first time in a long time.

requested by: @aeri-shi

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #23

The day started like any other in the Ghost Zone: tense, glowing, and humming with the promise of disaster. Danny had only popped by Clockwork’s tower to ask a simple question—something about paradox prevention or whatever—and definitely didn’t mean to touch the ancient, glowing relic perched delicately atop a cursed pedestal of time-forgotten sorrow and screaming. But he did. He touched it. And then everything exploded in green light and dramatic violin music (which might have been in his head).

And just like that, Danny Fenton was five years old again. Five. Chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed, pint-sized kindergarten-age with all the raw ghost powers of his seventeen-year-old self packed into a body no taller than three feet of chaos. Worse, he remembered everything—every awkward high school moment, every near-death experience, every ghost fight, every existential meltdown.

“Clockwork!” Danny shrieked, his voice now horrifyingly high-pitched and squeaky. “What the actual hell?!”

“Language, Daniel,” Clockwork said in the maddeningly serene way only a time god could manage, waving his staff with an infuriating smirk. “Consider this a learning experience.”

“I hate learning! Learning’s for school and people who don’t get turned into toddlers by rogue hourglasses!”

But Clockwork only chuckled like this was all going according to some elaborate cosmic lesson plan. Probably because it was. He vanished mid-scolding, leaving Danny alone in the tower, stomping around in his little sneakers and throwing ghost-powered tantrums that cracked the marble tiles.

Which is when the floor opened.

To be clear, Danny did not jump into the swirling blue portal. He fell. He fell dramatically with limbs flailing and an undignified scream that would later be blamed on the wind. The portal spit him out in the middle of what could only be described as a cathedral on steroids: tall golden columns, floating runes, and people in robes glaring like he’d farted during a funeral.

He crash-landed on a silk-draped table in front of the actual gods.

“…Ow,” Danny groaned, blinking up at a very tall, very unimpressed man with a horned crown and cheekbones so sharp they could cut reality.

The man frowned. “Why is there a child in the royal seidr sanctum?”

“I didn’t mean to be here! I touched a stupid relic and now I’m five and I fell through a portal and—wait, are you Loki?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“Cool. Love your work. Big fan. Please don’t murder me.”

Loki blinked. “…What?”

Then the child burst into blue flames and hovered six inches off the table, sparking with ghost energy like an angry firecracker. Everyone screamed. A robed man passed out. Someone wet themselves. Loki, to his credit, looked intrigued.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, circling the small floating menace. “You’re not of Midgard, are you?”

“I’m Danny from Earth, actually! I’m from Illinois! I’m just—also—kind of a half-ghost and currently five and possibly stuck like this forever!”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You’re an abomination of magic.”

“Thank you?”

“I like you.”

“No thanks?”

But Loki had already scooped him up like some cursed kitten that wandered into his life. Danny screamed the whole way down the palace corridors, zapping walls, guards, and an unfortunate tapestry depicting Odin’s triumphs. Loki just looked delighted. Like this was the best pet he’d ever found. Like this was revenge against Thor just by existing.

“You are now Dánjal Lokison,” Loki declared.

“I AM NOT—STOP—PUT ME DOWN—”

“I shall raise you in my image.”

“I already have a dad and he’s stupid but he’s mine—put me down or I will scream and explode and possess your furniture!”

“You’ll fit in perfectly.”

Thus began the unholy saga of Danny Fenton, age five, accidentally adopted by the God of Mischief and forced into Asgardian nobility under duress. It was, somehow, not even the weirdest thing to happen that month.

Loki dressed him in child-sized black leather and tiny green cloaks. He taught him how to chant spells in Elder Seidr, how to bend illusions with his hands, and how to summon fire with a thought. Danny, in retaliation, taught Loki about Earth cartoons, fart jokes, and TikTok dances. It was a two-way cultural exchange of chaos and regret.

“I’m telling you,” Danny said one day while floating upside down and eating apples he stole from the royal garden, “if you say ‘We’re going ghost’ and then transform, it’s at least thirty percent more dramatic.”

“That’s idiotic,” Loki replied, watching as Danny exploded into white light and ghost form, now slightly glowing with new magic enhancements.

“You’re just jealous I sparkle when I fight.”

“I do not sparkle.”

“You sparkle on the inside.”

“Stop talking.”

“Dánjal Lokison, feared child warlock of the Nine Realms,” Thor once declared when he saw the tiny menace casually phasing through walls and summoning frost giants to play tag.

“DON’T NAME ME THAT,” Danny screeched, blasting Thor into a wall. Loki applauded from the doorway.

“Good aim, my son.”

“I’M NOT—STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

But Danny was starting to enjoy the magic lessons. Seidr wasn’t like ghost powers. It was older, wilder, sometimes alive. Loki was a surprisingly good teacher—equal parts unhinged chaos and genuine brilliance. He explained the threads of fate like they were spider webs and taught Danny how to pull on them without being noticed. He spoke about illusion like it was poetry and destruction like it was art.

Danny, in turn, taught Loki to prank Thor using invisible slime bombs and existentially disturbing hand puppets that whispered secrets in Old Norse.

They became a problem.

Every time the Avengers tried to contact Asgard, they were met with grainy magical holograms of a tiny child in a green cape flipping them off while floating upside down on a summoned ghost-storm cloud.

“Tony Stark looks like a soggy crouton!” Danny shouted once.

“And smells like cheap cologne,” Loki added.

“High five, evil dad!”

“High five, tiny curse.”

Eventually, Odin tried to intervene.

“This child is not of Asgard,” the All-Father declared.

“I’m not trying to be!” Danny yelled. “Please take me back to Earth! I miss McNuggets and not wearing robes!”

“He’s mine now,” Loki said, summoning a massive magical contract written in fire and Loki’s own blood. “Legally and spiritually bound. I did the adoption ritual and everything. It involved a screaming goat.”

“I HATE THAT GOAT,” Danny screamed.

“I love that goat,” Loki sighed.

“You’re both mentally unstable,” Odin muttered, rubbing his temples.

Danny was eventually granted limited “portal privileges,” which meant he could sneak back to Earth and terrorize his friends while still technically being a Lokison. Sam and Tucker didn’t even question the fact that he was a child again. Jazz just nodded like this was expected and handed him a juice box.

“Have you emotionally bonded with your captor yet?” she asked.

“I am not bonding with Loki!” Danny snapped.

“You call him ‘evil dad’ and wear his colors.”

“THAT’S NOT A BOND, IT’S A THREAT DISPLAY!”

Back in Asgard, Danny practiced summoning tiny void rifts, which Loki encouraged.

“Good,” he said, sipping wine as the rifts swallowed another fruit bowl. “Let the darkness consume you.”

“I just wanted an orange.”

“Even better.”

Eventually, Danny grew attached. It was subtle. A twitch of the lip when Loki conjured birthday cupcakes with green fire. A soft “thanks” when Loki wordlessly cleaned his scraped knees with glowing runes. A quiet night where Danny fell asleep reading next to Loki and didn’t wake up until morning curled in a pile of fur cloaks and dark magic.

“Do you miss being big?” Loki asked one night, watching the child version of his adopted problem-child sketch battle plans in crayon.

“Sometimes,” Danny said. “But…this isn’t bad. Just weird. You’re weird.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Take what I can get.”

Loki never asked too much. He didn’t push Danny to call him ‘Dad’ or act like anything other than the feral little ghost-child he was. But he was there—smirking through tantrums, snarking through training, protecting Danny like a dragon hoards gold.

So when some ambitious frost giant tried to kidnap “the ghostling Lokison,” they were met with a five-year-old banshee of death wielding seidr, ghost rays, and an unholy screech that shattered icebergs.

And behind him, Loki arrived in a storm of green fire and fury.

“Touch my son again,” he said, “and I will erase your ancestors from the time stream.”

“I’M STILL NOT YOUR—wait, okay yeah, get him.”

They were a nightmare pair. A chaos duo. A tiny tornado of destruction and his too-proud magic tutor/father/roommate/menace.

Eventually, Danny stood in front of a new portal, Clockwork hovering beside him with his usual smug patience.

“You’re ready to go back,” Clockwork said. “To your age. To your world.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder. Loki stood there with his arms folded, expression unreadable but eyes a little too bright.

“I’ll come visit,” Danny said, voice small but steady.

“You’d better,” Loki replied, voice quiet and sharp as always.

There was a long pause.

“Bye… evil dad.”

“Goodbye, Dánjal.”

Danny turned. The portal shimmered. His small form stepped through, glowing with ghost light and seidr and something else—something new.

Back home, he hit the ground as a seventeen-year-old again. Taller. Older. But he still wore green.

In his pocket, a rune carved with love.

He never said he liked being a Lokison.

Though he’ll never stop using the name.

[sunasilhouette]

what makes sunarin blush…? MDNI, 18+ implied smut (850~ words)

✖︎TAGS established relationship, hand injury, tattooed!suna, fluff but very suggestive, lower case

there aren’t many things that can make suna blush, if anything. he is so frustratingly nonchalant even if you have been together for however long. and you’ve actively tried. like, slamming your palm against the wall he was leaning on. except, this didn’t work at all because of course he was lowkey a giant and all it ended up doing was making him snicker at the sight of you on your tiptoes.

even looking drop-dead gorgeous before heading out to a concert wasn’t enough. sure, he gives what’s probably an incredibly inappropriate comment, joking about what he’d like to do to you against the door but that was rin on a normal day.

eventually, you had given up on the idea, thinking that nothing could ruffle suna rintarou’s feathers.

.

.

.

on a random wednesday, you could hear the door to your flat unlock as suna trudged his way to the living room, hearing the thump of his gym bag fall.

coming out of the bedroom, you heard him sigh as you round the corner. “rough training session?” you asked, noticing him struggling to tape his hands.

suna glances up at you with that plain look on look face saying, “nah, just the usual.” injuries weren’t uncommon in volleyball, finger injuries especially. so, whenever suna shows up with a new injury, he would always brush it off like it was any other day. to him, it was just any other day — until you pulled up a chair in front of him and offered to help.

“here, let me do it,” taking the first aid kit and tape off of him, you grab his hand and traced your finger over the joints of his ring finger. “is it this one?”

suna hummed in reply, pleasantly surprised. his wrists relaxed at the warmth of your hands on his — always a comforting feeling. biting off the end of the tape, you delicately wrap it around his ring and middle finger.

“huh, you actually do like me,” he said with a ghost of a smirk as you worked your magic. you rolled your eyes, of course.

gently, with the pads of your finger, you unconsciously traced light circles around the knuckles of his pretty, calloused hand. and he twitched.

you pause for a minuscule of a second and, this time, your fingers glide higher to trace the edges of his sleeve tattoo that ended at his wrists. “y’know my physio friend said you should really be doing some daily hand stretches considering how many times you’ve messed up your fingers.”

“tell your physio friend they don’t have to worry. I make sure to do my finger exercises pretty much every night.” he couldn’t stop the snicker rising up after that innuendo — you make it too easy for him.

with another roll of your eyes and concealed grin, you pinched his ring finger out of annoyance. again, his hands jerked slightly as if a tiny current of electricity jolted through. and, this wasn’t pain considering suna’s stupidly high tolerance.

once could’ve been a coincidence but twice? your gaze drifted upwards only to find none other than your boyfriend’s face turned to the side, the tips of his ears a clear, flush, pink hue. tall, big, toned, nonchalant, ‘idgaf’ attitude suna rintarou was blushing.

the corner of your lips quirked up involuntarily at the realisation. seriously? delicately holding his left hand, you press down on his pulse point and skirt slow swirls along the ends of his sleeve tattoo with the pads of your fingertips.

“keep doing that and you won’t be sleeping tonight.” he mumbled the threat under his breath, sharp eyes finally meeting yours. the feeling of something coiling in your abdomen caught you off guard, the low tone of his voice always seemed to kindle a fire.

biting the inside of your cheek, you retort back, “well, I don’t think you’ll be of much service with your hands in this state.” you didn’t back down on teasing him. afterall, you’ve been hard at work trying to make him blush for weeks. who would’ve known that messing with the nerves along his hands and wrists was the key all along.

you trace the veins starting from suna’s wrists, a slight smile on your lips in victory. he felt a shiver run down his spine as he cursed, your name following in quick succession like a prayer, “d’you forget that I have a mouth? and a tongue?”

“how could I forget? you don’t ever shut up.” it was your turn to snicker, satisfied you succeeded in clapping back. finally finishing the job, you secured the last bit of the finger tape, looking up at rin with dark, challenging eyes.

he grinned through a huff, exhaling slowly as he leaned back on the couch, “alright. get up here and let me reward you for successfully making me blush then.”

needless to say, suna proved that he didn’t need his fingers to make you see stars. at least occupying his mouth and tongue for a nightly ‘exercise’ made him shut up for a while…

[azrielbrainrot]

You Take Me Higher

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: What happens when you run into Azriel at a bar after a long mission?

Warnings: Smut, Public Sex

Word Count: 4220

Rating: 18+

Notes: This is basically pwp except it's part of a new universe I'm working on. Still, you can read this as a standalone since there's no actual plot here. I just felt like writing mindless smut since "She Laughs Like You" is so plot heavy. Hope you enjoy <3

Spy!Reader Masterlist

You normally don't come to Rita's, preferring calmer bars to the loud and suffocating club, it's too much of an assault to your senses. But your friends had invited you enough times for you to accept, not wanting to turn them down again. You hadn't seen them in a while after a particularly long mission outside of the Night Court so it was nice to catch up with them even if it meant dealing with the headache that always follows your trips here.

You'd seen the High Lord and his Inner Circle as soon as you arrived. Their commanding presence allowing your eyes to find them immediately among the rest of the club goers. Upon seeing them, seeing him, you almost regretted coming out, not knowing how to act around him outside of work or your escapades and definitely not wanting to do it in front of so many people.

You decide on a simple wave, nodding discreetly at him and the rest of his family, turning your attention back to your now gushing friends after they wave back politely, making sure you didn't linger on his hazel eyes or the unbuttoned silk shirt, keeping up with the “friendly acquaintances” narrative you've crafted for yourselves. Intending on keeping away from him for the rest of the night.

Azriel seemed to have a different idea as he signaled for you to follow him not even an hour later. And, as soon as you excused yourself from your friends and stepped out into the hallway, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and discreetly guiding you through a back door, to a dark alley behind the popular bar. Your back was against the wall and his lips on yours, hands roaming all over your body, before you could even question him or get a good glimpse at him under the moonlight.

“Azriel,” you whine, trying to get his attention away from your neck, where he has been leaving tiny bites followed by soothing open-mouthed kisses, effectively making you lose your mind. Your hand tightens around his collar at a particularly hard bite, one you're sure left the imprint of his sharp canines on your supple skin.

Just when you were about to call out to him once more, thinking he didn't hear you or was choosing to ignore you, the shadowsinger finally lets out a hum against the column of your throat, at last acknowledging you were trying to talk to him.

You swallow before speaking, trying to get rid of the dryness in your mouth. This backfires as it only makes him use his grip on the back of your neck to pull you even closer to him when he feels the movement, and a moan leaves your mouth before you find your words.

“Someone could see us,” you push through the desire steadily building inside you, trying to be the voice of reason, but you barely get the words out as he keeps nibbling on the soft skin of your throat, making you struggle to hold onto your composure.

When he simply lets out another amused hum before continuing to mark up your neck - to the point you're not sure the glamour magic you can use will be enough for covering them up - you tangle your fingers around the strands of dark hair and pull hard, effectively getting his attention. He grunts softly but allows you to move him away from your neck, and you're finally able to meet his eyes for the first time since he's taken you to the alley.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you take him in. Pupils blown out behind half-lidded eyes, the beautiful hazel almost imperceptible in the midst of all the desire. Dark hair messy, falling into his eyes, and shirt half undone from your tight grip on his collar, the illyrian marks you've grown to love peaking through. He was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly as he took advantage of the break you've given him to catch his breath.

The sight almost makes you forget your protests, brain going numb at the raw hunger reflected on his face. He's always been mesmerizing, you've been caught by his beauty ever since the first time you met him all those decades ago, but in moments like these you sometimes have trouble believing he's even real. He's like a God walking among mortals.

Azriel smirks when he notices your eyes glazing over and your scent deepening with arousal, taking the opportunity and leaning down for another, slower but equally passionate kiss. He's been so focused on your neck that he barely even tasted you since you've been outside. He wants to take his time with you for a moment.

Your mouth opens for him immediately, melting into him and releasing the grip you had on his dark locks in favor of grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel all of him while he explores your mouth.

Eventually, you break the dizzying kiss again, your senses catching up to you in between the desire fogging up the air. He lets out a sound suspiciously similar to a whine and leans his forehead against yours, barely moving a breath away from your lips. Resigned to hear what you have to say before being able to continue indulging in your enticing taste.

“We'll get caught if we stay here,” you whisper, lips brushing against his soft ones with every word.

You needed to keep your head leveled, wanting to avoid getting caught in such a risky position by any of the drunk party goers or, even worse, your High Lord. You don't even let yourself wonder what anyone would think if they found you tangled up with someone who is technically your superior, outside of a bar of all places. You'd both be in a lot of trouble.

“I won't let anyone see us,” he assures, and as the words leave his mouth, the dark shadows always accompanying him start swirling around the both of you, as if corroborating the statement. “I can keep us well hidden.” He finishes the sentence with a chaste peck on your lips and moves back to look into your eyes, searching for any doubts and waiting to see your response. Always so respectful even in the throes of pleasure.

You bite your lip, holding his gaze as you realize what he's implying. It's not that you would consider yourself a prude by any means but you've never done anything like this in public. Well, aside from the first night that started it at all, but the circumstances had been completely different then. Drunk fae could stumble out through the back door at any moment here, it could even be one of your friends or his. There was no anonymity in one of the most popular bars in Velaris. This might be the most irresponsible thing you'd do.

And, as much as that's true, you can't deny the heat spreading in your belly at the suggestion, the wetness pooling between your legs.

Azriel is looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you're more than aware of his abilities, of the delicious pleasure he can bring you. He wouldn't lie to you either, if he promised he'd keep you hidden then you know he will follow through with it. You'd trust him with anything.

Without the danger of really getting caught, what's stopping you from letting this irresistible male have his way with you right here? You'd be a fool to deny him and yourself the pleasure.

Your lips are back on his before you can talk yourself out of it, wrapping your arms fully around his neck and letting him take charge. He gets the message quickly, grabbing your waist and pressing you against him, letting you feel his bulge on your stomach, so close to where you need him most, making you both moan into the kiss.

Azriel has never been anything short of passionate when fucking you, always giving it his all and completely drowning you in mind boggling pleasure, but today he's acting differently. His rough touch is hungrier, greedier, as if he couldn't get enough of you no matter how much he took. It feels like he's untamed in his desire and it just so happens that he desires to have you.

His hands move all over your body, soon finding their way under your dress so he can grab at your thighs and pull you closer. You let yours wander down his chest, taking advantage of the mostly unbuttoned shirt, raking your nails softly over the tan skin.

When he abandons your mouth and starts leaving kisses down your jaw, moving to the slowly healing love bites, you notice the shadows have thoroughly covered you when you try to look around, suddenly aware of the loud music.

They're acting as a protective barrier to the outside world, the same way they hide him when he's in enemy territory fulfilling his Spymaster duties. Any last bit of remaining doubt evaporated with the realization. He's never been caught after all.

You let your head fall back against the brick wall, letting out a breath that soon turns into a moan when he bites into your throat hard at the same time his hand finds your folds, teasing the sensitive skin through the drenched fabric of your panties. Feeling him grin against your skin at the reaction he pulled from you.

“Always so ready for me,” he praises and then licks a stripe up your throat, tilting your head further back to reach your chin and connect your mouths once again. You accept him greedily, grinding down on his hand, needing him to touch you properly.

After all the attention he's been giving you and the thought of trying something new with the enticing male, your underwear is absolutely soaked through and you need him to take responsibility for it already. You feel like you'd been doused with hot oil.

Thankfully, he seems to take pity on you, pushing your panties to the side, moving up and down to gather some wetness before slowly starting to circle your clit in time with each lick of his tongue into your mouth.

He's swallowing the desperate sounds trying to escape past your lips and your nails start to dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. You'd be embarrassed at how close you already were if this wasn't Azriel. Each stroke of his scarred thumb against your sensitive clit was taking you higher.

He stops his movements as if sensing how close you were. You were about to protest when he also breaks the kiss, needing him to keep touching you, but hold your tongue when he pushes your dress up to your waist, exposing your soaked underwear to the cold night air. He curses softly as your scent reaches him.

“Keep this up for me, pretty.” His voice was deeper, rough with pleasure and restraint.

Your body catches up to the order before your mind has the chance to, doing as you're told and holding onto your dress so he can have an unobstructed view of you. He breathes out a “good” without ever taking his eyes off the wet fabric clinging to your folds, the praise and need in his eyes only adding fuel to the fire burning inside you.

Azriel gets down on his knees between your legs, now eye level with your cunt as he pulls the panties right to the side, his other hand reaching up, encouraging you to part your thighs so he can feast on the mouth watering sight in front of him.

You can't help the cocky smirk when he lets out a low groan at the sight. You had bought the white skimpy lace in hopes he'd be taking it off, you just couldn't have predicted it would be happening in a dark alley behind this bar.

He looks up at you then, holding your gaze as he leans closer to your heat, licking you from hole to clit, making a show of moaning at the taste. Your hands move to grab at his hair instantly, letting your mouth fall open in a silent moan as he repeats the action.

Your legs threaten to give out when he starts kissing and sucking, not wasting a single drop of your wetness. His thumb circles your hole as he moves to tongue at your clit, swirling it around once, twice before his finger is filling you up.

He throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, diving into your cunt. Soon adding another finger and pumping both into you, getting you ready for him. You start grinding your hips against his face, chasing his fingers, his mouth, the mind numbing feeling he's giving you. He hums into you, the vibrations making you tremble and let out an embarrassing mewl of his name.

You don't know how he can have this effect on you, this male could probably make you melt into a puddle with a simple look. He pulls away with a harsh suck so he can watch his fingers move in and out of you, can watch the wetness almost dripping down your legs and his wrist, replacing his tongue with a scarred thumb, the rough texture so different from his wet tongue, adding an extra bite to the pleasure.

You only notice your head was thrown back against the wall, eyes closed as you chase your orgasm, when you hear him call your name. Eyes moving down to meet his dark ones again.

“I need you to cum on my fingers so I can fuck you, alright?” You nod, half delirious already, even though he's barely gotten his hands on you. You'd do anything he told you to.

It doesn't take long before a familiar knot starts tightening in your lower belly, your walls clenching around his fingers. He starts nibbling at the soft skin of your thigh, leaving marks similar to the ones decorating your neck and chest. Mumbling sweet praises against your skin, words you can't even focus on with the blood rushing through your ears.

Your orgasm catches you by surprise, making you almost lose your balance as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth opens in a silent scream, hands trying to find purchase on his shoulders and his hair, forgetting about the dress and holding onto his instead. His hand abandons your clit so he can grab onto your waist, helping you stay up.

He keeps his fingers moving slowly as you come down from your high, breathing heavily and letting out soft gasps. As your mind clears up, he leans over to leave one last kiss against your heat before taking his fingers out carefully and standing up. Grabbing your chin so he can kiss you once more, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You pull away with a tug on his lip. The orgasm only made you hungrier, you wanted to feel him inside you, stretching you out. “I need your cock, Az.”

“So greedy,” he moans, though you can't figure out if disapprovingly or otherwise. He moves one hand to start unbuttoning his pants so he can free his painful erection at last. You follow the movement, saliva gathering in your mouth involuntarily at the tantalizing sight of his hard, leaking cock. He pumps his fist around it, relieving some of the need. You swallow, moving up to meet his gaze when you feel the intensity of his stare.

He's probably thinking the same thing as you. Remembering how his heavy cock feels against your wet tongue, moving down your throat. You see him grab the base of his cock harder, internally debating if he wants to let you suck him off or fuck you. Your cunt clenches at the thought and apparently the sentiment is clear on your face, the desire written there enough for him to make his decision as he grabs onto the back of your thighs, lifting you up against the wall.

The movement has his cock press right against you, feeling the hardness slide across your sensitive heat. You grab hold of him, not resisting giving him one teasing stroke before guiding him to your hole, needing to have him inside you desperately.

Azriel starts pushing in slowly, stretching you out deliciously. It doesn't matter how many times he fucks you, it will always take you by surprise. You've never had anyone fill you up so well, it almost seemed impossible how he even fit inside you sometimes.

He takes his time filling you up, knowing your body well enough to recognize any twinge of discomfort. In this position, it feels like he can go in deeper, the angle hitting every sensitive spot.

When he finally bottoms out, Azriel presses his whole body against yours, holding you up with his own hips and moving one of his hands over your chest so he can tug the front of the dress down and give your neglected breasts some attention as you adjust to him.

You can feel your walls flutter around his cock, moaning out his name when his mouth finds its way over one of your nipples.

Feeling more than ready for him, you push your hips against him, urging him to finally fuck you. He chokes out a breath, taking a vengeful bite at your nipple, as you move yourself on him, pulling his hips back to thrust back into you, feeling you clench around him. His mouth abandons your chest and meets yours again, hands tightening around your waist as his thrusts' rhythm increases.

It's like all the hunger from before comes back tenfold, his grip most likely bruising your skin as the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other fills the alleyway, your moans rising in tempo with each snap of his hips.

Just as you start losing yourself in the pleasure, one of his hands comes up to cover your mouth. You still let out a muffled whine when he slows down to warn you, whispering in your ear, “The barrier the shadows create isn't completely soundproof. You need to be quiet for me.” You whine in response, making him add, “Alright?”

You almost forgot where you were, and that anyone could walk by you at any moment, but in the heat of desire, the fact only makes you wetter, hips moving of their own accord against him, prompting him to pick up the pace.

“You said we wouldn't get caught.” The last thing you want to focus on right now is to keep quiet when he's making you feel so good.

“We won't,” he moves back to look into your eyes, “Unless you want us to.”

Maybe it's the drinks from before or the way his cock throbs inside you, but you almost wish someone would see you, so they would know you're the one this bewitching male chooses to fuck, you're the one making him cum time and time again, it's your name he moans out in pleasure.

The possessive feeling coils around your heart, a feeling you have no right to have. You have no sort of claim over him after all, but luckily he doesn't let your linger in such thoughts, and starts fucking you hard and fast again, effectively pushing all thoughts out of your mind.

“Gods, you feel fucking perfect,” he growls against your ear, making you let out a long muffled moan. He draws his cock out almost completely before slamming back into you, just so he can hear the gasp that still escapes through his fingers, before picking up the pace again, keeping to shallow thrusts.

His hand moves from your mouth eventually, confident you won't scream too loud, or simply not caring if you do anymore. Both of you get lost in the feeling of each other, tongues battling inside your mouth, your hands roaming all over his shoulders, coming up to tangle in his silky hair. Time almost stands still around the two of you as you hide in his shadows, completely separated from the outside world.

You start getting closer, and knowing you won't be able to hold out for much longer but wanting him to finish with you, you move your trembling hand down his back, finding the raised skin where his wings meet his back and tease them over his shirt.

Illyrians are extremely protective of their wings and you know how sensitive they are, so when he let you touch them around their base for the first time, you were more than flattered even though you can't fully run your fingers over the leathery skin yet, and you're almost sure this isn't the most sensitive spot. You know this is a big step for him, considering all the trust issues you've seen him display, so you don't mind being patient.

Your fingers barely make contact before he's growling and his pace falters, nails digging into your skin. You'd caught him off guard, but he recovers too fast, pushing you even harder into the wall and speeding up, fully intent on making you both fall over the edge now.

“I'm so close,” you breathe out, feeling yourself right at the precipice.

“Me too,” his thrusts turn even more erratic, confirming his words. And with another snap of his hips, you're falling over the edge, moaning out his name with no care for who hears it.

He follows you soon after, thrusting deeper and grinding into you, pumping you full of his cum as the both of you ride out the mind numbing orgasms. You don't remember the last time you came so hard, every nerve on your body is alive with pleasure, if it hadn't been for his hold on you, you don't think you would have been able to stay up.

His lips find your pulse point after a bit, leaving soft kisses around as you massage his scalp, watching with amusement as his wings twitch softly. You would stay in this position for the rest of time if you could, everything just falls into place in these soft moments between you two.

Unfortunately, you get a stark reminder of your surroundings when you hear the back door open, the music filtering through it. You tense immediately, suddenly hyper aware of your compromising position. Azriel leans away from your neck to look into your eyes, his serene expression and the way his wings cocoon around both of you calming you down.

Just as he promised, whoever stumbled out of the bar didn't even suspect you were hidden in the shadows, walking out onto the main street as if they were alone. When you don't hear any footsteps anymore, you let your head fall back against the wall, finally relaxing and breathing a soft, “Fuck.”

He watches you for a moment before speaking up. “We need to get out of here. People are starting to leave,” he tells you, a glimpse of amusement behind his words.

You nod in agreement, knowing he's right but, even after your scare, still hesitant to let go of him, reveling in the warmth of his skin against yours and his soft touch for as long as possible.

The longer you've been sleeping together, the harder it is to accept that outside of the bedroom you're nothing more than acquaintances, you wouldn't even call him your friend. Aside from moments like this or the rare occasion of running into him when you're working, you don't see or talk to him at all.

You always find yourself missing him, not only his body. That's something you need to hide from him, the implications would be enough to have him call off this agreement between you. There is no space for feelings in it, both of you made it very clear from the beginning. You should do yourself a favor and end it before the fluttering of your heart morphs into something more dangerous but you can't bring yourself to even consider it.

He pulls out of you gently, none the wiser to the internal conflict raging inside you. Getting you down from his hold and carefully helping you stand on unsteady legs, muscles still spasming faintly. A rag appears through his shadows and he helps you clean yourself up with it before even worrying about himself, making sure your dress falls back into place as well. You were truly playing a losing game with him. How could you not fall for Azriel?

When you're both decent enough, he calls his shadows off and you put up a glamour around yourself, hopefully masking his male scent clinging to your skin.

“I need to find my friends and let them know I'm leaving.” You try to think of excuses, knowing they'll know you're running off with someone but praying they can't figure out who.

He nods at you, looking over your body with an indecipherable look in his eyes as he takes note of his marks disappearing. “I'll wait for you here.”

“What?”

“My family is used to me sneaking off in the middle of outings,” a smirk grows on his face as he adds, “And I'm not done with you quite yet.”

taglist: @tinymarklee

[sinful-lanterns]

GOING LIVE!

synopsis: (camgirl AU) collaborating with various ptn women for your streams.

featuring: eleven, deren, bianca, shawn, angell

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, adult se.x work, camming, fing.ering, strap ons, exhibition, voyeur.ism, deren grows a di.ck, oral, toys, mast.urbation, doggy style, riding, lap se.x, pet names, praise, masked se.x, belly bulge, may be ooc.

art credits: my drunken boss

ELEVEN

With your back pressed against Eleven and her fingers working like magic on your clit, your breathless whimpers were picked up by the microphone in front of you and left hundreds of viewers waiting on bated breath. The audio quality was astounding thanks to the help of Eleven’s professional equipment, but you couldn’t really fawn over it yet because of how good Eleven’s fingers felt plunging into your hot, slimy folds… 

“Welcome back to our Saturday Night special on Call at 3 AM…” Eleven didn’t even seem fazed by the speechless silence coming from you as she was too busy making sure the stream was perfect, “Joining me today is a woman that many of you…heh…are familiar with…” She gave you a soft smile before grabbing onto the camera and making it zoom closer on your face, the viewers instantly spamming the chat with heart emojis and bounties of cash, already kicking your night off with a plethora of fans.

“…Oh my, it seems that my viewers recognize you already.” Eleven cooed, using her free hand to tilt your head back to her before kissing the shell of your ear. As you were distracted, she grabbed the head of the camera and tilted it downwards to focus more on your cunt, the audience getting a high quality view of Eleven’s fingers sinking into your wet, velvety walls. 

The squelching noises picked up from the mic were so lewd. So intimate. For a woman as innocent as Eleven seemed, she definitely knew what she was doing. “Let me hear those moans, pretty girl. I know you can be as loud as the lips down here.” She giggled and teased your entrance with another finger, the tip swirling little circles around your folds before slowly inching in. Right away your leg flinched at the third intrusion, walls spreading to accommodate all three of Eleven’s fingers while she wormed her way inside of you. Even if she couldn’t feel any pleasure herself, you could hear Eleven’s breaths falter as she felt you tighten so sweetly around her fingers. 

“Oh…baby…” Eleven nearly whimpered, her voice making you quiver as she began thrusting her hand up and smacked her palm against your clit, “Enjoying yourself on my fingers? Our fans certainly are…” 

She smiled and adjusted her hold on you so that your back was pushing harder against her breasts. Though currently overwhelmed with the sensation of Eleven’s lithe fingers curling up against that tiny spot you adore, you could feel just how turned on she was by how stiff her nipples were against your back. If you could turn around and suck them in your mouth you would, but she kept a firm grip on your hips and made you face the camera for all to see. Your craving for her breasts will have to wait…

“Uh uh…eyes on the camera, my good girl…” Eleven purred, eyes going half lidded at your adorable expressions, “Everyone wants to see you…give them a show why don’t you…? She laughed and pushed her fingers even deeper than they’ve ever been before, ripping a moan right out of your throat like a primal growl deep within. “Mmpf…right there, baby? Yeah? You like that…?” 

She giggled and continued thrusting her digits faster, finger fucking you until all the chat could hear were your desperate little whines and Eleven’s slaps against your ass. “You’re such a natural at this…look at how many patrons are paying for our show, sweetie…”

Eleven groaned huskily before licking the side of your cheek, suddenly pushing you down on the bed with your ass up and stomach pressed against the sheets. “Don’t worry, chat…for tonight’s 3 AM special, we’ll be going all the way until dawn…. So hang tight, grab some lube, and just enjoy the show…” She winked playfully at the camera before hovering above you and caging you beneath her. “Stay like this for a little while longer, okay baby? We’re gonna be here for quite a while…” 

She kissed your cheek before you felt the thick, stiff prodding of her strap push against your already sopping entrance, the rest of the night a dizzy blur, as all you could see were Eleven’s hair curtaining your head, and the spam of donations coming from the chat…

DEREN

“Ah, well would you look at that. Our first donation of the night and I haven’t even done anything…” Deren smiled lazily as she was currently laying against the bed with you on top of her, completely naked while Deren only wore her jacket and her boxers. Though she was just a director, she was also excellent at filming too, her hands steady on the camera while she gave all your viewers a mouthwatering shot of you about to ride Deren like no tomorrow. 

“No strap. Boring?” Deren chuckled as she read one particular comment from the stream. “Oh, I’ve got something way cooler than a strap.” 

Using her special sinner abilities, Deren was able to conjure up a growing cock from underneath her boxers, stretching the muscle against the cloth of her underwear, until you inevitably freed it by yanking the elastic down. Like a spring, it bounced up due to how hard it was, the blood immediately rushing to the tip and making Deren groan with pleasure. “Fuck…” she licked her lips as she made eye contact with you from behind the camera, the live chat going crazy as no one has ever seen anything like this before. “I shouldn’t have envisioned it so hard already…” 

Yet although Deren was groaning to herself, you on the other hand were smirking and staring smugly at the camera. You were excited to collaborate with Deren for this exact reason; her S-Class sinner abilities that allowed her to make anything she fantasized into a reality. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and drool at it, babe?” Deren rested her hands behind her head and looked up at you, chuckling, “Or are you gonna ride me like you promised to…?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Deren’s smug attitude but decided to play along. As you angled your body to face the camera more clearly, you grabbed onto the base of her shaft and gave it a few, steady pumps, feeling along the girth and length of it. “Like it? I tried thinking of a size that best fit you,” Deren hummed, finding pleasure in the way your fingers wrapped around her stubby base. You nodded, clearly excited to get to the main course of your stream and show everyone just how good you could please another woman. Hovering just above her cockhead, you playfully ran your thumb over the tip before nestling it between your entrance, breath hitching as you slowly sank down on her length. 

“Shit…” Deren suddenly cursed under her breath and weld her eyes shut, the feeling of your warm, hot pussy enveloping her making her head go dizzy with ecstasy. “Haven’t even started and you feel like heaven…” 

She tried to play off the amount of pleasure she was feeling but couldn’t resist releasing a small moan when you sank all the way to the base. With just a bit of spit, lube and foreplay, you were already opening up so wonderfully for her, tight walls gripping at Deren like your life depended on it, all the while the director kept a firm hold on the camera. Despite her professionalism in this line of work, her hands were trembling from how good you made her feel, causing the livestream footage to be a little shaky…

“Heh…the watchers love you,” Deren comments, trying to avert your attention away from how pathetic she was being. “Why don’t you start riding me now? The audience is getting antsy for some action.” 

She attempted to relax back against the pillows, before you suddenly bounced on her hips and made her choke on her spit. Instantly, it felt like she was going to pass out from how good she felt, your pussy swallowing her in and out every time you bounced on top of her. “Oh…b-babe…” her face went red with pleasure as the comments immediately flooded in, cooing over how cute you looked riding your director’s dick. 

‘Not so smug now, are you?’ You couldn’t help but think, smiling before letting out the moans you held in while Deren’s fat cock plugged you whole. Sure, Deren was a professional when it came to shooting films and movies, but she sure as hell was inexperienced when in the place of the actor. As more donations and comments flooded in your comment section, you could only smile and listen to every suggestion Deren had to read; cockrings, sucking her off, fleshlights…? Oh, you were certainly going to have a fun time with your dearest director….

The poor woman was going to be an amateur at something after all…

BIANCA

With a shaky camera lens and Bianca’s eyes attentively focused on you, you sat sprawled out in front of her with a dildo in your hands currently thrusting into your cunt. When Bianca said she was an expert in filming things thanks to her job as a reporter, you believed her and let her collaborate with you on set. However, now that you actually had her helping you film one of your livestreams up close, you could see that Bianca’s “professionalism” was starting to slip through the cracks the more she watched you. 

“A-Ah…you’re doing great!” Bianca’s voice cracked, sweat starting to drip down her face as she tried to keep herself from blushing. To be honest, just the sight of you naked in front of her was enough to make her nervous, legs clamping together to hide the wetness forming in her pants, all the while she tried to distract herself by reading some of the livestream comments. 

“So many donations already! W-Wow…your fans really love you!” Bianca giggled, though there was an obvious lump in her throat from how much saliva was gathering in her mouth. Poor girl was drooling so much, her blue eyes trained on that ribbed dildo and silently wishing she was the one pushing it inside of you. “Hnn…many are suggesting for you to try the other toys next…” 

Bianca couldn’t help but gulp as her eyes trailed over to the selection of toys you had prepared for yourself. Dildos of different colors, vibrators, nipple clamps, plugs, the broad selection made Bianca tremble as she imagined you in various positions with different things to make you scream. The urge to touch herself was strong, yet no matter how much she wanted to stuff her fingers down her pants and masturbate to the sight of you fucking yourself live on silicone, she was determined to keep filming.  

You, of course, noticed just how riled up Bianca was getting judging by how much she was biting her lip. If you kept up like this for an hour or two, Bianca’s lips would be all bloody and blue. “You can touch yourself, my sweet camerawoman,” you assured softly, teasingly spreading your legs wider to give both your audience and Bianca a better view. “I’m sure my fans wouldn’t mind a little bit of shaky footage.” 

A small gasp left Bianca’s lips as her knees practically buckled in excitement. Resisting the urge to just toss the camera away and tackle you to the bed to have her way, she eagerly pushed her pants down, fingers quickly finding her entrance and swirling them around while she kept watching you. “Oh…damn.” Bianca squeaked, smiling ear to ear while a blissful expression overtook her face. “I could get used to this. No wonder— mmpf, so many people pay to watch you. You’re like a movie star!” 

Despite her excited tone, you could see just how much you were affecting her, her eyes half lidded in pleasure while the shuffling in her pants indicated how fast she was fingering herself. Her lips were slightly parted as if frozen between a moan and a whimper, her cute face going all pink with how hot her body was getting. “Nnnn feels so good…but…I wanna know if you feel good too…” 

Despite not being supposed to talk much during the livestream, Bianca couldn’t keep her babbling mouth shut. She couldn’t help but whine about her needs to finger you and make you hers, to kiss those pretty lips and distract you while she grabs that dildo and shows you how much harder she could fuck you. “Wanna touch you so bad…ah…please…” chatty that she was, silently pleading for you to let her do something. “Please…please, I wanna touch you too…you look so good like this…” 

Unable to resist her pretty begs any longer, you groaned and slid the ribbed toy out of you, using a finger to beckon her closer. “Alright…” you whispered breathlessly, pussy clamping over nothing now as it now craved to have something inside it once more. “Go ahead Bianca, I’m all yours…” 

Your poor viewers could only watch as the camera shook and was scuffled away to prop itself on your desk. The angle was messy and the quality decreased a little, but no one really cared as they all watched in amusement when Bianca lunged herself at you. Ready to give the audience a show that she’d been wanting to do with you all night…

SHAWN

“Keep the camera on my good side. You’ll get more followers that way.”

Cocky that she was, yet Shawn was an interesting collaborator to work with, as her good looks and charisma instantly had your viewers swooning and spamming various donations in your comments for her to demolish you. She was definitely riding a high horse when you asked her to collaborate with you for your “special streams” but Shawn was quick to say yes. How could she ever turn down the opportunity to fuck a pretty girl like you? Especially in front of a live audience on the internet where she could display her talents in pleasing a woman. 

“Ah, many of them seem to like me…” Shawn grinned as she watched all the oncoming messages spew out like flies. She was nonchalant, relaxed almost, if not for the fact that she had you gagging on her strap and drooling so prettily for the camera. “Make her choke some more?” Shawn tsked as she read another slew of comments, a bit impressed by how dirty your fans could be, “My, your viewers are quite the sadistic bunch, aren’t they?”

Shawn gently patted your cheek and gazed down at you rather condescendingly, her hand moving up to rest on the top of your head and nudge you down. “Ease down a little lower, pretty girl. You’re lucky I’m only nice to you.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of ever being rough with you. While she knew you were able to take a bit of rough manhandling from her, she didn’t want to make her pretty girl cry (even though she knew you loved it when she made you cry during sex).

“Deeper…deeper…” Shawn exhaled shakily as she eased you down on her fake cock, eyes trained on the way you greedily slurped on her shaft like it was your last meal. The clear strings of drool that clung to the sides of your lips made Shawn shiver with rogue imagination. “Fuuuck, you’re good at this…” Shawn grumbled, grinning at the way you took it down like a champ, “Your cheeks look so cute when they’re full. We should have you suck me off more often…”

She laughed at the thought, accidentally pushing your head down further and causing you to choke on her strap. “Shit. Sorry, sorry…” she immediately softened and pulled you back so you could slide off, your drool clinging onto the warm silicone and attaching you to the tip by your tongue. Despite Shawn’s rare show of concern however, you brushed off her worries and gave her a look that indicated you wanted to do more. You weren’t here to be babied and coddled, you were here to get fucked and fucked good. 

“Oh…oh…” Shawn’s face relaxed back into its nonchalant state, and she immediately smiled at your show of enthusiasm. “You’re tougher than I thought, kitten.” 

She eased your mouth back down on her strap, grabbing onto the camera to make sure the audience got a full view of your lips wrapping around her head, the girth of it all was making your cheeks puff up as you continued to bob your head down on Shawn. The sight of you on your knees for her, gazing up at her with innocent, doe-like eyes was sending Shawn on a little power trip that made her eyes darken with lust. 

“You know…as hot as you are throating my strap, I can’t help but think it’s lubed enough already.” She snickered a little before tilting your chin up to gaze at her, mouth still occupied with her dick, “On your knees once more, but this time…ass up.” 

A flurry of comments quickly overwhelmed the live chat, reactions and donations alike clearly excited for what Shawn was about to do to you as she pushed you down into doggy position. “Make sure to get on this side. Yeah, this side is where the camera gets my best side.” She chuckled at her words before swirling the tip of her strap against your already soaked folds, her cockiness canceled out by the amount of cock she was going to put in you…

ANGELL

Dressed in an all dark mask that obscured Angell’s identity on stream, the only thing that your viewers could see through the camera lens; were the long dark locs of Angell’s hair, and the lewd facial expressions you made as your “mysterious guest” fucked you silly on her strap. Right away, your viewer count had exploded when your special guest revealed herself for your livestream of the night, leaving many of your viewers spamming heart emojis and comments all complimenting on how hot your guest looked while fucking you. 

Despite wearing a mask, everyone could tell Angell was quite the looker. Strong, chiseled abs pulsing and flexing with each thrust of her hips, her defined jawline showing off how beautiful she was underneath the mask… Not to mention how hot her voice was whenever she grunted everytime you squeezed around her. Everything about your mysterious guest was alluring, and thanks to Angell, everyone was completely mesmerized (including you). 

“S-Slower…Slower…” you whimpered, gripping onto her shoulders as she bulldozed into you at a pace only she could achieve. Her breathing was ragged and hot, her lust for you evident in the way she excitedly nipped at your neck. “Sorry… she grumbled softly, yet her pace barely slowed down, her body struggling to keep itself from thrusting even faster. “I’m…excited.”

Judging from the tips of her ears, Angell was blushing. For a woman as stoic as she was, you hadn’t expected her to be so soft and vulnerable around you, even when you couldn’t even see her face that well. It was clear that having you beneath her, legs pathetically wrapped around her waist and clinging to her like your life depended on it, really shook up Angell’s nerves as she wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

Her abs met with the bare skin of your tummy, breath faltering as she pushed her faux cock even further. She was being so intimate, grumbling to herself as her calloused hands moved down to rest upon your soft belly, feeling the smallest of bulges appear whenever she thrusted in and out. “So deep…” she murmured to herself, mesmerized by the sight of her strap going so far, palm gently applying a bit of pressure on the bulge. You whimpered at the extra pressure, your walls clinging onto Angell’s shaft and keeping her locked in place. As she tried to slip out to thrust into you again, she found herself unable to, groaning at the feeling and holding onto your hips. “T-Tight…” she mumbled quietly, gently prying your legs off of her so she could move. “Relax…easy…” 

Her words made your viewers gush about how soft she was being towards you. While Angell looked very intimidating and they expected a whole dominatrix session between you and her, Angell surprised everyone with how gentle she was, her fingers massaging your thighs so that your cunt could ease up a little, and allowing her to slide out once your walls finally relaxed. 

Finally finding a rhythm she could work with, Angell continued her movements, using her arm strength to lift up off the bed and fuck you at an angle where her tip could brush against your sweet spot. When you immediately whined from how far Angell was spearing you, she took notice and hungrily continued to pound against that spot, making your body bounce pathetically from how hard she was ravaging you. 

Various comments and donations poured in, all eager to see Angell destroy you even when she tried her best to be gentle. 

“Make her cum!”

“Fuck her like you’re breeding her!”

“Make her clean you off later when she cums.” 

As all the suggestions piled up, Angell snuck a glance at the chat and smiled a bit under her mask. Though it was hard to see, it was like a switch had gone off in her head as she began pistoning her hips even faster, her hands gentle but her pace outright brutal. It felt like you were about to cum soon given by how fast she was screwing you, your fingers grasping onto Angell’s back and clawing at it until you felt the band snap within your core. 

Angell growled when she felt your release coat all over her strap and bed, the comments all excited when you finally came thanks to Angell’s efforts. While you took a breather and laid back on the bed to smile blissfully at the chat, it seemed that Angell had other plans, as she let you take a break for a few seconds before hovering her cum-stained strap over your lips. Shocked by how bold she was, you gazed up at Angell with curious eyes.

“One of them suggested you clean me off…” Angell murmured, a little shy but clearly willing as she pushed the tip to your lips. “And…I would like that.”

You only chuckled at her statement before leaning in and grabbing her soaked strap, wrapping your lips around the head and beginning to bob your head up and down. 

[gracie-eilish]

💛15?

combined with this request!:)

“how ya feelin angel?”

requests are closed

Spoiled with Love

The day had barely begun when the cramping hit.

You shifted under the blankets, your face scrunching in discomfort as a wave of sharp, stubborn pain coiled in your lower belly. A tiny groan slipped from your lips—one you tried to keep quiet, not wanting to wake Billie beside you.

But of course, she was already awake. She knew that sound like the back of her hand.

Billie stirred instantly, turning toward you with a quiet, concerned hum. Her sleep-heavy eyes blinked open, taking you in as you curled in tighter on your side, hugging your middle with a wince.

“Lovey…” she murmured, her voice still raspy from sleep.

She slid closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and spooning her body to yours. She tried, gently, to soothe the pain with the warmth of her body. Her palm pressed low against your stomach, thumb stroking soft little circles, while her lips found your shoulder for sleepy kisses.

But this morning, even her magic touch wasn’t doing much. You whimpered again, burying your face into the pillow.

Billie kissed the back of your neck. “You’re crampin’ bad today?”

You gave a tiny, miserable nod.

Without another word, Billie kissed your cheek and gently pulled the blanket up over your shoulders.

“Okay, mama,” she whispered, “just close your eyes for a bit and try to rest.”

And before you could fully register what she meant, Billie was already coaxing you back to sleep with soft kisses and whispered reassurances.

You didn’t know how long you were out—but you woke to the sound of the front door quietly shutting, followed by soft footsteps padding back toward the bedroom.

You blinked awake slowly, still curled up but now slightly more aware, as the pain had dulled to a background throb. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see Billie peeking into the room with her hands full.

You were about to speak when she beat you to it—her voice sweet, low, and warm like honey.

“Hi, baby. How ya feelin’, angel?”

You gave a sleepy, groggy blink. “Mm… sore. Still crampy.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile and walked over to press a kiss to your temple.

“I brought you some stuff,” she said softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. “But first, let’s get some meds in you, kay?”

You nodded sleepily as she handed you a water bottle and two painkillers. You took them while she rubbed your back, giving you time to fully wake up.

“Alright,” she said once you were done, “now why don’t you go take a long shower, yeah? I know it’s the last thing you wanna do, but it’ll help loosen everything up.”

You pouted at her a little, clinging to her hoodie sleeve.

“But I don’t wanna leave you…”

Billie snickered and kissed your nose, then whispered, “I’ll be right here when you get out. Promise. I’ll even toss your towel and PJs in the dryer so they’ll be all warm and cozy for you.”

That got you to perk up a little.

“You will?”

“Mhm,” she smirked. “Go soak. You’ll thank me later.”

With a groan and a tiny kiss to her cheek, you peeled yourself from the bed and made your way to the shower.

The second you closed the bathroom door, Billie got to work.

Billie pulled back the old sheets and stripped them quickly, tossing them in the laundry hamper. She replaced them with a fresh set—soft cotton ones you loved, lavender scented, light and clean. The pillows got fluffed, and she laid out a brand-new fluffy throw blanket across the foot of the bed. It was cream-colored, featherlight, and so soft it felt like being wrapped in a cloud.

She then unpacked everything from the bag she’d picked up that morning. She got your favorite snacks, a bouquet of flowers—sunflowers and baby’s breath, bright and sweet and soft, a brand-new jellycat because of course, and some of your favorite drinks.

Billie arranged everything like it was a little love altar: your jellycat peach tucked against your pillows- because you are her peach (….. an:😉🤪), snacks in a basket by the nightstand, flowers in a vase from the kitchen, and your heating pad already plugged in and ready to go.

You stepped out of the bathroom, skin warm and pink from the hot water, towel around your body. Billie was already there, another soft towel in her hands.

“Come here, mama,” she said, voice sweet as anything. “Let me dry you off.”

You made your way into her arms and let her do just that—her hands moving gently over your skin, towel fluffing your hair, little kisses pressing to your shoulder and neck every time she passed them.

“You’re so soft,” she mumbled into your skin. “I’m gonna cuddle you so hard you won’t be able to move.”

You cackled and got changed into your toasty pajamas—still warm from the dryer, soft against your skin like a big hug. And then she led you back to the bed.

And that’s when you saw it.

Your eyes widened.

“Billie…”

You took a slow step forward, your eyes flicking over the fresh sheets, the new blanket, the fluffy stuffed peach, the snacks, the flowers.

“Oh my god…”

You turned to her, your lip already wobbling.

“Are you serious right now?”

Billie smiled so wide it made her cheeks round. “I wanted to spoil you. You’ve been so uncomfortable— just wanted you to feel cozy.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you hugged the new peach to your chest. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

She pulled you into her arms instantly, squeezing you tightly. “Only happy tears allowed though missy.”

You snorted and melted into her, your head tucked under her chin.

“Okay, okay, let’s get back in bed,” she said after a minute, gently guiding you under the covers. You nestled in, pulling the new blanket up over your lap.

Billie climbed in beside you, wrapped her arm around your middle, and rested her head on your shoulder.

She reached over to place the heating pad on your belly and clicked it on.

You let out the softest, most content sigh of your life.

“Billie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you so much it hurts.”

She grinned, kissed your jaw, and whispered, “Good thing I’m already taking care of all your hurts, huh?”

You snorted and nuzzled closer to her.

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon in a soft cocoon of warmth and sweetness. Between sips of lemonade, bites of cookies, forehead kisses, and whispered jokes during the movie playing in the background, the cramps slowly faded into something small and distant.

But Billie’s love? Her arms, her sweetness, her softness?

That stayed wrapped around you all day.

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[shesgaymichaelscott]

Valentine's Day xx

Melissa Schemmenti x OC (Lilia Greenley)

(fluff + sweetness, gfs in love, v v dirty talk, smut, use of strap!, face-sitting, switch/top!melissa, lingerie/bondage) ((posting bc i'm feeling crazy + down so bad for women rn))

Word Count: 4.3k

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs @myownworriedshoes

~

It started with one of Melissa's second graders tugging gently on her sweater sleeve during morning circle.

"Ms. Schemmenti?"

Melissa glanced down from the big heart-covered chart paper they were using for a Valentine's Day brainstorm. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

The little girl twisted the edge of her paper heart shyly. "Can we do something really special this year? For our favorite teachers?"

Melissa tilted her head, curiosity sparked. "Special how?"

Another student piped up. "Like—like not just the cards and candy. I mean like real Valentine's stuff. Fancy. Like what grown-ups do when they love somebody."

Melissa tried not to laugh, but it bubbled in her throat anyway. "You kids planning a candlelit dinner in the multipurpose room?"

"Nooo," a boy groaned, "but we could do like... a performance! A show! Or maybe a 'We Heart You' day? Just for the best teachers."

Melissa arched a brow. "Best teachers, huh? And who's that gonna be?"

"You, duh!" someone shouted. "And Miss Greenley!" another chimed in instantly. "She's the best best!"

Melissa's heart did a weird little lurch. "Oh yeah?"

"She reads books like it's magic," a girl said, serious as anything. "And you always let us do the glitter stuff, even though it gets in your hair."

Melissa blinked back a wave of emotion that caught her off guard. "Alright, alright," she said, clearing her throat. "If we're gonna do this, we're doing it right."

That afternoon, her classroom turned into a tiny think tank of determined second graders.

There were glitter markers flying, pipe cleaner diagrams of stage designs, and a serious debate over whether or not a love poem should rhyme.

One of the kids suggested writing "Why We Love You" letters for their favorite teachers and delivering them with candy roses. Another wanted to record a video where the kids all took turns saying sweet things into the camera.

Melissa jotted it all down. "Alright, you little Cupids. I'll talk to the other teachers and see what we can do. But just so we're clear—this is your idea. So you're doing the heavy lifting."

"Deal!" they all cheered.

And deep down, Melissa was already picturing Lilia's face when she saw it all. The soft, overwhelmed smile. The hand-over-the-heart moment. The way she'd whisper later that night, "You did this for me?"

Melissa just smirked to herself as she watched her kids work. Yeah. She was gonna make sure her girl felt the love.

Valentine's Day at Abbott this year? It was gonna be legendary.

By the following week, Lilia had started to suspect something was up.

Not in a bad way. But in a Melissa-is-being-too-casual-about-something-she's-clearly-planning kind of way.

It started with the whispered conversations with Barbara that cut off the second Lilia walked into the lounge. Then came the mysterious deliveries to Melissa's classroom—unmarked boxes Melissa refused to open in front of her. Even the second graders had started giggling every time Lilia walked by.

Suspicious.

"Okay, what's going on?" Lilia asked one morning as Melissa casually flipped through her lesson plan book over coffee.

Melissa didn't even look up. "Nothin'. Why?"

"Don't 'nothin' me," Lilia narrowed her eyes, leaning against the kitchen island. "You've been shady for three days."

Melissa gave her best innocent face. "I'm always shady, babe."

"Shady and smug is your resting state, yes. But this is secretive. You've got something brewing."

Melissa just grinned and kissed her on the temple. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Lilia groaned. "You're infuriating."

"Still hot though."

That same day, while Lilia tried (and failed) to shake off her curiosity, Jacob and Janine cornered her at lunch.

"So," Jacob began, dramatically sliding into the seat across from her. "We have a proposition."

Lilia arched a brow over her Tupperware. "Why do you look like you're about to pitch me a pyramid scheme?"

Janine sat down next to him with equal urgency. "It's not a scheme. It's a girls night."

"At your house," Jacob added. "With wine. And gossip."

"And the express purpose of talking about Melissa while she's literally in the next room." Janine grinned.

Lilia blinked. "You want to come over... to talk about Melissa... while she's there?"

"Yes," Jacob said without missing a beat. "You're in love. She's weirdly soft now. We have things to discuss."

"We'll bring snacks," Janine said. "You just bring the wine and any juicy intel you're legally allowed to share."

Lilia laughed. "You guys are ridiculous." "And you love us for it," Jacob sang.

Later that evening, after Melissa made some cryptic excuse about needing to 'go make a call in the spare bedroom,' Lilia sat on the couch with Janine and Jacob, a bottle of rosé between them and a playlist of early 2000s R&B humming in the background.

"She's definitely planning something," Lilia said, swirling her glass.

"Oh, for sure," Jacob nodded. "She's got that 'scheming Italian' glint in her eye."

"You mean her normal look?" Janine snorted.

"Exactly."

They gossiped for hours—about school, about Melissa's surprising sweetness lately, about Lilia's slow-burn glow-up from the beginning of the year to now.

And despite the soft footsteps occasionally heard from down the hallway (and one moment where Melissa's voice called, "I can hear everything, by the way!"), the night was perfect.

Lilia grinned, cheeks warm from wine and affection, and raised her glass. "To girls' night. And to whatever the hell Melissa is planning."

Jacob and Janine clinked glasses with her.

And somewhere in the back room, Melissa smirked to herself, carefully tucking away the last of the handmade valentines from her kids... and one very special surprise she'd been saving just for Lilia.

The next morning, Lilia woke up to the scent of coffee and the distant clinking of mugs—Melissa's way of trying not to make too much noise while still making enough to remind Lilia she was up before her.

She stretched under the covers with a lazy, blissed-out smile. Girls night had been a roaring success, but she still had no more intel on Melissa's Valentine's mystery. That, however, wasn't about to stop her from trying again today.

Padding into the kitchen in one of Melissa's oversized Eagles t-shirts, she leaned against the doorway and watched her girlfriend stir sugar into her coffee.

"You're extra chipper this morning," Lilia said, voice raspy.

Melissa glanced up, smiling over the rim of her mug. "Why wouldn't I be? My girl's in my shirt, my kids are being cute as hell this week, and Valentine's Day is coming up. It's peak vibes."

Lilia narrowed her eyes, walking over and wrapping her arms around Melissa's waist. "You keep saying things like that and being all wholesome. I know you're hiding something."

Melissa kissed her forehead. "Maybe I'm just a woman in love."

"You are, but you're also a Schemmеnti. You people love a dramatic reveal."

Melissa just winked. "Patience, tesoro."

⸻

Back at school, Valentine's energy was starting to take over the halls. Lilia's eighth graders were more chaotic than ever, and Melissa's second graders were in full arts-and-crafts mode. Red construction paper hearts, glitter glue, and poorly spelled love notes were multiplying by the minute.

That afternoon, Melissa stood at the front of her classroom holding up a giant poster board. "Alright, so you all wanted to make something for your favorite teachers—and since you're the ones who voted, don't argue with me now—we're going with Operation Heartstorm."

Tiny hands flew up. "Are we making them cry, Miss Schemmenti?"

"Good cry," she clarified, smirking.

The plan? A hallway wall of love notes, doodles, and personal messages from Melissa's class to Lilia, Jacob, Janine, Barbara, and—somehow—Ava. The kids insisted on it.

"Miss Greenley needs ten cards at least," one of them insisted. "She's the nicest and she smells like cookies and flowers."

Melissa smiled so hard it hurt.

Meanwhile, Lilia spent most of her afternoon catching her students trying to sneak construction paper past her and whispering in corners. She pretended not to notice.

⸻

That night, she caught Melissa in the middle of a phone call in the bedroom.

"Okay, yes, no—yeah, she's suspicious," Melissa whispered, pacing. "But she doesn't know anything yet. I'm not telling her a thing until—no, I'm not giving her clues! Ava, no."

Ava?!

Lilia pressed her ear to the door and tried not to laugh.

The second Melissa hung up, Lilia opened the door with a devilish grin. "So. Ava's involved now?"

Melissa flinched, caught red-handed. "Don't you have papers to grade?"

"Oh, I see. You're deflecting now."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lilia walked over slowly, wrapping her arms around Melissa's shoulders, voice low and teasing. "You know I'm not gonna let this go, right?"

Melissa shrugged, but her smile gave her away. "Valentine's is in two days, baby. You can wait."

Lilia kissed her slow, grinning against her lips. "You better make it worth the torture."

Melissa kissed her right back, a low hum in her throat. "Oh, I will."

And Lilia had no doubt she meant it.

Valentine's Day at Abbott started early.

Lilia barely made it to her classroom before a crowd of students ambushed her at the door, shouting "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, MISS GREENLEY!!" in overlapping chaos. She laughed so hard she dropped her travel mug.

Heart-shaped cards were stuffed into her hands. One kid handed her a giant, glitter-covered poster that said You Make School Not Suck! in pink bubble letters. Another gave her a lopsided cupcake.

By the time she made it inside, her desk was buried under chocolate, roses, paper flowers, hand-drawn memes, and one homemade candle that smelled suspiciously like Axe body spray.

She hadn't even taken off her coat yet.

And then—just as she turned to thank them—two of Melissa's second graders peeked in from the hallway, waving her down frantically.

"Come on, Miss Greenley! Come with us!!"

Confused but curious, Lilia followed them, winding down the hallway until she reached the second-grade wing—and promptly stopped in her tracks.

The entire wall outside Melissa's classroom had been turned into a mural of love notes from the kids. Construction paper hearts of every color. Silly doodles. Messages like:

"You make us feel brave." "Your hugs fix bad days." "You're the best teacher and your girlfriend is SO COOL." "We like your voice and your outfits." "Please don't leave ever."

She blinked hard, heart in her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth.

And then Melissa stepped out of the classroom, dressed in a sharp red blazer, holding a single red rose and smiling like she'd been waiting her whole life to see that exact look on Lilia's face.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby," she said, walking over to tuck the rose into Lilia's hands.

Lilia's eyes filled instantly. "You did all this?"

"Nope." Melissa grinned. "They did. I just provided the glitter. And snacks."

Lilia choked on a laugh, hugging her so tightly the rose bent between them. "This is—this is insane."

"You're insane if you thought I wasn't gonna go all out."

Lilia leaned in, whispering with a teasing lilt, "Still doesn't explain why Ava's been walking around like she's in on some mission."

Melissa just winked. "Oh, you'll find out."

**

Later that afternoon, just after last bell, Lilia opened her classroom door to find a thick red envelope taped to it with gold calligraphy that read: Final Clue.

Inside? A hotel keycard.

Her jaw dropped.

A second later, a text from Melissa lit up her phone.

Mel <3: Hope you don't have plans tonight. Mel <3: Wear that red set you think I haven't seen. Mel <3: I have. Mel <3: And I have plans.

Lilia was still blushing when Ava strutted past and shot her a knowing smirk.

"Make sure you hydrate," she said. "You're welcome."

Lilia didn't even ask.

She just ran straight to her car.

Valentine's night? Oh, Melissa Schemmеnti had plans, alright. And Lilia wasn't just her date.

She was the whole damn event.

Lilia stood in front of the hotel mirror, smoothing her palms down the curve of her deep red dress. It hugged her just right—silk clinging to every soft line, the slit running dangerously high up one thigh. Beneath it, she wore a matching red lingerie set that could only be described as sinful: delicate lace, sheer in all the best places, with tiny gold accents Melissa had once said drove her crazy.

Her curls were pinned half-up, a few soft tendrils framing her face. A bold red lip. A subtle smoky eye. And a single spritz of the perfume that always made Melissa lean in just a little closer.

When she stepped out of the bathroom and into their suite, Melissa—who had just finished zipping her own sinfully black dress—actually stopped in her tracks.

"Jesus," she muttered, eyes raking over her girl. "You tryna get me arrested for public indecency tonight?"

Lilia grinned and did a slow spin. "Too much?"

Melissa stepped in close, hands settling low on her hips. "Too perfect."

Dinner was at a moody, romantic restaurant tucked away downtown, all flickering candlelight and dark wood accents. They were seated in a private booth, champagne already bubbling in their glasses, the server practically swooning just looking at them.

Lilia toyed with her wine glass as she leaned in. "You keep staring at me like that, I'm gonna have to assume you've forgotten how to speak."

Melissa's hand found her thigh under the table. "I remember how to touch."

Lilia choked on a soft laugh, cheeks flushed. "Subtle."

"You wore that dress. And I know what's under it." Melissa's fingers traced slow circles up her leg, hidden by the tablecloth. "You expect me to behave?"

Lilia arched a brow, voice low and dangerous. "I expect you to survive dinner."

Melissa's grip tightened just a little. "Not making any promises."

They flirted all through appetizers. Played footsie through entrees. Melissa whispered things across the table that made Lilia's lipstick smudge on her wine glass, her breath hitch in the middle of a sentence. And when dessert came, Melissa ordered chocolate mousse with a smirk that said I've got plans for you later that have nothing to do with mousse.

By the time they stepped back into the hotel, Melissa's hand was already on the small of her back, lips brushing her ear.

"You wore that set just to ruin me, didn't you?"

Lilia turned, bold and glowing. "Maybe I wore it to get ruined."

Melissa groaned like she was in pain. "Get in the room. Now."

The elevator ride to their floor was nothing short of dangerous—Lilia pressed flush to Melissa's side, whispering things in her ear that had the poor woman gripping the handrail like her life depended on it. By the time they reached their door, Melissa's hands were already all over her, fumbling one-handed for the keycard.

"Lilia," she growled, voice low and wrecked, "if you keep doing that, I'm gonna break the damn door down."

Lilia's lips brushed her jaw as she slid her hands beneath Melissa's blazer, tugging it off her shoulders. "I thought you liked a challenge."

Melissa nearly dropped the keycard when Lilia rolled her hips forward, just enough to remind her exactly what was underneath that dress.

"I swear to God—" Melissa's breath hitched as she finally got the card to swipe, the green light blinking.

They stumbled in, the door clicking shut behind them—and then Lilia stepped back, slow and deliberate. She held Melissa's gaze as she reached for the hidden zipper at her hip, dragging it down with theatrical grace.

Melissa froze. Hands at her sides. Mouth slightly parted.

The dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her heels.

Red lace. Gold accents. Every inch of Lilia's soft skin kissed by the dim hotel lighting.

Melissa's brain short-circuited.

"Say something," Lilia teased, stepping forward in nothing but the lingerie set and her heels. "You've been staring for a full thirty seconds."

Melissa let out a strangled noise that wasn't quite a word. "I—I'm trying."

Lilia smirked, closing the gap and wrapping her arms around Melissa's neck. "Cat got your tongue?"

Melissa finally moved, gripping Lilia's waist like she was afraid she might disappear. "No, but you're about to."

And then she lifted her. Carried her straight to the bed like she weighed nothing.

Lilia laughed, breathless. "You're that desperate?"

Melissa's voice was a growl in her ear. "I've been desperate since you walked out of the bathroom. Now lie back and let me worship you properly."

"Wait," Lilia said suddenly. "I have something for you."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black box. Inside: a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny, engraved charm that said Teach Love.

Melissa swallowed, jaw tight. "Lil..."

"I wanted something you could wear when we're apart. But also, like—this job, your kids, me... you teach love every day."

Melissa slipped it on like it was priceless.

"Marry me."

Lilia blinked. "Wait, what?"

Melissa laughed, eyes sparkling. "Not right now. Just... eventually."

"Oh." Lilia smirked. "Then yes. Eventually."

The room was warm with candlelight, flickering shadows dancing across the walls, but the heat between them outmatched it all.

Melissa had Lilia stretched out on the hotel bed, lips blazing a trail from her collarbone to the curve of her hip, hands everywhere, grip firm and reverent. Lilia's heels kicked off in the chaos—one landing somewhere under the bed, the other spinning to the floor with a loud thud when Melissa pressed her thighs apart with purpose.

The red lace clung to Lilia's flushed skin, but not for long. Melissa tugged at the delicate straps, lips ghosting over her stomach, and the sound of tearing fabric echoed like a promise.

Lilia gasped, arching up. "That was my favorite—"

"I'll buy you ten more," Melissa muttered, voice wrecked, as she held the ruined lace in her fist. Her eyes were wild with devotion, dark with want.

And then—slowly, eyes locked—Melissa climbed back up, took the long strip of torn lace, and caught Lilia's wrists in her hands.

Lilia's breath caught.

Melissa kissed her, slow and deep. "Trust me?"

Lilia nodded, eyes blazing.

Melissa tied her wrists gently to the headboard, lips brushing her knuckles in silent reverence. And when she pulled back to admire her—spread out, flushed, wanting—she let out a low groan.

"Look at you," she whispered. "You're a masterpiece."

Melissa traced her fingers down Lilia's arms, slow and possessive, until she reached her waist. Her hands splayed there like she couldn't believe Lilia was real—like she was something she'd sculpted from fire and velvet and now couldn't stop worshipping.

Lilia squirmed beneath her, breath shallow, wrists bound above her in red lace that tugged with every little movement. "You gonna keep staring," she rasped, "or do something about it?"

Melissa smirked. "Bossy," she murmured, leaning in to nip at her jaw. "You like being tied up, but still wanna be in charge?"

Lilia arched her hips in response—an answer and a challenge.

Melissa groaned, dragging her tongue along the shell of her ear. "You drive me crazy," she whispered. "Every single part of you."

Then she shifted lower, her mouth and hands exploring, worshipping, until Lilia was gasping her name like a prayer, straining against the headboard with every breath.

The soft drag of Melissa's palm down the inside of her thigh made her whimper, hips lifting instinctively—and Melissa rewarded her with a wicked grin.

"You're shaking," she murmured, voice gravel and honey. "You love being at my mercy, don't you?"

Lilia didn't even try to deny it.

When Melissa rose and reached for the zipper of her overnight bag—intent, controlled, absolutely sure—Lilia's breath caught. She watched through half-lidded eyes, pulse hammering, as Melissa slid the strap into place, slow and confident like she was built for this.

When Melissa returned to the bed, her presence was overwhelming. She settled between Lilia's parted thighs, her touch gentle but her eyes dark with heat.

"You ready for me?" she asked, tone soft but firm, fingers brushing lightly over Lilia's knee.

Lilia's response was a breathless, desperate, "Yes. Please."

And when she finally pressed forward, when she filled her perfectly and completely, Lilia arched and let out a sound that broke Melissa in half.

Their rhythm started slow, deep, Melissa's thrusts deliberate, savoring every inch of her girl—watching her fall apart under the attention, the fullness, the pressure.

"Mine," Melissa whispered, reverent, hand slipping between them to add to the pleasure, thumb circling her swollen clit until Lilia was gasping again.

"Say it."

Lilia's cry was near incoherent. "Yours—yours—only yours."

Melissa kissed her hard and let herself go, driving them both higher, into heat and sweat and moans muffled against each other's mouths. They moved like they knew each other's bodies better than their own, like they'd never stop learning new ways to love and wreck and save each other.

And when Lilia came again—crying out Melissa's name, wrists straining above her head—Melissa held her through it, never looking away.

She didn't slow down. Not yet.

"Fuck me.." Lilia moaned.

"I am, baby," Melissa smirked as she twisted a nipple, hard. "You want me ruin you? Ruin this pretty pussy?"

"Y-yes," she stutters while tugging on the makeshift restraints. "You own me, fuck, baby please," her voice raw, begging.

Melissa slowed her thrusts, drawing back just enough to make Lilia whimper and arch, bound wrists tugging desperately at the lace above her. Her eyes burned into Lilia's as she leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"You feel that?" Melissa growled, voice thick and low. "How deep I am inside you?"

Lilia nodded frantically, mouth open, gasping. "Yes—yes, please—"

Melissa gripped her hips tighter, grounding her, holding her still. "You think I wouldn't give you everything?" she whispered, rocking her hips forward just enough to make Lilia cry out. "You think I wouldn't put a baby in you if you asked for it? Fill you up—make you mine in every way?"

Lilia moaned, completely undone, chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate breaths. "Mel—"

"I'd ruin you for anyone else," Melissa hissed, kissing her hard. "I already have. And I'd do it again. You want that, baby? Want me to claim you like that?"

Lilia trembled under her, thighs trembling, eyes wide with heat and something tender. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I want all of it."

Melissa snapped her hips forward, claiming her in rhythm with every word. "Then take it. Take every last bit of me, 'cause you're not goin' anywhere. You're mine."

Lilia's breath came in short pants, her back arching so much any onlooker would suspect she was having an exorcism. "M-Mel baby, I'm close," her eyes screw shut.

"Eyes on me, amore mio," Melissa cups the side of her face and stares deep into her golden orbs, blown almost black from their intimacy. "Come with me, darling. Give it to me."

Their shared groans of ecstasy will definitely get them a noise complaint, but that's a future them problem.

Melissa was still panting, her forehead pressed to Lilia's shoulder, one hand gripping the headboard like she needed it to stay grounded. Her strap glistened between Lilia's thighs, still buried deep, her hips twitching every now and then like she hadn't quite come back down.

Lilia turned her head, pressed a kiss to Melissa's temple, breathless but still full of fire. "You done?" she whispered, voice husky.

Melissa's laugh was low and wrecked. "That was me not being done."

Lilia grinned, then shifted her wrists against the red lace, testing the tie. "Good. Because I'm not either."

Melissa pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. Her pupils were still blown wide, lips swollen, hair a mess of wild curls clinging to her damp neck. "What else do you want, baby?" she rasped.

Lilia arched, deliberately slow, and whispered, "Untie me."

Melissa hesitated—not out of resistance, but because of the look on Lilia's face. Dangerous. Wanting. She reached up, fingers trembling with leftover adrenaline, and slipped the knot loose.

The second her hands were free, Lilia cupped Melissa's face and dragged her down into a filthy, gasping kiss, all teeth and tongue and growls between breaths.

"Get your ass up here," she murmured.

Melissa blinked up at her. "What?"

Lilia leaned up, hands braced on either side of her waist, her breath brushing Melissa's cheek like a secret. "Sit on my face."

Melissa's eyes widened. "You—"

"You said I'm a masterpiece?" Lilia whispered, kissing down her throat. "Then let me paint you in worship."

Something about the way she said it—low, commanding, adoring—unraveled whatever restraint Melissa had left. She let Lilia guide her up, slowly, hesitantly at first, until she was hovering above her, thighs trembling, breath ragged.

Then, with a soft curse, Melissa sank down.

Lilia's hands gripped her hips like lifelines. Her moan was muffled but electric, reverberating straight through Melissa's bones as she dropped her head back with a broken gasp. She braced herself on the headboard, the world narrowing to heat, tongue, and pulse.

Lilia moved with purpose, with reverence, like every flick of her tongue was a prayer and every moan she drew from Melissa was sacred. Melissa rocked above her, chasing it, crumbling into it, her voice splintering into curses and sobbed-out I love yous.

When she finally shattered—body shuddering, breath lost—she collapsed forward, catching herself on shaking arms as Lilia pulled her down into a kiss, slow and sweet, lips wet and smiling.

They stayed like that for a long moment, chests pressed together, breath shared in the silence.

"I'm never gonna survive you," Melissa whispered.

Lilia chuckled, brushing damp curls from her face. "Good thing you'll die happy and totally ravished."

Melissa let out a breathless laugh against Lilia's mouth, her body still trembling in the aftermath. "That supposed to comfort me?"

Lilia grinned, her lips soft and swollen, her fingers gently tracing circles along Melissa's spine. "No, that's supposed to make you desperate for the next time."

Melissa groaned and collapsed onto her, burying her face in the crook of Lilia's neck. "You're ridiculous," she mumbled, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed any attempt at annoyance.

"And you're obsessed with me," Lilia murmured smugly, dragging her nails down the small of Melissa's back in a way that made her twitch. "Which works out, considering I'm completely gone for you."

They lay tangled in each other, bare and warm beneath the hotel's plush comforter, limbs intertwined in the kind of silence that felt sacred. The city buzzed faintly outside their window, but inside—it was just them. Just shared breath, lazy touches, and the afterglow of something that felt like worship and want wrapped up in one.

Melissa finally looked up at her, eyes heavy and soft. "That was insane."

Lilia grinned, brushing a kiss over the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, but like... insane in love?"

Melissa smirked. "Insane in love, insane in lust, and definitely insane from lack of oxygen at some point."

Lilia giggled, flushed and blissed out. "A worthy sacrifice."

"Damn right," Melissa muttered, tucking her face back into Lilia's neck with a sleepy sigh. "Let's just stay here forever."

Lilia tightened her arms around her. "You read my mind."

Outside, the night went on. But inside the room—bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight and the warmth of each other—they had everything they ever needed and wanted.

[unintentionalseductress]

Oh my ! The thirsty list is delicious! 🔥

May I requested Nanami Kento and Fem!Reader Lingerie, please? >\\\\\\\\<

Thank you !

🐾

Hello! Thank you! I tried to make it extra yummy. Do you want paw prints to be your emoji?

Lingerie

--------

You fidgeted with the lingerie you were trying on, trying to pick one from the various sets that you had hung up inside the fitting room. They all left little to the imagination, tiny bits of lace and silk that were not meant to be on your body for too long. You wondered if Kento could help you narrow down your choices and the idea immediately makes your pussy wet, the thought of him joining you inside this stall.

You quickly text him and wait. You can hear shuffling from the fitting room next to yours as some unsuspecting occupant tries on something and the hustle and bustle inside the shop with the customers and staff. You jump slightly as there's a knock on the door, followed by a deep drawl. "Open up darling."

Trembling slightly with the excitement of how he'd react upon seeing you, you crack open the door just enough for him to slip in. He squeezes his broad body inside the fitting room and locks it with a click. His eyes roam over you, becoming positively feral as the small pieces of fabric work their magic.

He stalks you slowly until your back touches the wall and he reaches out to trace a finger against the swell of your breasts which pop up invitingly thanks to the bra you're wearing.

"You look good enough to eat." His head dips near your ear and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I wanted your opinion. Does this look good or oh..." A sigh leaves your mouth as he nips your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

"It looks good. They all look good. But do you know what you look best in?" He presses little kisses to your jaw before sucking the pulse point in your neck. "Absolutely nothing."

"Kento wait." You try to move but his hands grip your hips and hold you in place, his intentions clear. "Which ones should I buy?"

"All of them. I'll give you my card. All I expect in return is..." His finger hooks into the lace neckline of your bra and pulls it down, freeing your breasts, nipples already pebbled from his proximity.

"Kento not here!" You say in a hushed squeak as he takes one of the peaks into his mouth to suckle. Pleasure fills your body as his clever mouth sucks and you let out a wanton moan and immediately cover your mouth, acutely aware there's someone in the next stall.

He chuckles before letting go with a wet plop. "Why not here? It's as good a place as any."

"Someone might hear us!"

"So?" Leisurely, his hand dips down to cup your mound, rubbing your clit through the fabric.

"Kento!" You're mortified, but so pathetically turned on. "I haven't bought these! They still need to scan it at the register!"

Pretending like he didn't hear you, he continues to rub circles on the bud, and your will crumbles. You try and fail to contain the moan that leaves your mouth and Kento grins at your reaction.

"That's it...cum for me. Let everyone here know you're not alone." The lewd words said so sinfully have you crashing, your climax hitting hard, the panties soaked with your arousal as your pussy spams gratifyingly from orgasm.

Without wasting a second, Kento spins you around and your front comes in contact with the wall as he pushes the crotch of the panties to the side and slides his cock into your wetness. You walls clench around him and he grunts, a low crunchy noise, as he starts rutting into you.

Your restraint snaps and you unashamedly moan out your desire, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing in the small space of the fitting room.

That's it...nice and loud. Let everyone know you're getting properly fucked." His hips stutter and he pants, slamming into you then with a moan, he empties his balls into you, his sticky cum filling your cunt. He pulls out and lets the panties slide back into place.

The panties were utterly ruined, you knew that as you took them off to put your clothes back on. "You realize I have to buy these now?"

"Of course my love. We already got our money's worth out of them after all. Besides," he adds with a wicked grin. "I can't wait to see you carrying that set to the checkout counter and handing them over to to be scanned while they're soaked with my cum."

He laughs as you flush red.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Ice Falling (Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 7 woooooo. I really loved writing for Ingrid I want to do more with her

You weren’t quite sure how Ingrid had convinced you to go ice skating, especially considering your well-documented lack of skill on skates. But the holiday atmosphere in the city, with lights twinkling on every tree and garlands hung on every lamp post, had you feeling festive. When Ingrid suggested an afternoon at the outdoor rink, her face alight with excitement, it was impossible to resist.

The rink itself was magical. Tiny string lights dangled from above, and festive music filled the air as families, couples, and friends circled the ice, their laughter and cheers echoing around you. As you stepped onto the ice, the reality of what you’d agreed to became clear. You’d never felt this unsteady, and immediately reached out to grip the side of the rink, sliding ungracefully in an attempt to steady yourself.

Meanwhile, Ingrid glided over with effortless ease, skating backward and giving you an amused, sympathetic grin. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and the sparkle in her eyes hinted at how much she was enjoying watching your struggles, something you did have to admit was rare.

“Here, take my hands,” she said, stretching her gloved hands toward you. You took them gratefully, her hands firm and steady in yours. She was watching your every move with that familiar, playful smile, ready to catch you if you slipped but also tease you when it happened.

“Alright, step one: don’t think about it too much. Just keep your knees bent and glide with me.” She spoke gently, encouragingly, but there was also a spark of amusement in her eyes as she took a small step backward, pulling you along.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your own shaky steps as you tried to mimic her graceful movements. “Easy for you to say! You’re practically flying out here.”

She laughed, a bright, infectious sound. “I guess this is one benefit of growing up around snowy fields,” she teased, glancing down at your feet as you inched forward. “But you’re doing great, really.” You had been to Ingrids hometown for Christmas last year and got to truly witness what a white Christmas is. Norway was covered in a thick layer of the white powder for pretty much the whole of the winter, whereas England where you grew up barely saw and inch a year. It was no wonder you couldn’t skate to save your life, and Ingrid was the epitome of beauty gliding across it. Although you would always say she was the epitome of beauty doing whatever she does so.

Slowly, with her steady grip and gently encouragement, you found a bit of a rhythm. The two of you moved together, although every now and then you would wobble, nearly taking her down with you. Each time, she’d laugh and pull you back upright, her hold on you never wavering. The taller woman always had a way that made you feel safe.

At one point, she took one of your hands and led you out a bit further into the open ice, away from the wall. “Look at you! See? We’re actually moving now,” she said, her grin wide as she skated alongside you, no longer having to be in front of you dragging you along.

You couldn’t help but laugh, both exhilarated and a little terrified, feeling your feet slide with every step. “Please don’t let go of me,” you said, half-joking, though you held onto her hand as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe it was. No maybe about it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, her gaze softening as she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. Now that you were starting to get a hang of the balancing and moving part, she started pointing out small tricks to help even more: how to bend your knees just right, how to lean forward for balance. Every time you got a little better, she’d cheer, her delight as genuine as if you’d just won a match. An expression you knew from her very well.

In moments between her instructions, she’d make you laugh which ultimately put you off balance and then shed tease you lightly when you wobbled. She couldn’t resist playfully pulling you along at times, giving you just enough of a thrill to get your heart racing with that I’m about to fall adrenaline. You’d squeal, clinging to her hand, and she’d only laugh harder, loving every second. Which in turn made the slight seconds of scared worth it, you’d do pretty much anything to hear that sound coming from the woman.

Eventually, after a few laps, you found yourself actually gliding a bit smoother. You let out a triumphant laugh, and Ingrid cheered along with you, proud of your small victory. And it was a small victory because you still hadn’t let go of the Norwegians hand. As you glided around the rink with the woman you loved you couldn’t help getting lost in the moment, the Christmas music playing from the speakers around the rink, the flashing lights strung perfectly around the bars on the side of the rink, and the cold breeze whipping your cheeks just right for the setting. It all made you feel like you were floating.

After a little while longer, Ingrid guided you back over to the entrance to the rink, she held your hand firmly as you took the step off the ice. Only when both your feet were on solid ground did you release the brunette’s hand with a sigh of relief. “Thank god for that. I think my blood pressure is through the roof.” Ingrid couldn’t help the laughter that burst out at your comment.

“I think you deserve a hot chocolate after your ordeal my love.” She said, smiling as she caught her breath. She took your hand back in hers after you both returned your skates, and you noticed the ease at which she pulled you along with her. That ease that comes with love and trust in a person to just go with them no matter what, a feeling that was very new to you but you wouldn’t change for the world.

Once you both had your drinks, she led you over to a bench overlooking the rink. You huddled close, her arm around your shoulders as you sipped from your cups, watching the other skaters’ whiz by. Ingrid was warm beside you, and every now and then she’d nudge you playfully as a skater on the ice wobbled or stumbled, as if to say hey, look they are doing what you did.

You sat in that comfortable silence for a while before Ingrid spoke. “You really did great out there,” she said, her voice soft. She looked at you with a smile that was equal parts pride and fondness.

“Only because I had you to hold onto,” you replied, leaning into her. She chuckled, resting her head against yours.

“Well, I have to admit,” she said, gazing out at the rink with a thoughtful expression, “I like being able to hold onto you, too. Maybe we should make this a new holiday tradition?”

You turned to her, catching the warmth in her eyes, the soft way she looked at you with a mix of admiration and contentment. “Oh, honey you haven’t got a chance of this happening again.” Ingrids face split into the biggest grin as the giggles escaped her. It might not be a new tradition for you both, but it is a memory you won’t forget anytime soon.

[alexanderlightweight]

I can’t find the names of the fics but could we see more from either a guide/sentinel verse or a daemon verse please?

see, I counter your not remembering the names with just writing another sentinel/guide fic so you never knew the name to begin with. since it didn't exist before. bam. it's a power move. also I didn't want to pick which one to write tbh because that was apparently more effort to my brain than creating a new one.

tis the 'tism.

I raise you *blinks at my non-existence cards and lack of ability to play* 'an entire new verse.' ha! I clearly won this round'... i'm not sure that's how it works actually tho. so my bad if you actually won and I claimed victory anyway.

no but seriously I hope you enjoy! its been a while since this prompt was sent in <3

lumine

currency of fate

Alec’s been online since he was a babe.

He’s pretty sure he was born online but thankfully some traumas are too big to remember, no matter how powerful one is.

Maryse won’t admit why, but Alec knows it’s because he was born in a Circle bunker. That in the same hovel he was birthed — with an open and raw mind without psionic shields — there were people being tortured and experiments carried out around him. Their desperate emotions frantic against Alec’s unshielded mind.

Alec carries those scars beneath heavily laid shields and he carries the hate he was born with too.

His mother can tell, better than his father.

Robert’s learned to avoid him on instinct, Maryse stalks the edges of his boundaries and when he’s eight, she starts to exude this kind of badly hidden stubbornness but also hope.

Alec can tell it has to do with him and it’s nothing good. He can also tell by Maryse’s growing relief that it involves the Institute.  

His parents hate it here. 

They don’t like being around and dealing with mundanes and they loathe the downworld with a hatred that sears against Alec’s mind. They especially don’t like being around the pride that ended Valentine’s life and most of the Circle they were once a part of.  They don’t like that they have to toe the line of Bane’s laws and territories as the Archon of the local pride.

Alec really isn’t sure how he’s made it this far, all he knows is that it’s the wards of the Institute's help.

They are what formed the first external shields that Alec’s ever had and the only ones since. It had started with tiny, thin but ever-growing and thickening shields that Alec's formed from necessity rather than knowledge. The wards had drawn energy from the magic that made them and whatever it was that anchored them to the angelic core and protected Alec. It had been the wards that sheltered his mind and soul and the psionic wounds he’d had since birth that had only grown finally started to heal.

The magic of the wards and the power of the angelic core are what keep him stable, they’re what keep him healthy and why he writes — not to the Clave — but to Idris’ pride.

There are no nephilim sentinel and guides in New York anymore.  

Every single one refuses to work with his parents but that also means Alec’s never been a part of any pride.  He’s also never met a sentinel or met another guide.  Alec’s pretty sure the Clave and Idris' pride don’t even know he exists. The people around him don’t know either, Alec can tell by the way the people of the Institute hate both his family and him. They even hate little Izzy, though thankfully she can’t tell or feel.

However it means that while Alec’s been protected from the damage of that hate, it’s made him wary. So when Alec feels his mother’s attention sharpen and focus on him, he acts first.

Within fifteen minutes of his fire message being sent, a contingent of shadowhunter sentinel and guide pairs storm the Institute.

Alec watches from a shadow of a hallway. Just out of reach of everyone and with easy access to the new shadowhunters... or the front door of the Institute.  

Which choice Alec makes depends on just how things go. He’s not stupid enough to only leave himself with one exit and he’s strong enough to daze everyone long enough to make it to the sewers. 

And they may be sentinel and guides but none of them can follow him into Bane’s territory and Alec’s memorized the route there.  True, the warlock sentinel probably won’t like a nephilim kid trespassing, but Bane’s a sentinel.  He won’t hurt Alec and he won’t let Alec be taken by anyone Alec isn’t comfortable with, Alec knows that much.

Besides, Bane did the wards of Alec’s Institute and it’s his magic that shelters Alec, so there’s no way he’d hurt Alec, no matter how much he hates Alec’s parents.

Alec can feel the truth of that.

It’s those shields that he slowly tucks back, letting the barest hint of his mind out in a way he hasn’t since he was five and figured out the wards were helping him.

The female sentinel in charge, Hirune Lakecastle is finishing introducing herself and she stiffens, turning so that her deep brown eyes focus on Alec.  

Alec swallows and steps forward out of the shadows and lets the shield pull back another layer as the rest of the group focus on him.  The Institute shadowhunters still don’t know what's going on and are staying in the formation ordered.  His parents, however, they’re panicking.  Alec can feel it and he lets another layer push back and shares the deep seated loathing he holds for them.

It’s enough that every other guide in the room flinches and then turns hostile glares on Maryse and Robert.  His mother’s emotions flare with anger, despair and finally shame.  As if she realizes that the piece she’d been about to barter to the Clave has been swept from her hands.

Alec won’t let her or Robert control the narrative this time.

Or ever again.

“How long have you been online, Alex-” 

Alec shakes his head, grateful the sentinel picked up on his discomfort and stopped. “Just Alec, Commander.”

She smiles at him and her emotions echo the motion, ringing true. “Alec, then. Do you know?”

Alec knows she thinks he’s done lowering his shields. That’s he’s bared himself to the world but the thing is, Alec will never be able to do what she’s expecting him to.  He knew it the moment she walked in, her guide comforting but nothing else.

The very wards that shield him will be the reason he can’t join a pride, no matter how powerful the Archons.  The presence of the shield has been with him since before true memory. So he was at least three, which is around when he knows for certain that he was moved to the Institute.  

Alec knows what he should say, or even what he could say to soften the blow but Alec is tired. He’s wishing he could have even a fraction of safety that the mundane children he sometimes passes feel.

“Coming online?” He asks and he makes sure to let genuine curiosity swell, because he does wonder what it would be like to feel the change from unawakened to online. “Isn’t everyone born online?”

The horror that is projected at him is overwhelming until it isn’t. 

The wards and his shields snap back fully back into place, the emotion not only shielded, but reflected.  The magic and his own powers instantly fling it back, despite Alec knowing he isn’t being attacked.

Alec blinks up at the ceilings from the floor, where he’s vulnerable despite his best efforts to stay mobile. Resentment coils for a moment before the wards soothe it away and Alec gets to his feet.

A calloused, dark brown hand with the familiar scars of an experienced hunter enters his vision. Alec takes it, bracing himself for both the pull and emotions.

The tug is smooth, effortless and without jolting his shoulder like most of the adults around the Institute do and Alec blinks in surprise.

Ah, another inconsistency he missed then.

Alec also misses the way the sentinel in front of him winces but he doesn’t miss how she bristles at the shadowhunters around them.

“Can you meet with me and my guide, Alec? We’ll go somewhere private. Just the three of us and a pair to guard.  The rest of my team will stay here and... get answers.”

There’s a threat of promise in her voice, for Alec instead of against him.

“The greenhouse?” Alec asks immediately, because it has the most exits and confusing scents and also is one of the only places that doesn’t feel suffocating. Maybe because his parents never go in it and neither do most of the shadowhunters who aren’t scientists. 

It’s a short trip, with Alec’s hand being held the entire time for some reason, even though the sentinel can’t possibly lose him that easily.

“My daughter is a few years older than you.” Alec is told as they enter and he wonders if that’s supposed to make him lower his guard. “She’s latent, but it should be several years before she comes online.” Alec blinks, because he doesn’t actually know the normal age for coming online.  Just that his situation was unusual. He’d figured out that much from books, but the books hadn’t mentioned actual numbers and Alec doesn’t have the clearance for that kind of information yet 

—

Barely five years of so-called ‘peace’ and Magnus is still finding new ways to heal parts of his territory in places he’d thought untouched and protected. It’s both terrifying and infuriating how much damage nephilim can do when they go rampant and how much invisible trauma they can still inflict once the battles have long ended but remain clear in memory. 

Warlocks carry long memories.

Nephilim like to forget and repeat their sins.

Thankfully, Magnus is one of the sentinel’s who personally ripped Valentine Morgenstern apart and that’s the only reason he lets nephilim blood linger on his territory.  No nephilim sentinels or guides live in the Institute, they fled from Maryse and Robert’s soul-stamped betrayal and what was once nephilim territory is now Magnus’.

Perhaps the deed hasn’t been signed, but does that matter when the leylines and angelic core would kick the nephilim out at a moment's notice if Magnus wished?  At the moment he’s being lenient because for now, the nephilim are more useful as fodder than not.  The rifts have been opening more and more of late and it’s better to let the shadowhunters be the first line of both defense and offense to the demons than warlocks or other members of Magnus’ pride.

In however many years as he wants, Magnus will kick Maryse and Robert out of his territory for good and insure some other, less disgusting nephilim is in charge.  If he lets anyone remain for long depending on the political and demonic climate.

However for now, he’ll let them be bait and fodder for the demons coming forth.

Despite the fact that Magnus’ senses have been wreaking havoc on him for centuries, they’ve been settling as of late. Magnus has never zoned out in public, but he has gone feral quite a few times and when he does, he’s been able to pull his entire pride with him until the threat is gone or the danger passed.

Hence Valentine’s lack of existence.

However despite his current annoyances and lack of a decent partner, Magnus feels soothed.

Not just his mind but his skin.  

Magnus no longer has to layer the inside of his clothes with magic and sew his own pieces just to feel texture on his skin.  Or to make every single one of his own products because even Catarina can’t tailor them to his senses as delicately as he needs.

Magnus has a suspicion, however he can do nothing about it as it’s fleeting and never lingers.

Whenever he reaches for the thought, it disappears.  

Cahya has been watching something, their form elegant and distant as they watch somewhere and something Magnus cannot see. The feeling of contentment stays, even though sometimes over-protective instincts full of rage tickle his spine and whet his appetite and lust not for flesh but for battle.

The Institute, despite now being Magnus’ territory, remains something of a deadzone to Magnus’ senses. It’s something he’s grateful for.  That he doesn’t have to endure the stench of the pure nephil blood or their petty emotions and hear their pretentious, self-righteous words.

Magnus is more than capable of bugging the Institute.

He’s not going to risk his senses on listening to the squabbles of nephilim and he doesn’t need to.  The wards let him know what is going on, even now, when they fluctuate and the 

There’s a moment where dread trickles down Magnus’ spine but before he can even think of what caused it, Cahya roars.

It’s so loud both physically and psionically that Magnus’ vision, thoughts and hearing are all left ringing as he recenters himself. All he feels is relief, though he doesn’t understand why except for the fact that Cahya also seems relieved... and proud.

“Something the matter, dearest?”

Cahya chuffs and turns to rub against Magnus’ legs, purring and shaking their head with smug pride.

“Well, as long as you're happy.” Magnus knows he’s exuding doubt, but Cahya doesn’t seem to mind as they shove Magnus’ magic into the couch, growing it so they can lay out on top of him.  It’s been ages since they’ve offered their belly like this, wanting pets and cuddles and nothing but pure attention.

Magnus luxuriates in it.

Cahya is always affectionate... when Magnus allows himself to love his own soul. It’s easier looking at them and seeing how beautiful and powerful Cahya is. However their adoration of him is in turn, beautiful and empowering.

Because surely Cahya wouldn’t stay if Magnus were broken.

Cahya embraces the same... nay an even stronger ruthlessness than Magnus himself.  Most are tempered by the echo of their soul, Magnus is equally matched and neither temper each other but feed the flames they both embody. 

It’s what makes both of them so terrifying and why Magnus is Archon of his pride, despite being unbonded.

AN:

Baby!alec is very paranoid/concerned because of how he came online. Magnus does not know that his magic is basically already claimed as a guide and is protecting him until he’s old enough to meet Magnus.

Alec actually won’t be able to join any nephilim prides because of how protective the shields from the wards are. And he’s also not going to admit he knows where the shields are from, because of ingrained prejudice the pride will assume that its the angelic core that protected him, not Magnus’ magic.

A lot of potential sentinels get sent to visit Alec when he’s older because it’s assumed that it will take a bond to get through the shield thats both protecting him but not letting him bond to a pride.  Which is true, except ofc that wont matter since he’ll be bonding with magnus who can already get past the shield... made from his magic. Whether or not he knows it yet.

Alec has no idea how much feral predator pup/kit he’s giving off right now. Also despite his best efforts, he is projecting maybe not his need for exits, but the fact that he feels cornered. His narrative is skewed because he’s both incredibly powerful but also not as durable as he assumes.  Like he has no idea what he’s doing and he’s making pretty decent assumptions but also, he’s wrong sometimes. Since he’s 8/9.

Cahya is actually reacting to Hirune trying to form a pride bond with Alec which doesn’t work and Cahya is smug in helping protect Alec.

Yes Alec has a spiritual guide animal, he’s hiding right now because Alec isn't advertising his active guide status in hostile territory or to outsiders until he has backup or an escape route.

Valentine is dead in this fic. Jocelyn lives in the mundane world, she still fled but Magnus watches her closely and rotates the warlock and sentinel/guides who keep an eye on her. they make sure unhealthy attachments 'like dot's' to Jocelyn or Clary don't form.