#and is willing to be how they are just bc reader loves him that much

[seiwas]

Of course I forgot to send in the cute birthday celebration challenge forgive meee 😭 (but omg no pressure to answer if the birthday girl isn’t feeling up for it!!)

But let’s try…

Sun + Moon for our blasty boy Bakugo 👀

you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

he’s grown suspicious of it—you know he out of all people would notice; but you neither confirm nor deny that it’s intentional.

there’s something about katsuki in that sliver of space and time right before sunrise and sunset—right before the shift into something new.

“someone’s excited,” you sneak up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you kiss his cheek.

he grumbles before giving you a side-eye, cheeks turning a shade darker under the twilight. his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something, but he tuts instead, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth—no sharpness, no bite.

you look at him curiously, hanging on to the stillness of the hour.

today is supposed to be a busy day—the start of a long trip for you and katsuki; the start of his first ever long trip, actually.

“somethin’ on my face or some shit?”

you snap out of staring, gaze falling straight into his—vermillion red softened into a deep mauve amidst the blue light.

this is why you do it—

the perpetual frown on his face is gone, the tightness of his jaw loosened. there’s a look in his eyes that tells you there’s been something on his mind for a long, long while.

—this is why you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

you give him a small smile, a little mischievous as you lean in and peck him on the nose.

“now you do,” you giggle as you inch closer on the wooden step.

he rubs his nose immediately, checking for smudges of lipstick, “fuckin—“

“just all my lovin’,” you tease.

you’re half expecting him to get back at you for it—to tickle you or smother you in kisses of his own; katsuki can be aggressive in love, a fact you’ve come to know well over the years.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he stares. a few paused seconds that feel slowed down to eternity. there’s the look again, like something’s been on his mind, combined with the look people say he only has for you.

suddenly, you feel nervous—for what, you don’t know, but your hand searches for his out of instinct. it’s damp when your palm sticks against his, his fingers intertwining with yours like a habit of his own.

he turns your clasped hands over, catching view of the back of yours.

it stays quiet for a few moments—a side of him you only see in times like this. you know there’s a war waging on in his head, a decision he’s been mulling over just waiting to be spilled out.

you know because katsuki only ever sits out before sunrise when he has a lot on his mind.

“you okay?” you whisper.

he hums, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, “just thinkin’.”

“you can tell me…” you nudge, “…if you want,” the butterflies in your stomach flapping harder.

you hold your breath.

he chuckles, that damn attractive half-sigh, “don’t know how yet.”

and you think you know what it is—a conversation you have every now and then, always with open-ended conclusions. katsuki has his issues, and so do you—

“just say it how it is,”

you never pressed him for answers, fully content to live at the pace he wanted because you loved him and that was enough.

—but when katsuki looks at you like this, like you’re everything gone right in his life, it’s hard not to think about the possibilities of more.

tears begin to collect along your waterline as he leads your hand into his pocket, your fingertips grazing a small velvet box.

you choke up, tears falling as you pout.

“woke up in the middle of the night with a fuckin’ god awful migraine,” he starts, wiping your tears with his thumb, “so i thought i’d go for a run, y’know, sweat it out and shit.”

you nod, listening.

“but when i got out of bed, you started mumblin’ my name,” he takes a deep breath, “thought you were awake, honestly, but you didn’t say anythin’ when i asked what you needed.”

“looked like you had a nightmare, so i went back to bed, and—” he pauses, collecting his words as he breathes out, “—you hugged me n’—”

his eyes gloss over as he tucks you into his side.

“—you told me you loved me.”

it’s not anything new—you both know that; you tell him you love him all the time. but—

“fuck, i’m ramblin’,” he half chuckles again.

“i love that about you too,” you sniffle, half-giggling as you nudge his chin with your nose.

you intentionally catch katsuki in the in-between’s because you love the side of him that comes out when he’s a little loose-lipped; a little less tense from all the day’s worries. you love the way he rambles, how he goes off on a tangent when he’s especially passionate about something.

he gives you a look so soft, your heart swells.

a small smile makes its way to katsuki’s face as he grips your hand tighter.

“couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause all i was thinkin’ about was how to keep it this way forever.”

you’ve pictured this moment a few times before, all in different scenarios, situations, locations—always with the note that even if it didn’t happen, you’d be okay.

but now you have this: you and katsuki, on the wooden steps right by your garden bathed in twilight.

“decided on it for a while, just didn’t know when would be right,” he fishes the box out of his pocket, fiddling with it as he takes your hand in his other one.

“i know you said that lovin’ me was enough, but forever’s a fuckin’ long time,” he half-chuckles again, a little choked up, “you didn’t think i’d let you waste that on some loser who won’t even ask you to marry him, did you?”

you don’t think you’re coherent when you respond, a mess of tears and all the love you can pour out. katsuki doesn’t even get to show you the ring before you tackle him, nodding into his chest.

it doesn’t matter, anyway—

it was more than enough that he even asked.

n/a: thank u for sending this prompt erika!!! i am so rusty but i am writing this with all the katsuki feelings in me, my heart could burst!!!! sun & moon = twilight just because of the presence of both during that hour; i also just think it’s such a delicate balance to have—which i think also describes their relationship! katsuki has commitment issues 🥲 sorry, i love writing him in the process of healing ajkdndkd also !!! i also think katsuki can be romantic in his own way like wdym he reads all those shoujo mangas … there is stored romance in that boy . maybe not the smooooothest but yk. it works. and also, he wasn't rlly planning on proposing at this moment (more during the trip) but !! just felt right yk?

[pencil-n-pen]

REDUCED TO SKIN AND BONE

. ݁₊ ♡ . ݁˖

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buck x people pleaser! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: Pathological People Pleaser- capital P. That’s you. Life is a helluva lot easier when no one can hurt you- not if you never give anyone substantial pieces of yourself. Too bad Evan “Buck” Buckley takes issue with this.

cw: reader is a grade A pathological people pleaser so all the angst and issues that come with that, canon-typical gore/violence (they are firefighters/paramedics)

tags/tropes: coworkers to lovers (hr HATES these two) bobby knowing everything about these two but letting them work it out anyway, team as a family, BUCK IS BOBBY’S KID IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS, also Buck being really sweet and nice (and reader having no idea what to do with this)

a/n: tbh this reader is really just a girl. this fic is extremely inspired by Love Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood, which, my dear followers, if you'll recall, is my favorite romance book ever (!!!!!) also no one say reader isn't realistic bc i based her internal dialogue and worries off of my real life experiences as a recovered people pleaser (there is hope for us)

credit to @bookshelf-dust for the in house arson investigator idea !! super brilliant and perfect !! go read their stuff !!

title taken from Goddess from Laufey!

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‘Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

Cause they see right through me//Can you see right through me?

-The Archer, Taylor Swift

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Firefighter Evan “Buck” Buckley confuses you.

You’ve only been with the 118 for about two months. You’d be lying if you said the action and excitement of actually working with the firefighters on calls didn’t excite you to come to work— something you thought you’d never say.

And the team is great. You were nervous as hell at first. Suddenly being out on calls is exciting now, but scary as shit at first. You were much too used to your boring desk job. Plus, the firefighters were all intimidating in their own ways- Hen and Bobby the most.

Hen, because you totally look up to her and admire her ability to just… do whatever and say whatever and not worry what other people think. She holds her head high, and you’re more than a little envious.

Bobby, because he’s your captain, and you need to prove your worth as an addition to the team.

Slowly but surely, you began to solidify your presence as a team member. You aren’t sensitive to the blood and gore they see on calls which definitely won you points with Hen and Chimney, and you aren’t a pushover- you’re willing to put your foot down when push comes to shove. Plus, not to brag, but you’re damn good at your job.

After a month, you’d gotten everything down pat. What’s the right thing to say, what isn’t the right thing to say. What to do so the team trusts you, what to do so they don’t ask too many questions, how to correctly come across to them as a capable person. How to seem normal and well-adjusted and fine. What normal looks like to them.

With the exception of Evan Buckley.

You just… can’t get a read on him. Ever. He’s nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive, like seriously, it’s not even fair) but no one is that nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive.)

You don’t like talking to him because he’s been more than a little sweet on you since day one. And obviously it's not serious and he doesn't mean it, just friendly camaraderie, but. But but but but but. It catches you off guard without fail every single time. Because every single time you talk to him, you get the very distinct sense that he’s looking right though you. That when you’re talking to the rest of the team, perfect smile in place, he can see through you.

It’s more than a little unnerving. It leaves you unsteady and wrong-footed. Like you’re never sure what exactly to say or how to act.

So you mostly just avoid him. You’re thankful that you’re only the arson investigator, because if you’d actually been a real firefighter, avoiding him would be a million times harder. As it stands, it’s fairly easy to do it without being obvious.

Or so you think.

“Is something wrong Captain Nash?” You ask, shutting the door behind you in his office.

Bobby rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you to just call me Bobby.”

“I think the second I do, my parents will appear in the room and lecture me about respect and manners.”

You sit as he gestures, watching with almost perfectly concealed apprehension as he laces his fingers.

“Did Buck say something to you?”

What.

“What?”

“Firefighter Buckley,” Bobby clarifies, as if that was the part of the question that needed specification. “I’ve noticed that you tend to avoid him when possible. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that. No one else has noticed.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the admission of being caught.

“How could you tell?” You ask instead of answering his question.

Bobby just shrugs. “I have three kids. This isn’t my first rodeo. Now, you mind telling me what exactly is going on here?”

You’re not really sure you can explain this to him without one, sounding like a crazy person, and two, having him lose all the respect you’ve worked hard to build with him.

You settle for the super abridged version.

“Buck… makes me nervous. I’ve had some bad experiences with men that acted like him before, so. I’m over it, of course, I’m fine he just… sets me on edge a little. I’m not like, afraid of him or anything.”

You are actually afraid of him a little. Because if he really does see through you then what’s stopping him from ripping the current back? Giving everyone a good look into your ugly and raw? What’s stopping him from leaving you exposed?

Bobby hums, contemplating.

“You don’t trust him.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” You rush to amend, heart starting to race. Fix it fix it fix it fix it— “I do trust him. I know he’d never hurt me, or anyone else for that matter, he’s a great guy—“

Bobby leans back in his seat. “He’s a genuinely nice guy, and you don’t know how to deal with that, so you avoid him. You don’t trust that he’s genuine.”

Too close too close too close too close—

Smile. Laugh. Look down for a few seconds. Raise head, hold eye-contact. Speak.

“Nothing like that,” Smile. “Just takes some time for a girl to get used to all the facts that tend to come with him. I could’ve done without the one about heart worms before lunch.”

Laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea. Imagine being present when he actually got to assist on a tapeworm removal. I was put off noodles entirely for months.”

Now Bobby laughs, a real one, so you laugh with him, and you feel a little safer, the conversation back in your control.

“I promise, there’s nothing between me and Buck. Just new-girl nerves.”

Flash a smile, appease the man.

“If that’s all, then you’re free to go. Keep up the good work.”

You stand, one hand on the edge of the armrest of the chair to hide the minute tremors in your hand. You hold your breath as you leave Bobby’s office, breathing tiny, quick breaths through your nose until you make it to the safety of your office, closing the door behind you and all but collapsing into your chair.

That was… close. You must’ve let your guard down around Bobby. His personality and dad-aura are so disarming. You hadn’t even realized he’d been watching you that close. He read you a little too easily and a little too quickly. That was too close. What if he had—

A knock on your door snaps you ramrod straight, posture perfect and easy expression snapped into place in seconds.

It takes everything in you not to deflate when you see who walks through the door.

“Buck?”

“Sorry, sorry,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, “I know you don’t like me in here, I’ll be quick. I just need that file from that warehouse fire case?”

You frown as you search your filing cabinet for the case file. “I’ve never said I didn’t like you in here.”

“Yeah, not as much as said as implied.”

“I don’t mind you in here. It’s just an office.”

You’re not sure what he wants you to say. Does he want you to agree with him, tell him you don’t want him in here, make him right? Does he want you to tell him that he’s welcome in your office?

What does he want?

He shrugs in the corner of your eye, hands in his pockets, and you honestly have to physically restrain yourself from staring at the muscles of his arms as they move and tense with the motion. It’s very conflicting: him being the unending source of the late-night fantasies you pretend not to indulge in to fall asleep, hugging a pillow, and the fact that he’s the reason you’ve considered going on anxiety medication.

“…Are you okay?”

You’re abruptly reminded that he’s still in your office and you’re still having a conversation and your grip has at some point turned crushing on the case file.

“Oh, yeah,” Smile, look down, laugh. Look up(?) “Long night last night. Didn’t get much sleep.”

He cocks his head, the action reminiscent of a dog. He really is a golden retriever. You should really stop thinking about Buck so much.

“I thought you went home early last night?”

Your smile wavers.

Laugh(?) put the case file down. Take a sip of coffee, smile(?)

“You know how it is. Work never quite ends at work.”

He doesn’t skip a beat before speaking.

“Why do you do that?”

Something cold starts to drip down your neck. An icy chill of dread.

“Do what?”

“That lying thing.”

Smile? Laugh? Sit down?

Your other hand comes up to cup your coffee. “As far as I know, I don’t have a lying thing.” You huff a breathy laugh, but it comes out wrong. More wheezing and choked than a laugh.

He leans back against the wall of your office, crossing his arms. “Yeah you do. Like, sure, maybe you did have a late night, but none of those expressions or smiles were real. You like, lie with your face.”

You feel cold and hot at the same time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you want this case file?”

“No, you know what I’m talking about. Is it conscious? Is it like code-switching? Nah, this is too—“

“Buck!” You snap, skin crawling, “Would you please just take this file and go?”

He snaps his fingers, pointing at you. “There! That’s real. That was a real expression.”

You forcibly smooth your face out, trying to project the calm you don’t feel. “Me getting annoyed with you?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles a little, a small smile on his face. “Just for a second, you looked real.”

You blink. Pause. Turn his words over in your head.

“You don’t really need this case file, do you?”

“Nope.”

You set the mug down, ignoring the way your tremors increased at your little outburst. “So you just came to what? Get under my skin? Disturb me while I’m working?”

He taps a boot on the floor. “Kind of. It’s my turn to be the man behind, and this beats mopping.”

This time, the flat glare you send him is intentional. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem as rigid as you did a few minutes ago.”

You stiffen your posture on instinct. “It’s called posture.”

“That’s not posture. That’s fear.”

His tone is light and joking, but his words hit their mark. Or maybe there isn’t a mark, and he just stabs your metaphorical bullseye anyway.

You shuffle in place, skin prickling under his gaze. “Is there a reason we’re having this conversation?”

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”

You stare at your shoes, face hot. This is uncharted territory. The end-all-be-all of terrible conversations.

“Well for one, it’s terribly awkward, and two, I don’t see why you felt the need to call me a liar to my face.”

Buck pushes off the wall. “Okay, that’s not what I meant by that—“

“No, I think you meant what you said.”

He sighs. “Can we start over?”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like you have this misconception about me, and it would really suck if a pretty girl didn’t like me just because we got off on the wrong foot.”

PRETTY?

“You think I’m pretty?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

He smirks, a mischievous thing pulling at his lips. “No, I think you meant what you said.” He says, mimicking your earlier words.

You press your hands into your face, exhaling hard.

“Well, if your goal was to make me uncomfortable, you’ve definitely succeeded.”

“Aw, that’s no good. That’s the opposite of what I wanted.”

The gears in your brain turn.

“You came here… because you wanted me to be more comfortable around you?”

He snaps his fingers. “Ding ding ding!”

You frown. “So your plan to make me more comfortable around you was to call me a liar and purposefully get under my skin?”

Your words hang in silence for a moment.

“Well when you put it like that—“

“Is there another way to put it?”

“The plan was to get you to see that nothing bad is gonna happen if you stop doing that face-lying-thing. I mean, you haven’t been doing it for the duration of this conversation and the world hasn’t ended, right?”

You look away. “That’s because I can’t pretend with you. It always falls apart. You freak me out.”

His brows furrow. “I freak you out?”

“Yes!” You snap whipping your head back to face him, “Other people put out, like, signals, you know. What kind of people they like and dislike, and I pick up on them, and avoid the parts they don’t like and play up the parts they do like. But you don’t put out anything! I don’t know what you want.”

Buck is silent for several moments. It’s unnerving.

“Have you ever considered that maybe I just like you?”

You blink. Look away. Cross your arms.

“You know,” He continues, voice a little softer, “I have a habit of liking people just as they are. Bobby tells me it’s one of my better qualities.”

“Is planning difficult conversations one of your lesser qualities?”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“No.”

It’s easier to focus and talk about the less serious parts of this entire situation than even think about what he just said.

“How about this,” He says after you don’t speak again. “If you’re gonna fake something, or pretend you feel one way about something, you have to come tell me the truth about how you really feel.”

“Well that sounds terrible. What do you get out of it?”

He smiles, folding his hands behind his back. “You agree to let me take you on a date.”

Your face is practically on fire. Evan Buckley is asking you on a date. Buck is asking you on a date.

“Oh.”

That’s all you manage to get out. Oh.

He frowns. “Are you oka—“

You smash your face into your hands, hiding your flushed and flustered face from view. “Just— just give me a second.”

You attempt to slow your racing heart, all to aware of the fact that Buck is still in the room, still looking at you.

“…Can you turn around?”

You hear a quiet little huff, then the shuffling of footsteps, signifying he is in fact no longer looking at you.

“If I’d known you’d be this excited at the idea—“

“Shut up or I’ll say no.”

He just hums, voice teasing. “I don’t think you will.”

“I might.”

“Mm. Nope.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t,” You grumble, dropping your hands. “Okay fine, I’ll do it, but when I tell you… stuff, you don’t get to make fun of me for whatever it is.”

“I really think you have the wrong idea of who I am as a person.”

“I’ve seen how you make fun of Eddie.”

“Well, that’s Eddie. It’s like, bro code.”

“Ew.”

“Having friends is gross?”

“Yes. Get out of my office.”

He turns around, grabbing his chest, feigning pain. “Oh the hurt. The pain.”

“You’ll survive, I’m sure. You’re a big boy.”

Okay what the fuck are you saying right now. Can’t god just strike you down? Can’t some old water damage cause the ceiling to come down on you?

Buck takes it in stride, laughing loudly, though if you look close, you can see a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“So when are you free for our date?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively over the word date, and you despise the flush it brings to your face. And ears. And neck.

“Um. Saturday?”

“Cool. You have my number, right?”

You nod.

“I’ll text you the details later this week. And hey, look at me.”

He waits until you look up. “You aren’t allowed to spend the rest of this week stressing about it, okay? It’s gonna be fun, and nice."

He opens the door to your office, ducking half out before turning around. “Remember: fun and nice.”

And then he’s gone. Then you’re just an idiot standing in your office, face hot and tingling.

He called you pretty.

—

Buck's request is difficult to follow through on. Like, sure, you agreed to it, but you still don't really understand why he wants to know this. The things that go on in your head that you don't tell anyone about. He said he got a date out of (a date, you're going on a date with Evan Buckley--) but is that really... anything?

Is it a real date? Or just some little fling? And why, exactly, is the date something he considers a fair trade? Like sure, he's hot -incredibly so- and every time you think about the date your heart speeds up and million questions run through your head, like will he pick you up, is he the type to bring flowers, where are you going for the date, all of those things.

You wince from your spot on the couch upstairs, papers strewn across the table in front of you.

"Dammit," You mutter, holding a finger up to the lip that you've chewed to shreds, now bleeding steadily, blood beginning to trickle down your chin.

A napkin appears in your line of sight, and you take it from Hen gratefully.

"Thanks."

She just nods. "Something on your mind?"

You blink, a little questioning.

"Your lip," She gestures to it. "You always chew it when you're thinking about something troubling. Is this about that new case?"

"Ah," You breathe, a small shiver running down your spine at her words. Being perceived is weird. "No actually. It's..."

You decide to be honest. News will get out anyway, and Hen appreciates truthfullness. "It's about Buck."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You shuffle the papers in front of you, hands itching for something to do, "We're going on a date on Saturday."

"Oh!" She exclaims, settling on the couch across from you. "That's... surprising. I was under the impression you didn't really care for him."

Your face heats. "That's kind of why we're going on the date. He wants to... make me more comfortable. Those were his words."

"Interesting method."

You shrug. "It's Buck."

Hen nods, a chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm guessing you're not so sure about it?"

"It's not that. I just," you debate your next words carefully, weighing the options, wondering if you should even say them, but Hen's face is open and non-judgmental, and she knows when not to gossip.

"I haven't been on a date in awhile," You admit, "Or many at all, really. I don't know what to expect."

Your hands still on the papers. "I... don't do well when I don't know what to expect."

Hen nods. "I get it. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that Buck will do everything in his power to make the date as 'comfortable'," She does finger quotes around the word, "As possible. It took him a couple tries to get here, but. He's got a good heart."

You can't help the small frown at her words. "I know."

Hen tilts her head, squinting. "Do you? Cause it seems like you aren't so sure."

Smile. Laugh.

"Well," You laugh a small, breathy thing. "In my experience, no one is that nice."

Hen snorts. "Okay, true. But Buck's been through a lot. What he may lack in tact he makes up for in earnest effort."

She stands, and levels you with a look you try hard not to whither behind. "Give him a chance. And try not to break his heart."

You smile, hoping it doesn't look as brittle as it feels. "I'll try not to."

Though I'm not sure he'll be the one getting his heart broken.

--

Buck is careful not to bother you too much at work. He still sets you on edge in that "I see through you" way of his, but he's right- nothing terrible has happened since your conversation. If anything, he's almost... gentler, in his good natured ribbing and such. He's actually rather attentive.

"Okay," He murmurs next to you at the table, most of the others finished with their food , plates cleared and being washed. "You've got your fake smile on, so spill."

You elbow him. "Cool it, Buckley."

"Great meal, Cap!" You call out to the Captain, who sends you a quick smile from the sink.

You spear a stem of asparagus prepared honestly perfectly by Bobby, and lean over to Buck. "Fine. You really wanna know?"

"Uh, yeah."

You take a huge bite, smiling as you swallow. "I hate asparagus."

Buck's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious? That's such a small thing to care about."

You glance up to ensure nobody's eavesdropping. "Bobby works really hard on everything he makes! I don't want any of it to go to waste or to seem unappreciative."

"Okay, we're really going to have to have a talk about your perception of everyone," He elbows you back, "Come on. Bobby would not be offended if you don't eat the vegetables because you don't like asparagus period. It's not like you're even saying you don't like his cooking!"

You take another bite. Only A few left. "Better safe than sorry."

"Stop eating them--"

"I have to finish them!"

"Something wrong over there?" Bobby's voice rings out over the kitchen.

"Nope!" You call back.

"Actually," Buck starts, ignoring your furious elbowing, "Our little investigator over here doesn't like asparagus."

Bobby tilts his head with a smile. "Why didn't you say something?"

Your stomach lurches. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-- "I... didn't want you to be offended?"

"Why would I be offended that you don't like asparagus?"

"Because you cooked it?"

He shakes his head. "Not how things work around here. If you don't like something, you don't have to eat it."

Your face feels like it's on fire and your palms are sweating and you kind of feel a little nauseous. But that might be the asparagus. "Right. Okay. Thanks."

Bobby goes back to loading the dishwasher, and the others are no longer paying attention, so you lower your forehead to the table, grateful that Buck moves your plate away before your head can meet your now unfinished vegetables.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because asparagus is a dumb thing to be worried about," He says, voice light and cheery.

"It was a valid concern," You mumble.

"Maybe in your head. But not quite in reality," He rubs your back consolingly a few times, though all the action does is rile you up more. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you're still sitting here and you actually can't see if the others are still looking and oh god maybe Bobby is upset because you're an adult, you should've known that and--

"I can physically feel how tense you just got."

Oh. Right. His hand is still on your back.

"Relax," He drags out the word, his voice low and deep, "No one is going to spontaneously hate you. I sure don't."

"You don't count."

"Mm, how come?"

You're glad your face is currently hidden by the table, because you flush when you mumble the next words.

"Cause you think I'm pretty."

"I do," He amends, "But I'm not sure that discounts my opinion. IF anything, it doubles it."

"That's not how that works."

"It's not?"

"No."

He leans in, his breath tickling your ear. "Prove me wrong, then."

--

Saturday approaches and your anxiety increases. Buck had in deed texted you the details -which did, actually, make you feel better, knowing a bit of what to expect and having it in writing.

When Saturday arrives and the clock inches closer to the time he said he'd pick you up, you start to question if any of this was a good idea.

Everything collapses when you have to pick an outfit. Nothing seems right- everything is either too much or not enough. You blink the tears out of your eyes because you spent too long on your makeup to ruin it, and Buck's gonna be here soon and you need to just pick something--

A knock sounds at your door and you gasp. Shit.

You rush to the front door, and wrench it open.

"Hi I'm so sorry I'm not ready yet- oh my god are those flowers?"

Buck takes the rush of words in stride, smiling and holding the bouquet out to you. "They are."

You take the flowers with reverence, the gentle, floral aroma soothing your senses.

"Are... you okay?"

You blink, not realizing that tears had begun to well up in your eyes again. "What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm a little... frazzled."

His gaze darts down. "Is that why you don't have pants on?"

You're almost one hundred percent sure you burst into flames right then and there. And if you don't, you seriously hope you do.

"Oh my god- don't look, I'll be right back, uh, please come inside and close the door!"

You race back into your room and shut the door, throwing on the closest pair of pants- which happen to be the fuzzy, old, candy heart-print pajama pants you took on three hours ago when you started getting ready.

You step back out, now sporting a wonderful outfit consisting of your black, rather nicely fitting going out top and fluffy pajama pants.

"I'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, sorry about the," You pause, swallowing your embarrassment, "Lack of pants."

He chuckles, laughing that nice little Buck laugh that settles your nerves a bit. "Hey, I wasn't complaining. I asked for the real you and this has all been very real."

Your never-ending flush revives itself as he speaks. "I"m really sorry, I'm usually more put together than this, I promise."

He takes a step toward you. "Remember why we're going on this date?"

A beat passes.

Buck takes another step. "To make you more comfortable with me. And the team, but mostly me."

You laugh a little, a nervous thing.

"But you don't seem very comfortable right now." His hands rise to the your waist, sliding down to your hips.

"Sorry," You say on instinct.

He huffs. "Still don't think you're getting the point of this. Okay, what was the big stressor of tonight, besides the actual date part?"

You look down at your feet. "My outfit."

"Well," He says, squeezing your waist and very clearly enjoying the little squeak you let out at the action, "Then why don't we sollve that by..."

Your heart siezes. Oh god, you're not ready to sleep with him, you haven't had your everything shower because it was only the first date and you didn't think--

"...Staying in tonight? I can order some takeout and we can watch a movie."

Oh.

"But your reservation--"

"Can be called and cancelled," He soothes. "I only want to do things you're comfortable with. That was the whole point of this date."

Later, after you both stuffed your faces with takeout graciously ordered by Buck, and both of you cuddled up on the couch (!) you let yourself speak.

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Sorry for freaking out earlier," You curl your arm around his bicep, face smashed into the side of it while you (pretend) to watch the movie. "Thanks for... this. And the flowers."

"You really like those flowers, huh?"

"Mhm. They're really pretty. No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"What? No way."

"Well. I haven't ever gotten flowers from a date or boyfriend," You stumble over the word boyfriend, "But like, you know. Graduations and stuff."

"Guess we're going to have to fix that, then."

"We are?"

He raises a brow. "You didn't think I was gonna stop at one date, did you?"

"Well it was kind of a mess."

He shrugs. "On one of my first dates, I choked on bread and my date at the time had to perform a tracheotomy with a ballpoint pen."

You gape at him. "Those are real?"

He traces a finger over the thin, silver scar on his throat. "Yep. So trust me, this date turned out fine. I actually uh,"

He flushes a little, a dusting of red on his cheeks. "I actually really enjoyed tonight."

You chew your lip, nervous and scared but all the sudden deciding that you're going to get over yourself and do something. No matter how small.

You stare at the end credits. "You wanna watch another movie?"

"Absolutely. More takeout?"

"I don't know how you can even think about eating more. But I do have popcorn in the pantry."

He presses a quick, soft little kiss to your cheek. "Perfect."

₊˚⊹♡

[carbonfiction]

First bloom

Summary: Frank has a moment of vulnerability as he gifts you flowers for the first time.

Happy valentines Besties!! <33

Warnings?: whole lotta fluff really. nothing much to add other than Frank giving reader flowers for the first time and being a little bashful about it. (M' a sucker for a big, gruff, kinda angry man being a sweetheart to the person he loves alright?) possible horrible writing- a girl be struggling..

Pretty obvious buuut with this im adding frankie to my 'will write for' list bc i am, at my very core and before most fixations i ever had, a frank castle girlie.. With that said my normal Logan stuff will remain!! but i thought I'd get this lil thing out while it feels good in my mind and before i make a million changes- writers block has got my ass again but asks are still open!

Masterlist. Words: 1.1k

Franks feet feel heavy in his boots, each step thudding on the concrete. The streets are quiet, winter air crisp and cool as he digs a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he goes. Keep one hand warm and the other? Well.. That one feels pretty cold and yet, strangely, a little clammy at the same time.

In Franks grasp rests a bunch of colourful flowers; lillies, roses, some little delicate buds he doesnt recall the name of for decoration. 'Oh those? Those are called Babys breath frank!' He hopes you'll tell him with a beam later.

The rose thorns prod at his palm, his grip on the bundle of stems tense, but he finds it doesn't hurt the longer he walks. They just.. Ground him slightly as he treads closer to home. Closer to you.

Theres a peace that settles within him in your presence, he finds; one that seems to dim the darkness that swirls in his heart. You ease the ache that so often sits inside him, Never erasing it, no one ever could but.. You lessen it. Always willing to take the weight from his broad shoulders, if only for a little.

And for that? Frank is greatful.

He knows he can be alot; his grumpiness piled almost as high as his baggage. But you dont ever seem to mind.

You embrace him on the days he needs it but cant find it in himself to ask and keep him at arms length when you see in his eyes that being loved feels stifling; its just how life is with him. Yet you do it all with that soft smile and gentle hand, the polar opposite to his rough lines and jagged edges. Keeping him sane on the days when he believes himself to be anything but.

The hand he dug into his pocket seems clammier now as he pulls out his set of keys, the lock clicking open moments later. Its just flowers castle, pull it together he thinks, stepping back into the warm embrace of your apartment. Given girls flowers before for christ sake.

"sweetheart?" he calls out, gruff voice booming through the hall.

You jump slightly at the sound, placing down the wooden spoon that you had been stirring the fragrant pot on the stove with. Voice calling back "in the kitchen!" with a significantly softer tone.

You wait with your body leaning against the counter, observing how the bulk of him rounds the corner. A large arm behind his back; still in his coat. A suspicious rustle of cellophane filling the kitchen as he shifts on his feet, but still you grin at the sight.

"Got everything you needed" he says, hand digging through his coat pocket with various clinks and russles. In his large hand he pulls out a collection of little packets and jars, placing them on the counter. refills of various spices, salts and even a little box of yeast pouches for bread making sit in a heap; things you were running low on earlier.

you beam that perfect smile at him, murmering softly as you step forward, leaning up on your toes to kiss his stubled cheek. "Perfect, thank you frankie"

He accepts the kiss with a soft hum, dipping his head for you to reach.

But still that arm remains behind his back. He almost hopes you dont notice.. But you do, he can tell.

"Uh Frank?.." you start a little cautiously with that same grin, however this time theres a little glint of confusion added as you step back just slightly. "What are you hiding?"

You stew in his silence for a moment, a crease wedging its way back between his brows. Handsome face suddenly filled with... trepidation?

"Frank.." you start again, a little more seriously as you step closer. By now you're fully expecting something bad; that someones been gunning for him again and hes hurt. That there must be blood soaking through his coat and thats why hes hiding.

But as quick as he paused, he sighs, broad shoulders falling just slightly. that same arm once hidden, now outstretched infront of you. The colourful bouquet at eye level as you take it in, a tiny gasp slipping past your lips.

"Frank castle did.." you begin, hand coming to join his on the delicate stems. Your voice is hushed and a little shakey as your eyes scan up and across his face. "Did you buy me flowers?"

His head moves in a little nod, chest puffing out just slightly as he releases his grip; completly surrendering both the flowers and himself.

"Yeah i, uh.." he gruffs, thinking outloud before he stops; practically looking everywhere but at you. The pot on the stove, the cups on the sink, even his boots. Its then he realises that he's almost afraid to see some semblance of rejection in your gaze; that he's missteped or you dont like them. That this sense of peace you wash over him is about to be swept away; wide eyes and incredulous tone not helping his state.

Frank takes another breath, steeling himself; his walls building back up, before he simply settles on a shake of his head and a huff. "Doesn't matter, 's stupid alright"

"No, no its not stupid." you rush out, remaining close as you eye the flowers in your hand and then him again. "They're beautiful frank.."

"Saw em and they reminded me of you so..." he coughs, a large hand scratching at the back of his neck. "thought I'd get em.."

Frank shifts on his feet, stance widening as you suddenly throwing yourself into his arms and grip him tightly; the Boquet landing on the counter seconds before your impact to his chest. You hold him like that for a few quiet moments before you lean back, resting on your tip toes as you cup a rough cheek.

"Thank you.." you whisper softly, honesty pure in your words. A little bashful grin across your lips as you lean up a little higher. "I love them, really. They're perfect"

Frank gazes down at you gently, a finger of his own brushing over your skin as he leans in, kissing you with such unspoken emotion it could knock you off your feet- if he wasnt already keeping you up.

"Yeah sweetheart? Really think they are all that?" he murmers, forehead against yours, the air of unease beginning to slip from your reaction. Enjoying the endearing heat of your gaze.

Your lips meet his in another tender kiss as you press the words against him; though they hold a hidden, deeper meaning. "Yeah Frank.. I really do"

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- light angst, explicit sex, oral ( f receiving) breed kink (it's me so lol) mating press, multi rounds, honestly cute, sweet and fucking emotional!!! WC - 10k

A/N- THE HAPPY END IS HERE! Sooo the beginning 4k words or so are VERY similar to the angst end, but don't skip them because I put a lot of little nuances and deviations! I hope you enjoy the happy ending and the complete end of this fic <3 I'd love to hear thoughts!!

<<<Part five (Sad end) - Playlist - Masterlist

Happy Ending (Sugu/Reader end!)

Suguru lifts you up into his arms, as tired students and sorcerers retreat tentatively, Suguru’s curses dissolve as if they weren’t there while all he can focus on is you, the guilt eating at his heart. Your unconscious body lolls in his arms as Suguru is speaking to his cult quickly, ordering them to stop and retreat for now, all while holding you so tightly against his chest.

Satoru waits for Suguru, staring at your face now, looking so oddly peaceful for what happened, he wanted to pick you up and bring you to Shoko, but Suguru had snatched you up so quickly he had no chance to. Suguru is carrying you around and murmuring his soft orders, not letting you leave his grip.

Satoru had a feeling this would happen, and he hates himself for knowing it and bringing you anyway, but you were okay with it - willing even - to save everyone, he admires it about a girl he hardly knows. To put yourself and a baby in danger to reach out to Suguru, it shows just who you are, it’s easy to see how much Suguru has fallen, when Satoru never thought Suguru never would feel that way again.

Suguru finally walks up, glaring at Satoru when he brushes back a lock of hair from your brow, itching to smack his hand off. “Don’t touch my wife.” Suguru’s words are husky, through his teeth, as Satoru’s blue eyes dart back to his, raising a white brow.

“You’ve really done such a great job taking care of her so far. Why don’t I carry her, I don’t trust you not to disappear, and Shoko is the only one I trust helping her.”

“Tch, you think I don’t even want to help her!?”

“Why? You left her.” Suguru snatches you up closer against his chest, violet eyes glaring now at Satoru, and you hang so limply he feels sick, like you’re just nothing in his arms, barely any signs of life aside from soft breaths.

“You won’t hold my wife in your fucking arms.” 

“Fine, then follow, now.”

Suguru never thought he’d listen to Satoru, but he does, following him now into Shoko’s medical set up, her brows raise as she sees Suguru for the first time in almost nine years, he notices how exhausted she is, all of the fun energy he remembers sapped away. He falters a moment, before carrying you inside, Satoru shuts the heavy door with an echoing bang.

“What’s happened?” Suguru delicately lays your unconscious frame, as Shoko sets to feeling your pulse.

“Energy blast from… one of my men.” Suguru gulps down it all, the fact that it’s even worse, that you were hurt by one of his by mistake.

He wants to kill that man right now.

But Satoru is fucking right - it’s all him.

“She’s pregnant.” Satoru mentions, as if it were so casual, and Suguru glares over at him. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes she is but it’s not your place to fucking say.” Satoru smiles just a bit, something about seeing his friend actually fucking caring about something for once, even if his ire is directed at him right now. Suguru looks at Shoko now, swallowing nervously as he speaks. “She is pregnant.”

Shoko sighs now, nodding and assessing you carefully. “Can’t be far along, she’s not showing.”

“Five weeks.” Suguru answers, quietly, as Shoko raises her hands now, and shuts her eyes, dark hair falling a bit over her shoulders.

“I can’t guarantee the baby will be okay, but I can save her.” Suguru’s heart shatters at her words, looking as the reverse curse technique starts working over you with the incandescent light.

“It’s all your fault. Why’d you fucking bring her here!?” Suguru walks up to Satoru now, smacking a hand as he brushes your hair a bit off your sleeping face, earning a glare behind white bandages.

“She asked to come.”

Suguru pauses. Are you that reckless?

“I told her no at first, but I thought she’d be the only thing to bring you to any of your fucking senses, have you stop killing my students, our friends.”

“I don’t have any fucking friends.”

Shoko scoffs, eyeing him with tired eyes now. “You did.”

“It’s not you all I wanted to eliminate, you simply chose to defend them, the weak,  pathetic…” He can’t say it anymore, what he called them, what he called you.

“Weren’t you the one who said it’s our job to protect the weak?” Satoru’s voice is quiet now, reminding him of just that, the time he felt that way, naive and young.

“You continue to lose all your comrades and friends, Satoru you may be the strongest but it’s not worth it - without them, there are no more curses.”

“It’s not your choice to change how the world is. You’ve gone so far, the only person I’ve ever seen you love since you… changed… is here.” Satoru’s words nearly make him fall over with the pain, the grief, looking at your still unconscious body, as Shoko focuses harder with her technique, the glow soft around you, hovering right over your tummy where a baby exists.

“Please just save her.” Suguru whispers now, and Satoru slips off his blindfold completely, blue eyes seeing right through him.

“You did this. If she doesn’t make it, it’s because of you.”

“I fucking know that!” Suguru shoves Satoru now, which merely earns a tired, sad little smile, while he grips his wrist before he lets Suguru strike him. “I know it, okay? I don’t even… fucking deserve her. I know it.” He’s close to tears as he shoves off Satoru, covering his face before he looks back at you.

It’s gone too far, god it’s all gone too far, hasn’t it?

How can he live with himself after what he’s done to you. He places a hand on yours, you don’t grip it how could you, limp and weak fingers, exhausted face growing just a little brighter. You’re exhausted from him, from the stress - god he left you in his bed, alone, naked and gleaming from your lovemaking.

Lovemaking, it was lovemaking.

You were his everything, and not once did he let you get treated or shown that way, what was just one time of worshipping your body when he didn’t worship or appreciate your soul? Your mind, your wishes, he barely knew you truly - he never gave you a chance to listen. Why couldn’t he just give you a chance, why couldn’t he be there for you!?

He hates himself.

He was going to kill them all, every single human for a better world, but to lose the only important thing to him, you, in a room with two people who loved him once, who cared for him once, and he never deserved any of it. Of your body, of your heart, didn’t deserve any kindness that you - rarely - bestowed upon him, your sweet pleas nor your desperate cries for more of him.

Now that he sees you, and it’s been a good twenty minutes, he’s pacing, his stomach sick and turning, his mind a tumultuous storm of moments where it all changed. Of moments where everything shifted, the life and family he thought he built all lost to a girl, who slapped him, who cursed him, who overtook his heart.

You.

“It’s not working.” He says after more time passes with no sign of anything from you in the quiet room, worried as Shoko sighs, shaking her head.

“I need more time with her, okay? Her body is already in a rough state.”

“What rough state!?”

“She has a weak will, and she needs to have some will to make it through this.” Suguru can’t stand to look then, turning away, his robes still dripping the blood of others, as the woman he loves is unconscious.

A weak will, because of him, he fucking knows it too- it’s all him that did this, that caused it, he wants to blame Satoru for putting you in danger, but it’s ultimately his fault. You begged him to stay despite having been forced into this, despite the horrible things he said and did to you, despite it all you still asked him. You still tried to break through, almost meeting your end.

You awaken suddenly as he contemplates it, with a startled gasp, sitting up, staring at an unfamiliar but pretty face of a woman in scrubs, a stethoscope around her neck. She smiles gently, you feel two men’s hands on you, Satoru’s holding one hand, Suguru the other, both staring up at you now.

“I’m sorry I put you in harm.” Satoru’s words are full of remorse, one of his blue eyes revealed is staring up at you, glimmering. “It was the only way but…”

“It’s okay. I chose to, it was the right thing.” He exhales in relief, as you look at Suguru now, torn between anger, relief and fear… and more, so much more brimming to the surface. “Suguru…”

“I ended the battle.” It’s all relief now, as you clutch him tightly, and all the love in your eyes makes him even more sick, how could you love him?

“It worked.” Your whisper makes him squeeze you so tightly you can’t breathe, before pulling back, glaring down at you.

“It was foolish, reckless-”

“You are not about to lecture her right now on being reckless.” Suguru scowls at Satoru’s words.

“Let’s talk while Shoko checks her out.” Suguru’s words are surprisingly soft, a way you’ve only heard a couple times, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Suguru…”

“Just a minute.” You nod, but something is tugging at your heart.

Satoru and Suguru walk to the other end of the enormous room, footsteps echoing while Shoko murmurs softly. “I’m Ieri.”

“Thank you for… saving me, Ieri.” Your own quiet name makes her smile a bit, as she looks at Satoru and Suguru. “They were your friends, weren’t they?”

“Hmm, I guess they were. Let me check this heart rate, okay?” You nod, eyeing the two quiet men, as your disoriented mind and sore body process what exactly had happened.

“I know you owe me no favors, Satoru… but can I ask for one?” Satoru frowns now, leaning against the wall, as you sit up with Shoko’s help and speak quietly.

“You stopped the attack, if you’re willing to give this up, I’ll do you any favor.” He says, making Suguru sigh.

He doesn’t deserve you.

He doesn’t deserve Satoru.

He deserves no happiness for what he’s done, the horror in your eyes, the fear of the unknown, the baby just barely growing that surely would not survive with him near you. You look at him across the room, with those sad, broken eyes - he’d never made you happy, not once - yet you truly tried. You begged him to fucking stay and what did he do, what did he cause?

“I am taking Mimiko and Nanako far away.” Satoru’s blue eyes widen now.

“And your wife, yes?

Suguru feels sick as he shakes his head. “No.”

“Suguru, are you fucking serious, what more does the girl have to do to be with you!? She almost died to save you, not just everyone.” Satoru’s voice is a hushed whisper, eyes narrowed.

“That’s just it, I’m no good for her, or the baby if it… makes it. Chances are with me and how devastated I make her, it won't.”

“Suguru, she will forgive you.” Satoru puts a hand on his former best friend’s shoulder, coated in blood, and Suguru doesn’t shove it off, he takes a breath instead, shaking his head.

“She will, and so will you, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her and I never did.”

“So become the man she needs, you’re not too-”

Suguru laughs harshly, taking Satoru’s hand off now, holding it for a moment, a million memories of their friendship falling as his hand falls. “Both of you make excuses, but I see what I did to her.”

“She’ll be okay, Shoko-”

“She’ll never be okay. Satoru, I have to ask you…” Satoru shakes his head again, and eyes you now.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking run, seriously!?” Suguru yanks him out of the room, out of your earshot now, Satoru crosses his arms, as the door echoes in the cold empty halls of the abandoned building they’d shielded Shoko in.

“Take care of her.” At Suguru’s broken words, tears feeling once cold eyes, Satoru falters, lips parting. “Take care of the baby if it… makes it.”

He glares, shoving at his old friend, who’s too down to not let him budge with the movement, forlorn look on his face. “You take care of them, become better.”

Suguru shakes his head. “I can’t face her. I can’t face what I’ve done, I need to go. Far, far away.”

“For how long!?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever come back. I know it’s a lot to ask - but I also know I can trust you to take care of her.” Satoru’s furious, not at the thought of taking care of you, but the fact that Suguru is running, that he still even now can’t accept love. “You will take care of her better than I could.”

“You think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. She chose to come here, can’t you give her a chance?” Suguru peers through the door window, the thick pane of glass, sighing and touching it longingly, while Shoko checks your vitals. “Your family is in that fucking room.”

“I know, fuck… but she has a chance to be happy, to have that baby - the way it’s going? She won’t even get to with me. Please, for the friendship we had, take care of her. The girl I love.” Satoru’s own emotions make his throat close, while Suguru realizes just how deeply he loves you, more than he even could admit. But he didn’t choose you, no matter how deeply you begged him to, no he left you alone in that bed.

He can’t forgive himself for it.

He is not sure he cares about any other casualties, he wishes he did care more for that - he still sees humans as pests, he does not share Satoru’s view and maybe never will. But you so clearly need him to, and he realizes he’s too far in his own hatred still, you were that exception, that bright spot. You were the one regret he now holds, and he knows he loves you enough to let you go.

“Please look after her for me, Satoru.”

“Jesus christ, Suguru.” He swipes a hand through his long white hair, looking at you in that room, sighing. “Of course I will take care of her and the baby. But it should not be me.”

“Thank you.” Suguru puts his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, and for a moment Satoru sees him - the best friend he ever had, making what he thinks is the best decision for a girl he loves. He loves and feels, still deep down, and something breaks Satoru down then. “I went too far.”

He scoffs at that, sighing. “Understatement of the century. I will not tell her goodbye for you, though. You need to at least explain your stupid decision.”

Satoru walks back into the room, looking down at you now, you’re weak but alive, and he still senses two energies with his powerful six eyes. He gently holds out his hands, and you take them, using his help to stand, shaky now. “Are you feeling okay, sweets?”

“I’m okay.” You nod a smile just a bit, turning to Shoko. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. We’ll… give you two a moment.” She reads the room clearly, Satoru and Shoko have known each other so long it really just takes a look.

You watch curiously as they walk out, and Suguru has tears in his violet eyes, something you never thought you’d see, they glimmer and illuminate, his face so serious and sullen it makes you panic. “Did they say the baby-”

“No, no, for now it all looks fine. Shh.” He pulls you against his strong chest, and you fall apart, sobbing now, shaking your head and shoving at him, hating the mix of comfort and sorrow this man brings. “I know,” he whispers, as if to soothe you, only for you to be infuriated, feeling anger hot coursing through your veins.

You pull back, furious, chest heaving with the quickness of your breaths, your own cheeks covered in your tears now. “You know!? You know? You left me. You chose this over me.”

“I did. And that’s why I’m no good for you.” His broken voice and tired gaze stall you, not after all of this would he not fucking choose you again!? Not after carving his place in your heart entirely does he get to leave!?

You pause now, gasping at his audacity, feeling him tense, emotionally pulling away from you again. “What the fuck are you on about right now?”

Instead of the usual arguments, the back and forth, Suguru is just contemplative, listening to you before he speaks. “It was selfish, so selfish not to let you run when you wanted to.” You’re shaking as he cups your face, thumb tracing your cheek, brushing aside the onslaught of tears, exhaling and leaning low.

“So you’re selfish, what’s new?” Your angry whisper just makes him ache for you, god is there one moment he doesn’t? Is there one second in any universe he thinks he will live without you - he wants to do the right thing now, to let you go, but how can he, when you’re so deeply ingrained inside his fucking soul?

The one bright spot that he almost took out completely clings to him, and why should you?

 “I almost killed you.” He whispers hoarsely, you shake your head now, scowl firm on your tired, beautiful features.

“You didn’t just almost kill me, you almost killed everyone in the fucking city! Suguru, I’m fine, this is not even what you should be worried about.”

“Tch, are you!?” His grip on your waist draws you closer, while your head falls back, and you stare into a monster’s eyes - a monster you love. “Are you fine? You almost died.”

“I chose to come here, you can’t blame Satoru when I begged him to bring me. I had to try to save them, those innocent people!”

“It worked.”

You sigh, shaking further, burying your face against his chest, he’s covered in sweat and grime and blood from the battle, but you don’t care. “Are you done with this foolish effort?”

“I’m done.” You look up in shock, cupping his face now, and he leans so low, until your breaths mingle, hand shaking as it holds you.

“Thank God. Oh Suguru, thank God.” You pull him down for a kiss, full of all the relief in your heart. You’ve saved him, everyone is okay - glimpses of hope and something beautiful fill you with a light you’ve never had. He kisses you back so deeply, exhaling against your lips, deepening it and pulling you so tightly, his hard body enveloping yours.

“I should have told you.” He whispers, pulling back, lips almost against yours, nose brushing against yours.

You gulp, throat dry, in so much fear of what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do, his voice terrifying you in its intensity. “Told me what?”

Suguru cups your face with one hand, heart pounding as he feels it, so deep in his soul, finally ready to spill those words. “I love you,” you gasp then, and his heart hammers nearly out of his chest as the declaration spills from his lips. “Fuck I love you, love when you hit me, love when you called me out, love the fire inside you.”

His declaration makes your heart shatter, you want to be happy, but you feel it - his apprehension, his fear, his love.

Loves you.

He loves you.

“Suguru…”

“I love you and don't deserve you.” His broken voice and tears infuriate you as much as they deeply touch you.

You glare now, trying to hold it together, when you feel like shattering. “Don’t you dare do this, don’t you run!”

“Baby, this is how I can show how much I love you.” He cups your face with two big hands and long fingers, you’re glaring through your tears, gripping his wrists.

“Don’t you dare.” You whisper, teeth clenched, you feel it then, you feel him pushing you away, when he’s just close enough. “I won’t forgive you ever.”

“Satoru will take care of you both, better than I could, he’ll be good to you-” The shock of his words hits you like a wave, like what knocked you to the fucking floor earlier, the dread in your stomach.

“What!? You’re shoving me off on your fucking friend?” You shove at his chest now, but he doesn’t budge, even as you smack at it, he doesn’t move, doesn’t let go of his grip. “If you love me you’ll run away with me, we can start over.”

The desperation in your voice tempts him to no end, god he’d love it, but he knows how much you’d suffer, always. “I am leaving, starting over.”

“Not with me?” Your hurt pours through every word, and Suguru wants to bring you, god he does, but he knows it so clearly - he could never make you happy, but he sees it - how Satoru looks at you. Maybe he could give you what you deserve, as much as he selfishly wants you, as badly as this hurts to do or say.

“You’ll be better off this way. You and the baby.”

“Bullshit, it’s such bullshit Suguru!”

“It’s the truth, I love you enough to finally do this.” He brushes your hair back tenderly, you smack his hand scowling up at him.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to abandon me after not choosing me - just to not choose me again!”

“It’s not that,” your sobs wrack your body, as he steps back, brushing back his tangled dark locks in frustration, the thick strands falling across his face as he watches the girl he loves shatter because of him, all over again. “I am choosing your happiness.”

“Why can’t it be with you?” Your broken whisper makes his heart break.

“How can I look you in those beautiful eyes and know what pain I caused, I can’t have you looking at the monster I am.”

“You’re my fucking monster, okay? Mine!” You shove him again, he just sighs, defeated. “I love you Suguru Geto. I do, despite it all, despite how completely fucked in the brain you were, I love you dammit. You can’t just leave me now, like I’m some damn pet you can’t take care of. I love-”

He’s slammed his lips again, desperate and hungry, and you fall into him, as his kisses grow more and more ardent, pulling back just to take a breath, hand slipping up your spine. The contact alone makes you shiver, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, so much emotion in this one kiss you wish it would last forever, fingers clinging to the silk of his robes.

“Suguru,” you pull back, tears falling against his fingers, breaths making your chest rise and fall, as you cling to his robes, the blood soaking against your skin, enveloping it in red. “You’re mine, you don’t get to leave me.”

He whispers your name then, his own tears falling, against your lips salty as he hovers over you, exhaling shakily. “I don’t deserve you though, you or this baby, not after what I did to you.”

“Then you’ll earn it, you’ll earn the right of me standing by your side. You’ll become better, I know it, fuck I do. There’s more to you.” Your foreheads touch, while he finally breaks down then, picking you up in his arms now, your lips are angry, hungry, tugging with your teeth as he nips you with his. Your tongues messy and desperate while you drink each others’ cries in, echoing in the quiet room.

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t…” His whispers break you, a broken man declaring them hot against your throat, as he breaks down for you, and you bury your face against his neck, letting him hold you up like it’s nothing, clinging to him then. Feeling every bit of your soul drawn to him, despite it all.

“I need you goddammit, you don’t get to leave me. Us. I’ll beat the fuck out of you if you try, it’s not even funny you psycho.” He exhales, easing you down then, you’re dizzy with desire, with need, thrumming through every inch of your skin, as he leans back, eyeing you under lashes dripping with tears.

“How can you love somebody like me?” His broken whisper destroys any resolve you have left, you know all he has done to you, you can only imagine what he has done to others, but deep down you know one thing to be true-

You do love him.

“I just do, there’s no reason for it, there’s no reason for any human emotion, Suguru Geto. We just feel.” Your tremulous smile, amidst everything he’s done breaks him down, bit by bit, as his heart pounds for you, as his body aches for you, thoughts of ‘what ifs’ flowing through his mind.

What if he did let Satoru care for you?

What if he just left you now?

What if you fell in love, what if you moved on, and were so happy, and got everything he ‘thinks’ you deserved, leaving him alone forever - because he knows damn well he will never want or be with anyone else ever again. What if he had let you go, and had not gotten to see you again, hold you again, kiss your lips? Have you under him, on him, have you?

He almost just did that, one choice and he was going to push you away, when all you wanted was to be let in. He takes a deep breath, an arm wrapped tight around you, bringing you firm against his chest. “I don’t know if I can learn to live with humans, aside from you. I don’t know if I can lose all this hatred.”

“Then we’ll go, we’ll go away. And we’ll try, every day. Okay?” He nods then, you exhale and kiss him once more, the kiss is so different than any before, deeper than either of you have had, while he drinks it in, the girl he doesn’t deserve, the life he’s not sure he should get to have, because you love him.

Does he deserve that love, finally?

“You deserve love.” Your words speak to the questions stirring in his soul, and for the first time in so long, Suguru is crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tries to pull it together, holding you in a bruising grip as he just cries then.

Suguru crying.

He has not felt emotions since long ago in Jujutsu high, when he watched his loved ones die, when he lost faith in everything he knew, something he thought died that day glimmers and breaks free. The girl in his arms that he treated horribly who for some odd reason loves him, then he knows - he can’t keep going like this, he has to give everything for you.

“I’ll try, Princess.” His soft tone breaks you down further, so upset in your wracking sobs he pulls back a bit, swiping them off your cheeks with one hand, the other bringing you against his chest. “Calm down, please… take a breath.”

“You really stress a girl the fuck out.” He chuckles a bit, earning a punch from your little balled up fist while you sniffle. “You don’t get to laugh about it.”

“I know, I know.” He brushes your hair back gently, studying a face of a girl that’s been hurt too much, too deeply, but the joy of hearing you say it all overwhelms his senses. He sighs again, tilting your chin up, studying your swollen lips carefully, a thumb brushing across the thin and bitten flesh. “You really want to be with me? I’m giving you an out.”

“I don’t want your ‘out’. I want you, the real you too, not this bullshit cult leader crap. I want the boy who Satoru has fought so hard to get back, I want the boy I met, he’s in there, okay?” He looks away then, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if he is in there.”

“He is, and you know it.”

He wants to believe you, but he finds he’s selfish for not leaving you in that moment, for instead picking you up gently in his arms, bridal style - remembering that first night with you. The first time he touched you, and he knew how deeply he felt, that he assumed you must have powers, but you did in fact have them, they were just different than anything he’d ever seen.

He speaks it then, softly. “You’re not just human.”

“Suguru you-”

“You’ve got a power.” You roll your eyes now, infuriated at the annoying man you chose to fall for.

Well you never chose to. You just did.

“You will not even act like you don’t love a human-”

“Power to bring me to my knees,” he continues, in a husky voice, and when he presses you more tightly to him, lips an inch from yours, the world fades, everything fades but this singular moment. “The power to make me give up anything, do anything for you. Kill anyone who hurts you, even if it’s myself.”

“Suguru-” He cuts you off again, kissing you as he cradles you so tightly, you feel his strength even as his body shakes with his emotions, with his regret, with his need.

“I’ll never hurt you again. I swear it. If I do, you get to twist that knife in my fucking chest.” You shake your head, but he just reiterates it, softly.

“I wouldn’t be able to.”

“You have all the power over me. You’re my everything.” You take the hand wrapped around you, placing it on your tummy, heating up as his violet gaze drifts down to it.

“We are your everything, Suguru. Of course, Mimiko and Nanako too. We can be… a family. If you’re willing.” He nods then, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead now. “Then let’s get them, and find… a home. A new home.”

He exhales against your skin, nodding as he carries you out, and Satoru Gojo is leaning against the wall, blindfold off for once, arms crossed casually when he smiles over at you. You tap Suguru’s shoulder and he glares at you. “You’re awfully friendly with him.”

“You’re acting jealous like you weren’t gonna pawn me off on him. Let me down.” You glare up at him and he sighs, easing you down, Satoru’s lips quirk up at the corners, easing off the wall and walking over to you now, tilting your chin up. His eyes bore into you, gleaming with his own emotions.

“Are you alright? You okay to walk?” He asks softly, you nod then, reaching over to wrap your arms around his waist. He falters for a moment, as you feel Suguru’s death glare, holding you back then, hand resting at the small of your back, warm over your silk kimono. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but cry against his chest, and Suguru looks away then, stepping back for a moment. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“No, it was shitty okay? I knew the risk and-”

“No. Thank you, Satoru.” You look up, and his heart hurts when he sees your tears, as his friend avoids even looking at the two of you. “It was the right thing to do, and don’t you dare feel bad.”

He sighs in relief, hugging you again, lips pressed against your ear as he bends down. “You brought my friend back, I should be thanking you.”

You cry more, body shaking and so small in the strong sorcerers hold, as Suguru clears his throat. “You all are a little too close.”

“I can still take care of her if-”

“No!? I mean, no.” Suguru rubs the back of his neck, frowning as he wants to rip his best friend’s arms off. “I was… being…”

“Stupid?” Satoru and you finish, and Suguru crosses his arms now, glaring at the two of you.

“It wouldn’t have been the right decision, especially how you’re pawing at her. Let her go.” Suguru yanks you away, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes, a sound Suguru never really heard from you, breathless, your soft smile lighting up a tragically beautiful face, one he’s kept upset.

“You’re jealous?” You ask, and he scoffs, glaring, while Satoru does not remove his hand, smirking over at him.

“You two are just too close is all. Conspiring this whole time?”

“Maybe so.” You look back to Satoru, smiling again. “We’re going away for a while, but… we’ll be back one day. Won’t we, Suguru?” You hold out a hand now, and he nods stiffly, Satoru sees it then, the love he so clearly has right on his face for you, and the love you have for him, as your hands entwine.

“We will be.” He gruffly repeats, and the three of you stand there for a moment, each hand is held by the two men as they glance at each other, wondering if it’s still there - the deep friendship, and fuck you truly hope it is. Suguru didn’t just need you, he needed him too, and you hope one day your psycho husband can work on his very shitty communication and open up.

“We would’ve had fun together, sweets.” Gojo teases one more time, before Suguru has you yanked up against him, scowling deeper at Satoru, while you giggle, against Suguru’s hard chest, resting your head for a moment.

“You think it would’ve been fun, him pawning me off huh?” You tease back, and are landed right back in Suguru’s arms, while he and Satoru walk out side by side, and sleep starts to tug at your body, still drained from the hit.

“Of course we would have, you wouldn’t have even missed him.” Gojo winks and you giggle, and you’re pretty sure Suguru is about to lose his mind, walking out then to see the wreckage, it takes your breath for a moment, Suguru’s shoulders slump as he takes in the chaos and destruction.

“Hey, we’ll do better than this.” You say softly, caressing his face, a thumb brushing over a sharp cheekbone. He nods then, sighing and shutting his eyes, as if he can’t take it all in.

“Satoru, thank you for… helping save her.” Satoru blinks in surprise - a thank you is nothing he thought he’d get. “I guess we may cross paths again.”

“I guess we might.” Satoru smiles at you both a little sadly, as if he’d gotten his friend back and he’s going away again, but also it’s a peaceful look, for the moment things are safe for Satoru’s students and friends. For a moment there is peace in his heart as he looks at the two of you. “You’ll have a baby by then.”

“Yes we will.” Suguru murmurs, nodding to him a bit.

“Name it Satoru-”

“No.”

Satoru pouts then, shaking his head. “You know, so ungrateful. I’m out of here, bye sweets.” He winks at you again and throws two fingers up with a grin, disappearing without a trace. You giggle at it, and Suguru keeps glaring daggers.

“You like him far too much.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“We just connect because we both love an emo bitch.”

“An emo… when you’re better, I’m beating the fucking attitude out of you.” Your tummy flips, and you bury your face again in his neck.

“You can’t even do instant transmission like Gojo, huh?”

“Instant… that’s an anime!? I have a dragon, that’s much fucking cooler than Gojo’s shit, hmm?” You just smile against his neck, knowing then, this is him. This is Suguru Geto, the man you lived to see glimpses of. As he’s summoning these giant curses, his rainbow dragon, sitting you right on there and smiling, eyes crinkling and making you melt.

You gasp as you all take off - it’s as if you are some Princess, with a psycho cult leader who loves you, as he pulls you against him, head against his chest while he tenderly brushes your hair back. The exhaustion starts hitting, the fact that you almost lost him, lost everything that you suddenly realize is so important to you, while he inhales the scent of your hair and you fly up.

“Dragons are pretty cool.” You concede softly, earning his chuckle, lips tenderly brushing against your temple.

“I’m sorry I left you last night, I’m so sorry.” You look up sleepily, fuck you’re exhausted, trying to focus on him now.

“I forgive you, Suguru.”

“Should you?” His whisper is soft when you lay back against him again, arms wrapped around his waist.

“Probably not, but I do. I just… want you to never leave me. Promise, please.” You whisper against where his chest is bare, the wind gently rushing across your faces, while he holds you nestled in his arms.

“I promise, Princess. I will never leave you again.”

*****

One year later

You hold your sweet baby Noa against your chest as Suguru puts Mimiko and Nanako to bed, they’re giggling and kissing all over her as they always love to do, but Suguru gently chides them. “Girls, you know it’s well past bedtime.”

“We can help mom with Noa though!” Mimiko crosses her arms, and you smile at her, brushing her hair back.

“I appreciate all your help, but Noa is going to sleep too.” You peek at her precious face, she looks a lot like you but has Suguru’s silky black locks already, too much hair for a little baby to have. And her eyes have the darkest lashes, just like her father, who ruffles both of the girls’ hair now, chuckling.

“Boba tomorrow from your favorite place if you don’t argue.” His sing-song voice works.

“Fine dad.” They say simultaneously, and then the girls kiss you all before finally bouncing off to their rooms, leaving you and Suguru to head toward the nursery, his arm around your waist as your bare feet pad across the floor.

“You always bribe those girls, you know.” He chuckles once more, a sound that’s much more frequent these days, opening up the door for you now, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, illuminating the pretty room, all decorated in pretty pinks and purple by the girls before Noa came.

“I mean, are you arguing the efficiency of these tactics?” Suguru teases, having gone from war tactics to bribery for time alone with you was something quite new to him, but it fit well. Everything felt…

Perfect with you.

With the girls.

With his sweet baby girl, who is already fast asleep against your chest, her pretty face serene as you brush a thumb against a chubby cheek, smiling tenderly, the moon casting shadows across your beautiful face. It fills him with so much tenderness it’s hard to even explain, the way you fit so perfectly, knowing you were the missing piece, filling the void he let grow too long.

Your love for Noa was beautiful to see, of course Suguru adores his little girl, but you were so devoted and constant, also in your love to his girls. Since you met them you were kind, but once you all left and moved out of the country and spent more time, you were fiercely protective and loving of them like they were your own, and the girls had even started calling you mom.

Everything felt too good, and sometimes Suguru wonders if he deserves any of it, any of this happiness, love or joy that you brought him. You look up at him then, a sweet smile on your face, and he walks up to the pretty little white bassinet, brushing Noa’s downy hair back and smiling.

“She looks milk drunk again.” He teases, you shush him, a finger to the lips, a smile on your face.

“She might be, but you know…” your fingertips drift down his chest, over the silk of his robes, making his stomach clench hot with desire. He's been dying to have you, but you two were waiting until you healed up after a bit of a rough labor. The look you give him now makes him ache for you. “I’m feeling very good tonight. I think I pumped enough to have a glass of wine?”

“Fuck…” You cover your giggle and he sighs, hands clenching against your waist too tightly, before releasing you with an exhale. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He exhales and takes your hand, gently tugging you so that you both shut the door quietly of Noa’s room, pressing you against the wall now, arms on either side of your head.

“You’re so excited for wine, Suguru.” You whisper, and you know you fuck with him, he knows you’re aware of the affect you have on him, when you look at him like that under your lidded gaze. “You haven’t gone without drinking, why are you so excited?”

“I’ve gone without drinking alright…” His insinuation makes your cheeks heat up, a blush in the dark, quiet hallway. Although Suguru did have a maids, a cook and a nanny to help you, the home was far quieter than it was with a whole fucking cult living in it. It was much more intimate, private, even though it was hard for you both to get time together alone.

A lot of times, you were exhausted, but you’re wide awake now. All you can do is think about how badly you want him, the most you all have done is months was him toying your clit till you came, and you sucking him down your throat last week when you two had woken up.

He’d been ready to ‘drink you’ last night when the baby started crying, and he’d waited for you to come back only to find you crashed in the rocking chair with Noa. He’d almost had that damn taste on his tongue, but he knows how devoted you are, and fuck he was too, but if he didn’t get to fuck her soon, he was going to lose his fucking mind. 

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, his hair falling softly against your skin as he leans down, eyeing your lips. “What wine do you want, Princess?” He asks, at your command, fuck Suguru is practically ready to kiss your feet if you just let him sink inside you again.

The entire pregnancy until right about the end he’d not left you alone, you were too beautiful, your tits leaking milk, your hips widening to have his baby, the roundness of your tummy, every single mark the baby left. He couldn’t stop devouring you the entirety of it, couldn’t control how sexy you were pregnant, and you’re so beautiful now.

“Some red wine, Sugu. Please.” The nickname always destroys him, he almost falters and just fucks you right in this hallway, instead trying to hold himself together and nodding, gesturing for you to follow.

You both walk slowly to the kitchens, where he opens up one of the wine fridges, and pulls out a bottle of your favorite, one you have had one sip on right after the baby as a little treat. Your cute little squeal of excitement makes him laugh in amusement, pouring you a glass as you watch the dark red liquid swirl.

“Don’t drink too much, you’re gonna be so wasted from like two sips.”

“Will not be! Gimme.” You snatch it up, fingers brushing against his, igniting sparks through the both of you, your eyes meeting his, dark violet in the dimly lit kitchens, he doesn’t let go until you pull back, taking a shaky breath. “Mmm!”

“Yummy?” He pours his own glass, eyeing you over it, the look filling your tummy with more heat than the wine pouring down your throat could, warming you all over.

“So yummy.” You step closer, sipping the sweet liquid, some of it slipping across your lips, and he groans.

“Fuck this.” He sets your glass down and you gasp.

“Excuse me, rude! I can’t have a glass after having your baby?”

“You can have a whole fucking bottle later.” You’re lifted right on the counter, making you so dizzy at how quickly he’s got you lifted, letting out a shaky breath when he slides up the silk of your yukata, watching goosebumps rise against your skin with every inch revealed. “I think I need a drink first.”

“Sugu- ah!” He’s bent down as you’re spread wide on the kitchen counter, kissing a hot messy trail up your thighs, cock throbbing under his robes, already leaking precum just inhaling the scent of your cunt. Your head falls back, revealing your pretty throat as you cry out, arching your hips. “F-fuck…”

“Gonna cum from my breath, huh? Pathetic.” You scowl now, kicking at him with your foot, but he just catches it, smirking up at you as he leans up, his lips a breath against yours, fingers brushing over your bare cunt, and groaning. “No panties, were you wanting this?”

“Of course I w-was, you think I wanted wine?” He moans, slamming his lips against yours, fingers running up and down your slit, your clit twitches when he focuses there, running in circles and making you close just from that. You cling to his silk robes, soft and thick under your fingers, while his tongue starts trailing across your neck, tickling and making you wetter.

“I can’t wait to fuck this perfect cunt again, make you remember that she’s fucking mine.” He’s back down between your thighs as your head rests against the cabinets, uncomfortable as the marble counter is cold under your ass, but all you can think is more.

“Show me then.” He moans softly, on his knees now, so fucking tall he’s counter height to your cunt, and your hands enwrap in his soft raven locks when he presses a hot kiss right against your cunt, watching as you jerk, breathing against you.

“Keep it quiet, slutty little princess, huh?” You nod weakly, fuck it’s been so long since he’s spoken to you like that, since he’s worshipped you like this, and you don’t think you can ever got this long again, not when his tongue laps at your honeyed arousal, making you scream out against your palm. “Fuck… taste your cunt, god she’s so wet f’me, huh?”

“Yes…” You weakly whisper, pulling your hand back just to slam it on your mouth again, the manor you live in is huge but you still don’t want to be that noisy, though it’s damn near impossible as his long tongue slides inside your gummy walls, curling up and making you almost cum from that. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Mnh…” He’s lost then, lost in your taste, in the way your cunt drools down his face, hot and sweet as he drinks it all in, slurping you up while you shatter for him, falling apart with every flick and swirl of his tongue. Your legs start to tremble and he grabs them, spreading them wider, and you can feel your orgasm building up, his teeth nibbling on your clit as you try to keep quiet.

“G-going to cum!” You whisper, but it’s too late, your cunt clenched around his tongue, walls quivering while he curls it up, his nose now hitting your clit, and you let out a muffled scream, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum. “Suguru!”

“That’s it,” he’s sliding his tongue out, sticking two fingers instead, you gasp at the thick, long digits in your cunt, untouched for months, the stretch making you hiss. Your hips are bucking against the counter while he looks up under dark lashes, licking your cunt off his lips. “Another, you can, can’t you princess?”

You nod weakly, and he’s curling those fingertips up against your spongy spot, making you blinded, back down there lapping at your clit and feeling you tighten all around him, that pressure a telltale sign that you’re gonna cum so much for him. “Ah!” You cry out again, biting your lower lip so hard while your head slams the cabinet and you gush down him, orgasm rocking you in waves. “Sugu, too much!”

“You can take more, won’t you be a perfect slut for me? You know you wanna cum again and again. Wanna drown me with all that cum, huh?” His words and their tone fuck you up almost as much as his breath on your clit, while he holds you there, his tongue flicking until your legs finally stop shaking and you collapse, breathing weakly, hands tugging at his hair, burning his scalp.

“Please, fuck me Sugu. God, I need it in me.” Your plea is not going to be denied, not when Suguru almost came from just licking you. He kisses you again, letting you taste your sweetness off his mouth, burying his hands in your hair before picking you up, and you cling to his neck, legs wrapped around him.

“You want it in you, huh?” You just nod weakly, letting him carry you to the room you two share, in moments he has the yukata untied.

“Want it, want it in me so bad- ngh!” Suguru has bared your skin to his gaze, your body swathed in moonlight, for a moment you cover up just a bit, your tummy isn’t the same, and he’s not seen you too much since, earning his glare, as he grips your wrists and eases your arms down.

“You’re as beautiful as the first moment I saw you, so beautiful you made me question if you had some fucking power over me.” He says softly then, easing your worry, a hand brushing over a glimmery mark from Noa, slipping over to your hip and gripping it firmly, watching you tremble in pleasure. “The most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, got it?”

You nod weakly, swallowing emotions as you quickly untie his robes, revealing his toned, perfect body, your hands shake as they touch his chest, feeling his strong muscles under your fingers. “You’re beautiful, too.”

“Shh.” He picks you up now, cock hard and heavy, already leaking precum when he picks you up, lifting your thigh as you sink into the bed, over the dark purple and gold silk covers, the black canopy enveloping the two of you in darkness. The incense lit earlier still linger in the air, mixing with the scent of Suguru, which makes you need him even more.

“Please, please…” You never beg, he wants to smirk down at you and gloat his victory, but he can't. All he can do is slide his tip right on your slit, groaning as he presses in, feeling your heat wrapping his cock.

“Fucking feel you, so tight, god. Slutty cunt is soaked, all for me?” You nod weakly, and then he thrusts his cock all the way inside to the fucking hilt, and you can’t bite back your scream, thankful the room is so far from the girls now, as he watches you and moans, sliding out and back in. “That’s it, she wants it so much, she’s so fucking greedy huh?”

“Shut up and f-fuck me- ah!” Suguru glares as he does just that, and you would smile at getting him all mad if you weren’t close to cumming from being so full, so stretched by his thick veiny cock.

“Talking shit? You’re still such a brat, tsk.” He’s raised your thighs then, bending you in a way you don’t think you can anymore, pausing when you whine out. “Here okay?” He asks softly, for a moment, then when you nod his sweetness is over, and Suguru Geto is fucking you hard, sure strokes that fuck your brain up until it can’t even function.

He knows it too, as he fucks into you, watching you shatter for him, balls slapping against your ass so heavy, so full of his seed ready to pump inside your eager hole, and you’re begging to be filled by him as he moves. Harder and harder, pressing your thighs further against you until he’s got you in a mating press, and you’re clinging to his biceps, nails digging in.

“That’s it, cum again, let me fucking feel you milk me, huh?” He’s nasty like this, filthy words flowing from his lips like poetry, and all you can do is nod - a girl who once said ‘fuck you’ is now saying-

“Fuck me, fuck me, please, yes!”

And Suguru delights in it, making his pretty wife a mess under him, feeling the hips that are wider from having his babies, seeing your breasts squish, a little milk leaking from them, and then he loses it. “Perfect cunt, she’s ready for all this cum, isn’t she?”

“Mnnnhh - ah! Suguru!” You’re unable to answer when he’s holding your thighs up and slamming his cock until you’re drooling, incoherent.

“Asked you - hah - a question, princess,” he has the audacity to say, in between heavy breaths, all you can do is cry out, as he holds back then, just when you’re about to cum, making you whine out. “Answer.”

“You’re such a - ah! - dick I swear, just lemme cum!” You’re digging your nails in his back so hard you leave marks, and he hisses, but you just turn him on more, making him fuck into you brutally now, pinning you under him so you can’t even squirm.

“Answer me.”

“No!”

“Now.”

“Fuck- ngh! Yes, yes, lemme cum, fuck!” He slams his cock deep and rolls his hips now, letting you finally cum all around him, milking his cock with your greedy cunt, he leans down and kisses you, swallowing your every sweet cry.

“That’s it, she wants all that cum, huh?” You nod weakly, tears of pleasure sneaking from the corners of your eyes, and then he pumps you full, moaning and entwining his hands with yours as the cum pulses so deep, and the two of you struggle to catch your breath. “Fuck, princess, taking me so good, huh? Made for me…”

“Mmhmm…” You’re breathless and exhausted when Suguru pulls back, kissing down and across your chest. The two of you lay there for a while each recovering, laughing, and tickling each other’s skin with gentle touches, grinning.

It’s so perfect here with him in this moment. All of the pain feels like a lifetime ago, not forgotten, but long, long forgiven.

“I’m never going this long without your perfect cunt again.” He touches your clit, making you jerk, laughing as he sucks your cum and his off his finger, moaning and kissing you again.

“I don’t wanna go that long either.” You sigh, kissing up his cheek now. “You know, I was thinking…” you trail off, slipping kisses across Suguru’s sweat slicked chest, he moans, his cock so sticky with cum pulsing again just at that, while his hand runs up and down your back.

“Should I fuck you again, so you can’t think?” He raises an arrogant dark brow, and you narrow your eyes, making him chuckle. “What?

“Well… I was thinking we should visit him.”

“VIsit who? Fuck…” You kiss at the base of his neck, making him tug you onto him, straddling his waist, cunt still coated and dripping his white milky liquid pouring down his dark happy trail, pooling in his flat belly button. He rubs your clit again, watching your eyes dilate, your hips shift. “God, look at the mess you’re making.”

“Mmhmm, but I mean visit Satoru.” Suguru’s scowl makes you giggle, he’s unreasonably jealous that you and Satoru stayed friends. It’s occasional calls, but he’s always mad as fuck afterward.

“Why are we bringing up Satoru when you’re dripping cum on me?” He slips you down, grabbing your hips now, thumbs pressing against the lines that Noa left, eyes feasting on your pretty body. “Look at you, fuck you’re perfect.”

“Am not even.”

“You are so perfect. C’mere.” He yanks you down now, your hair falling across his chest, as he cups your face with one hand, the other making you grind on him. You cry out at the contact, earning his smirk. “Shut you up.”

“N-no! I think it would be good f-for you- you’re distracting me!?”

“Sure am.” You pull up and scowl, so adorable he melts like he always does, sighing as he stares up at you in the dark night. “Fine, we can visit him.”

“Yay! It’ll be good for you, your friend seeing you again. I know it.”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll talk about that after I put another baby inside you.” You gasp then, when he’s lifted you, dragging you right back down his length, filling you in one quick stroke, making you scream out, shaking as the burn hits, feeling so fucking good when he bottoms out in your cunt, loud, wet and messy. He bites that lower lip, lashes lowering, while you struggle to breathe.

“You use your cock to distract me, huh?” He answers with a smirk, slamming his cock up inside you then, you cling to his chest, while his hands drift you your hips, and your cunt is spasming. “No more babies yet.”

“Sure, Princess, whatever you say.” You both glare at each other, before they turn into faces of pleasure, before joking little teases morph into cries and moans, before he’s filled you up again, and again, until you’re collapsed against him, so weak and worn out.

You don’t believe him one bit when he’s waking you up and fucking into you, cumming inside you so much your tummy is full of him, not when he grips your chin with that feral look in his fucking eyes - no, Suguru Geto does want more babies, and you can’t say you mind. Not when having his baby was the best thing that happened, and not when you aren’t dying to give him more.

“I love you, Princess.” He murmurs, stroking you from behind, you gasp and arch your back, whining into his kisses.

“I love you, Suguru.” And you fall again, into the arms of a man that once was a monster, but now was simply…

Your Suguru.

Ahhh so if you read both ends, I hope you enjoyedd, if you only read this I also hope you enjoyed. I initially only planned the bittersweet end, but I enjoyed writing this SO MUCH. Thanks for everyone who stuck around and commented and shared your thoughts on this story. See you in the othersss <3

taglist 1 - @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @satorusaysiloveyou @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx @curlyhairkk @7thsthings @ziggy0stardust @slutlight2ndver

[wendichester]

Can I request cute Dean fluff of him realising he’s in love with you when you take care or save Sam from something bc we all know that man would know he’s found the one when she cares just as much for Sam as he does

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ 🩹｡˚ aftercare,

summary. taking care of sam is also taking care of dean ‹𝟹

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 782

notes. the softest boy sigh

You’re kneeling next to Sam, your hands moving quickly as you press a clean rag against the gash on his arm. The hunt had gone sideways—too many moving parts, too many variables—but you’d managed to keep it from going completely off the rails. Now, the three of you are holed up in a shabby motel room, the faint smell of antiseptic mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Dean stands a few feet away, his hands gripping the back of a chair, watching as you work. He should be helping, should be doing something, but all he can do is stare. There’s a look of determination on your face, tempered by the kind of gentle care that makes his chest ache.

“Hold still, Sam,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm. “I know it hurts, but this needs to be cleaned.”

Sam winces but doesn’t argue. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because you’re bleeding all over my jeans.”

Sam chuckles weakly, the sound turning into a hiss of pain as you dab at the wound. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad.”

Dean’s lips twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy trying to process the strange, overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you take care of someone before—you’ve patched him up more times than he can count—but this feels different. Watching you with Sam, seeing the way you’re willing to get your hands dirty to keep his brother safe... it does something to him.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” you say, your tone matter-of-fact as you reach for the first aid kit. “Dean, can you grab me the thread and needle?”

He snaps out of his daze, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He rummages through the kit, pulling out the supplies and handing them to you. His fingers brush yours, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

You don’t notice—or maybe you do, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on threading the needle, your hands steady despite the tension in the room. “This is gonna sting,” you warn Sam, your voice gentle.

“Just do it,” Sam mutters, bracing himself.

Dean watches as you work, your movements precise but careful. You talk to Sam the whole time, distracting him with small jokes and reassurances, and Dean can see the way his brother relaxes under your touch. It’s like you’ve got this magic about you, this ability to make even the worst situations feel manageable.

When you finally finish, tying off the last stitch, you sit back on your heels and let out a sigh. “There. You’re all patched up. Try not to rip it open again, okay?”

Sam gives you a small smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all that.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I did. What kind of person would I be if I let you bleed out in a crappy motel room?”

Dean’s heart stumbles in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone cared about Sam like that—someone who wasn’t him. And it’s not just the act of taking care of him; it’s the way you do it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like Sam’s life is just as important to you as it is to him.

You stand up, brushing off your hands, and glance at Dean. “He’ll be fine, but he needs rest. And food. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since this morning?”

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “Uh... no. Not really.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, I’ll order something. You two sit tight.”

As you step into the adjoining room to make the call, Dean looks over at Sam. His brother’s eyes are already closing, exhaustion pulling him under, but there’s a faint smile on his face.

When you come back, carrying your phone and rattling off a list of takeout options, Dean feels it hit him like a freight train. This is it. This is love. It’s not just about how he feels when you’re around—it’s about how you make everything better. How you make him better. How you’d do anything for Sam, the way he would.

You catch him staring and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean shakes his head, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “Nothing,” he says, his voice warm. “Just... thanks. For everything.”

Your expression softens, and you give him a small smile in return. “Always.”

Dean watches you for a moment longer, the realization settling deep in his bones. He’s in love with you. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t think he ever stood a chance.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

[crimsonbubble]

Cod men being absolute munches please ❤️❤️

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, oral, overstimulation, panty stealing (dont ask pls im depraved), beard burn, scent kink of some sort *not proofread, just pure horny

[BRB LOSING IT RN]

kinktober masterlist

MINORS DNI!!

ghost is messy and kinda pervy. like he'll keep his mask on when he tells you to sit on his face type messy. will not take the mask off until you've soaked through it but you can feel his tongue push against the rough fabric as he bumps it against your clit. he has definitely used the soaked mask as fap material when he's away from you. though he's not opposed to stealing your panties if his masks aren't available to him.

if ghost was messy, then soap is sloppy. he's doped out on your taste and scent. he just wants all his senses to be you. loves to squeeze your hips while your push his face closer against your pretty cunt. once he starts, he won't stop. he just thinks you always have too much on your mind, so he's doing you a favour and making him the only thing on your mind. also, you just look extra pretty when you're tearing up sensitivity. loves how you can't tell if you want to pull him closer or push him away.

price is so so attentive. he's peering up at you as he sucks your pretty clit into his mouth. makes your thighs clench around his head just because he loves seeing how easily your body reacts to him. also loves to hear you complain that your skin is raw and sensitive but then again it is unbelievably hot to see your captain's beard dripping in your arousal.

gaz loves to have you sit on his face. literally smother him, it's what he wants. heavily encourages you to ride his face as you please. grabs your ass like he's getting paid to do so. can not and will not keep his hands off you. if you offer to suck him off, good god he'd make sure to give you the most mind blowing, toe curling, gut wrenching orgasm ever.

alejandro loves control, but he's always willing to sacrifice it for you. he'll let you take the reigns; want to sit on his face? he'll happily lie down for you. want to have him on his kness? he's already there. while his mouth is busy working on your sticky cunt, his hands are roaming all over you. it's like he's trying to commit the curves and slopes of your body to memory.

rudy is a certified lover boy. literal hearts in his eyes when he's needy for you. wants, no needs you to sit on his face. he just wants to feel your thighs on him. holds your hips down on his face so he can tongue fuck you and bump his nose into your clit.

horangi downright abuses your sweet little clit. he can't help it, you make the sweetest noises when he overstims you. he'll pin your hips down on the bed so he can trace his name on your clit with his tongue. loves to hold eye contact with you when he goes down on you. def the type to stop when you close your eyes or look away.

konig forces you to put your weight down on him. don't just hover on him. sit on him. full weight. doesn't matter if he can breathe or not. though he prefers to situate himself between your thighs with his hood on, so you can't see what he's gonna do. once you cum on his face, he isn't letting you go until you do it again. forces your body to move along his face so he can continue to please you.

keegan finds it more amusing to just pull his mask up over his nose to eat you out. simply bc he can't be bothered to take it off completely. he's a clit kisser. and he makes out with your pussy too. sitting in his office chair while he's kneeling under his desk so he can eat you out. loves to finger you while he kisses and licks your clit.

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[chrollohearttags]

silk dreams, satin fantasies • e. jaeger

it’s your roommate’s special day and he’s requested only one gift: to unwrap his favorite ‘present’ as many times as he desires and you look forward to granting every last one of his wishes

📝: black fem!reader, roommate!eren, more free use + pure, utter filth (PWOP bc I don’t have the time tbh), breeding, lots of dirty talk, face fucking, squirting, bondage, pet play themes, collar + leash, heavy sub/dom, rough sex, spit play, so many themes, I’d be here all day

wc: 2.2K

🎙️: idk when (or if) y’all will see this but happiest of birthdays to my fav crash out and the only aries man I’ll ever love. my (second BD) eren! I miss writing regularly, specifically for him and feel like I’m losing my touch (school has truly defeated me) but I hope y’all enjoy it nonetheless.

═✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°

March 30th. A date that seemed synonymous with being a holiday…it was certainly a joyous occasion for one man. Who’d not only get to celebrate another orbit around the sun and the privilege of getting to see another year, but who would do so alongside someone he cherished dearly. 24 full hours filled with nothing but things that would bring him immense happiness and nothing would elicit that quite like having you around to help him enjoy his birthday..in more ways than one!..

“Mmmmph!—oh fuck…’m so deep in your fucking throat, baby and you’re not even gagging. What the hell..

a deep, groggy tone and nasally whimpers filled the desolate bedroom. An area that once was only utilized for sleeping because the right girl hadn’t come along in some time was now the platform for all of Eren’s filthy, depraved inner thoughts. All of which he planned to enact with (y/n), his pretty little roommate throughout the course and duration of the day. You were the most ideal gift a man could ask for..that cunt twitching at the sound of his praise and that puckering asshole suctioned around the metal plug stuffed inside of it. Courtesy of him coming into your room earlier this morning and shoving it in. Along with the first of many loads of warm seed he had poured inside of you today. It was something he did very often..sneaking into your bed to have his way with you as you remained in blissfully unaware slumber. There were times that you’d wake up to the sensation of his cum spilling out of you or wetness splattering your thighs because he’d fingered you in your sleep and those juices subconsciously spilled out. It seemed rather creepy and odd to do such a thing but you absolutely loved it! That much apparent by all of the salacious posts on your accounts all but begging him to.

hence why you were seated on your knees, thighs clenched together to avoid pathetically rutting yourself against his shoe and those big brown doe eyes fixated up at him. (Y/N) had been sporting a pink silk apron with not a single article of clothing underneath with the exception of thigh high socks; the color meshing beautifully with that decadent brown skin..luscious as ever. Long black hair flowing across your shoulders with a bang cascading over your forehead. Around your throat was a pink collar with a thin iridescent chain that was currently clenched around his tattooed knuckles to maneuver you as he saw fit. Satin lined ties binding your wrists in front of you so that he maintained full control. Looking so innocuous yet your head was filled with tons of equally disgusting thoughts. It was a fantasy he’d often dreamt about; watching a beautiful girl be domesticated just for him. Willing to cater to his every whim while looking absolutely stunning doing so. It was his birthday after all and you wanted to make it as special as possible. He did for you on the regular so it was only natural you return the favor. Even if it meant being fucked senseless on any surface at any given time, regardless of how exhausted you were! You’d been in the kitchen attempting to bake him a cake when he all but whisked you away and decided to take his treat early. Holding the end of that chain and making you crawl to him with that ass poking up in the air. He’d never seen something so sexy before in his entire life. If it wouldn’t have been such a damn shame, he would’ve combusted on the spot.

“Fuuuck..you’re doing so good, princess. Just like that..eat that fucking dick up f’r me. Oh my gosh..yes. You must want all of this cum, huh?”

seated on the bed before you, sporting nothing but black sweats that had been shuffled to his thighs with his legs spread far apart, Eren would gently tug that chain and buck his hips upward. Holding your head in place whilst meeting it with rough thrusts.

“Mmmph..fuck, of course you do. I’m just gonna keep fucking this pretty throat until I nut in it. You can take it..”

Peering over the rim of his glasses, Eren gazed down at you with full adoration..in complete awe of how you abandoned every ounce of your morals to please him. Needless to say, he was madly in love with you! He’d make good on his word when you’d feel that pulsating twitch and that same warm sensation gliding down from your jaws. Holding your head down and forcing you to swallow every drip of his seed. He’d begin to convulse and whimper, bucking his hips with a rough pace..spurting out strings of semen; even holding you in place to empty the remnants of his swollen balls into your mouth. He’d cry out, whimpering and moaning until his head would roll back onto his shoulders. For the moment, all he could do was laugh and be in awe of how amazing you were.

“Mmmm..shit. Lemme look at you..wanna see that pretty face covered.” That’s when he’d take his fingertip underneath your chin and hoist your face up. Only to be greeted by a beaming smile and those plump lips coated and smeared with precum and saliva. He’d mark your cheeks with a couple slaps before depressing your tongue using those digits and lobbying saliva into your mouth. Long strings and tiny speckles filled your tongue and you’d graciously beg for more.

“Harder, please.”

“Yeah? You like when I slap you, baby? Treat you like my little whore?..”

“Yes! Fuck..do it again.”

There was something insatiable about the both of you at the moment. The incessant urge to fuck his little toy and yours to get pounded into oblivion had reached its limit. Shoving those fingers in and out once more, he’d finally retract and replace it with his lips; pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

“C’mere..I gotta fuck you, like right now..” almost so desperate that it was adorable and funny. He’d hoist you by the restrained hands before placing you onto his mattress..pinning your legs back behind your head until you were folded. He’d grasp that chain tightly, kneeling down into the memory foam before tapping that juicy slit with the tip of his cock. It was aching and practically begging to feel your tight walls clenching around him.

“Pull my head down please..I love watching it slide in.” That sweet little voice of yours could sway him to commit murder if you desired it and without hesitation, he’d oblige. “Of course, gorgeous. Whatever you want.”

Taking that chain once more, he’d tug into you and have a perfect view of that shaft beginning to disappear between into that tight hole. Still a bit sensitive from that orgasm before, he’d make home inside of you before releasing a loud groan. You truly did bring out his worst. Leaning down, he’d clutch your throat and initiate another kiss before beginning to move. The sensation of that first thrust elicited a sharp gasp from you both simultaneously but staring into your eyes whilst getting to drill your shit was all the motivation he needed to push through.

“You’re so fucking tight..no wonder I can’t stop breeding you. Goddamn..”

(Y/N)’s breath would catch in your throat as those deep strokes slowly infiltrated your soft folds. The feeling was indescribable. That hard, thick cock stretching you open; swollen mushroom tip only inches away from your spot already and the result was silky cream pooling around his shaft. He wasn’t much in the way of being gentle today..he needed to break his pretty little slut! So much so, Eren had found himself with one foot planted on the bed in order to get deep as possible.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s the fucking spot. That pussy feels amazing…you’re creaming too..I love it.”

But he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects..as you were clawing at his abs with those bound wrists ringling around.

“You get me so fucking wet, I swear— ‘s so deep in me, gonna make me come..”

“You like when I dig you out, gorgeous? Look how you keep sucking me back in..”

“Yes daddy, I love it when you fuck this tight pussy.”

at that moment, drool would begin seeping down the corners of your mouth and that fucked out state would fall cast over your face; that tongue wagging and jolting. Your body jolted back and forth, meeting his thrusts..those veiny, inked hands groping your plump tits and ripping them out of the confines of that apron in a matter of seconds. He loved how soft and pillowy they looked bouncing around. He could remain in this like this forever with you and never grow tired. Fastening the grip on that chain, Eren would pull you closer once more and quicken his pace. He’d speed up and feed you deeper, much rougher strokes.

“And I love when you call me that…makes me wanna get your pretty ass pregnant. That’ll be the best present ever.”

letting out a soft cackle, he’d shove his fingers in your mouth..thrusting them in and out to pacify your loud moans. It was honestly such a beautiful sight..watching the subtle tears flow down your cheek and that smile stretch across your lips. He wanted this to be the memory imprinted in his mind when he thought back to his birthday. Seeing you happy, those sweet eyes staring back at him full of adoration and lust, not to mention getting the privilege of doing all of these salacious things with you.

“But first, I need you to come on this dick, baby..make that shit squirt for me.” In a subtle motion, he’d reach down to unfasten your rope, freeing your hands for the sole purpose of aiding him. Those rough strokes began to penetrate your spot to draw it forth. Meanwhile, he didn’t even need to instruct you on what to do next.

“There you go, rub that fucking clit, bitch. Get yourself there f’r me.” Fully aware of just how turned on being called out of your name got you. He certainly didn’t make a habit of it outside of sex but here, nothing was off limits and he knew that you’d do anything to please him. So much so, that you’d plead for more strings of saliva in between your jaws to slicken up that swollen bud. Your chest, still being groped by his palms, began to heave and you’d cry out his name as you felt that climax only seconds away from barreling out.

“Oh God! ‘m coming, daddy, fuck fuck!—“ in that moment, it was as if everything in the room faded to black and the world stopped moving momentarily. The only thing you could feel was a damp warmth forming underneath you as those streams of juices spilled all over the place. Shooting directly against his abs and so powerful, it sent that plug flying out of your other entrance.

“Aw, there you go, baby, I know. I know it feels amazing..you earned that nut, you’ve worked so hard for it.” Talking you through that insane orgasm as you struggled to come back to reality. Once you did however, you’d find yourself rewarded with a barrage of sloppy kisses. Whispering sweet nothings and ‘I love you’s’ through the sound of your soft cries, he'd wipe those tears from underneath your eyes and make certain that you were alright.

“Here, let’s take a break. Let me grab you some water.” Traipsing over to the nightstand as he struggled to capture his own breath. Retrieving the cool liquid, he’d tilt it back and let it flow into your mouth..swallowing the much needed source of hydration.

“Good girl, there you go. Just breathe for me..” that deep voice so stern yet comforting. It was no wonder you fell apart and would give anything to live in his skin!

“I-I’m sorry! I came so hard—“ but he was quick to denounce your apology. You’d done nothing but everything he’d asked today, even at the expense of his own bedsheets. Gently caressing yiur cheek, Eren would chuckle and reassure you that it was all fine. Because not only was this the best celebration he could’ve possibly asked for…

“..hey, it’s alright, princess. You’ve been incredible. Please don’t be sorry, I’m so proud of you right now. I love you so much. Thank you for making this birthday so special.”

but because little did you know…

“Besides, we’ve got plenty of time for you to rest. I’m just getting started..I haven’t even gotten the chance to do all of the nasty shit I want to. Just wait.”

there was a lot more in store!

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death

AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!

Much love ~ emma

“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.

“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”

You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.

“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”

He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.

He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”

“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.

Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.

“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.

“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”

She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.

You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.

Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.

“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”

You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”

As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”

When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”

Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”

For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.

“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.

If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,

 “See you Monday,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.

She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.

“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”

“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.

“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”

She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,

“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.

“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”

“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.

You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”

Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”

“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.

Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.

When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.

Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.

A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.

You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.

Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”

“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.

When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in.  A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.

You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.

“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”

She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.         

“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”

She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.

“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.

“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”

“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the

orchard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.

When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”

“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”

“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”

“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.

He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.

He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?

It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.

You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.

You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”

“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”

“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.

He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.

“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.

You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.

Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.

You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.

“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”

Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”

“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.

“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.

“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”

“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.

A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.

“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.

“Thanks baby, I see that,”

She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.

“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.

“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”

You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”

He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.

“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.

“Whichever is the most juicy!”

“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.

Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.

A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.

“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”

“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”

Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.

“Can I, mommy?”

“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”

She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.

“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.

She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.

“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”

“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.

She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.

“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.

“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.

He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”

You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”

“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”

The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.

He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.

“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”

You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”

“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”

One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.

You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”

“You do that a lot,”

“I feel it a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.

Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.

You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.

There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.

Until tonight.

Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.

It was for someone new.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

[nezuscribe]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞?

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

part two of wanna be yours

summary: the aftermath of you and your husband's arranged marriage, but the better side of it. gojo satoru just loves you so much, that he's willing to bring down armies just for you

warnings: 18+ mdni, arranged marriage, very brief misunderstandings but they work it out, eating out (fem!reciving), fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, he doesn’t pull out

word count: 6k

note: part two is finally done! and i think this is gonna be the last installment for this so don't ask for another part bc i will cry. as always, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading, she's the loml <3

jjk masterlist

there were a few things that changed after your night with satoru. 

as he promised, he got a bigger bed for his room. he promptly ordered all your things to be moved in with his, and it didn’t take long for all your belongings to melt with his. it was different from what you were used to, but you welcomed those nights when you’d curl into his chest, tracing patterns on his bare skin as his fingers ran up and down your back as he listened to you speak. 

mornings you would find him littering kisses all over your naked body, or you’d find him in between your legs, waking you up in his own unique (much appreciated) way. satoru was insatiable and you couldn’t find a bone in your body to deny him.

he smiled more, his eyes bright as he woke up to your cheek smushed into his pecs on other mornings, not wanting to wake you up as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulled you closer to his body. 

everybody around you two talked in hushed tones whenever you’d pass by, obvious confusion laced in their tones, but somewhat glad to see the tension between you and your husband had simmered down. 

“he seems happier,” suguru told you one day as you leaned over the balcony, watching satoru spar with one of his men, your arms crossed over the railing as you glanced over at the man. 

“really?” you felt a faint smile tug at your cheeks as you tried to contain yourself. 

he hummed, his back to the railing, his legs crossed. he was dressed in his clans’ colors, a black tunic embroidered with red stitching covering his chest. he had come around more often ever since the feast, and he seemed more open to talk to you. 

the winds were picking up, the seasons were changing. it had been weeks since your night with him, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. satoru spent less time training and fighting, making as much time for you as he possibly could. you had your chair moved so that you could sit next to him during dinners, and in his free time he’d take you around the land on your horse, his face relaxed and gleaming whenever you’d turn around to look at him.

“well,” he turned to look over his shoulder, looking down at satoru, his white hair turning into a blur as he rhythmically and methodically moved, evading the wooden swords’ jabs with the agility only a seasoned fighter could have, “not right now. i think he’s trying to show off.” you snorted, rolling at your eyes at his statement (which was most likely the truth) and continued to watch him spar. sometimes you forgot of satoru’s rank amongst the other men, and watching him in this sort of state reminded you just how much he must have picked up on those years spent apart. 

“i’m happy for you two,” he said after a beat of silence passed, offering you a genuine smile as he said it. he was usually more stoic than your husband, never giving too much information off from his face unless it was absolutely necessary, and catching him in these moments would always startle you. 

“thank you,” you murmured, heat blossoming across your cheeks and neck as you kept your stare focused on your husband, not wanting to come off as too giddy. truth be told, you’ve never felt happier. 

you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up with a smile and slept with one on your face. every day it seemed that satoru was trying to win your love in different ways. he was so different from what you had seen from him the last few months, but just like the old satoru you remembered. he was teasing, always finding ways to make you laugh. 

“he told you he was going to be gone for a bit, yeah?” suguru readjusted his hair, making it so that it didn’t keep flying into his face. you nodded, holding tightly onto your clothes in hopes of preserving more heat. 

“yes,” you blew some hot air into your hands as you rubbed them together, “he said you’d be going with him.” 

“he’ll be needing as much help as he can get where he’s going,” suguru murmured, but didn’t try to hide his words as he tapped his fingers on his wrist. 

“what does that mean?” you balanced your elbows on the stone railing beneath you, brows furrowed as he shrugged nonchalantly.  

“he didn’t tell you what it was for?” if satoru was one who wasn’t above gossip then suguru was one who stirred it up. 

“he said it was a meeting with one of the eastern clans,” you say, rubbing yourself. your nose was freezing. suguru nodded, which made you feel a little more at ease. 

“did he tell you why?” you shook your head, indifferent as you looked back at your husband. he was shaking hands with the poor kid who went against him, barely breaking a sweat as he threw his sword to the side, a wide smile on his face as he looked up at you. 

“business,” you murmur, not quite giving him your full attention anymore because satoru was walking near where you were standing, craning his neck to look up at you as he grinned. 

“is he bothering you?” he called out, his chest moving up and down with labored breaths. he tried to make it seem like sparring didn’t take anything out on him and you nodded, smiling back at him. 

“i’m about to throw him off!” you called down, leaning on the railing as you gripped it tightly to ensure your balance and satoru gleamed, suguru scoffing at the interaction. 

“did you see me fighting?” he asked, and you wanted to chuckle at his words, the hopeful smile on his face as he wiped at his nose, the cold getting to him as well. 

“you fought very valiantly!” and suguru thinks that without your words and your praise, satoru would be a mess, not able to function. he wasn’t sure how he did it months without it, because he doesn’t seem to live without it.

his cheeks flush a cute pink, and you want to bottle up the way his smile grows.

“you two make me sick.” he groaned, pushing himself off the railing as he made his way inside, throwing you a playful wink as he shut the doors. the sun was beginning to set and you could see the bits of night peaking through the sky. 

you watched as satoru disappeared through the stairs, likely coming up to see you and you drummed your fingers on your arm as thoughts traveled through your mind. 

despite his playful tone, suguru’s words left a bitter taste on your tongue. even as satoru found you, pulling you close to him as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips you couldn’t get it out of your mind. he led you back inside, talking nonstop about what his men needed to improve on, but your mind began going blank.

---

dinner that night was just as it always was, but you still couldn’t find it in yourself to push past what you’d been told earlier. 

“i’m thinking of having a winter feast during the solstice,” satoru said, drinking his wine as his fingers played with yours, running down the skin of your palm as he absentmindedly pressed his thumb to the back of your hand. 

“sounds good,” you said, not quite listening as you pushed some potatoes around your plate. you should have gotten past this awkwardness to talk to him about these things, but that must have just been wishful thinking. 

“this year seems to be colder than the last, so i’ll ask shoko to see if she can bring back some furs from her clan.” he continued, oblivious to your state of being. 

“okay,” you blankly said, giving him

a short glance only to see him in his own world, plotting. 

“i’ll have one of the southern tribes see if they can bring any pomegranates in, and…” he trailed off, noticing your stare boring into the table. his fingers squeezed yours, bringing your attention to him. 

“are you alright?” he asked, and you quickly nodded, plastering on a false smile as you picked up your spoon, wringing your hand out of his. 

“mhm!” you scooped some vegetables into your mouth, spending an excessive amount of time chewing as you felt his eyes bore into the side of your face. 

he didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, a brow raising at your strange behavior. if you were trying to be funny you had an odd way of showing it. 

“do you feel sick?” he moved closer, his hands finding your forehead, pressing against your cheeks as he felt for your temperature. 

you gently pushed his hand away, holding his wrist as your feet moved quickly in anxiousness. 

this should be easier than you made it out to be. 

he looked worried, finger itching to feel you again despite your silent pleas. it was second nature for him to care about you. if he didn’t spend half the time hopelessly in love with you, he spent the other half hoping that you were doing alright. he wanted only the best for you, and vehemently tried to make up for the months he didn’t do so. 

“no, i feel fine. but,” you sighed, rubbing at your eyes as he patiently waited for you to find your words. you knew he wouldn’t lie to you, he didn’t have the ability to, but the way suguru spoke to you made it seem like there was something he wasn’t telling you, “why are you leaving? i feel as though,” you swallowed thickly, “as though i don’t fully know why.”

satoru sat back in his chair, his eyes squinting as he looked at you. it’s not like he didn’t like being asked things, but normally you didn’t seem this apprehensive about talking to him. he welcomed your queries, answering them to the best of his abilities, but he couldn’t remember the last time you seemed this nervous to talk to him about something. 

and he knew that he should have told you this before you asked, but he put it off. his fingers ran through his hair as he breathed deeply through his hair. 

“it’s with one of the eastern clans,” he started, taking another sip of his wind as his hands found yours again, as if he couldn’t breathe without having you near in some way, “do you remember that girl, the one from the feast?” 

despite him not being very specific, there was only one memorable girl from that feast. the one that he disappeared with four half an hour before he came back. your jaw clenched, nodding stiffly as you moved in your seat. he noticed your shift in emotions, trying to hide his own as he continued.

“i told you what she had tried to do, hm?” satoru seemed a bit awkward in his wording, and if it were in any other case it probably would have made you laugh. but you can only nod again, his words nothing new. he had told you about it after he spent the night with you, answering your questions as to why he had left with her. 

you could barely remember her name, but you distinctly recalled what satoru had said about her. how she had tried to come onto him, how he had forced her off. you hadn’t seen her around since, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t fully stopped making her way into your mind at random times during the day.

“ i had her clan cut off from trading with ours.”

if you were expecting any response it definitely wasn’t that. 

“…what?” you gave a startled laugh, blinking as you tried to make sense of what he had just said. 

he shrugged as if it didn’t mean much, as if that was the least that was expected of him. 

“that’s why our import of sweet potatoes and eggplants has been lower than usual. but it’s alright, i’ve already ordered for the seeds to be planted in our garden. her father is seething at the moment, it’s why i have to go see them.” he cut away at some meat, glancing at you as a smile was forcing its way onto his lips. he kept it down, watching for your reaction. 

you swallowed thickly, a feeling growing in your chest as you glanced up at him, only to find him staring back at you, a little smile on his face. 

“she had the nerve to ask to be a concubine. i’m only hoping that in this meeting we’re able to get some more of their silk imports in, it shouldn’t take too long.” 

you couldn’t find any words to respond with, but could feel a smile growing on your own face. you were the more compassionate one out of the two of you but hearing this felt like a whole different experience. 

“that’s,” you tried to hide your giddy feelings, “new.” 

satoru rolled his eyes, hooking his hands underneath your chair to pull you closer to him if it was even possible. 

“and well deserved,” he commented, kissing your cheeks as you laughed softly, his lips soft against your skin as they found their way into the places he knew you loved most. 

you tried to push him away, feeling embarrassed at the guards that stood by the door, knowing they were able to see all of this happen before them. 

“suguru was telling me about it,” you felt his hands shift, lifting you over the armrest, his strength godly as he shifted you to sit on his lap, “i just thought that something else had come up.”

gojo hummed against your skin, your dinner promptly forgotten behind you as his nose nudged at your jaw, “yeah, like what?” he enjoyed hearing your shuddering breaths, the way your fingers automatically went to tangle themselves in his soft hair. 

“i-i don’t know,” you felt weak from being breathless from so little, and we’re glad your back was to the men behind you, “but definitely not that.” 

“it was the least i could do,” he said, “i wanted her banished but my advisors warned against it. said it would cause too much chaos,” his eyes flicked to yours, inviting, challenging, “as if i wouldn’t go to war for you.” 

you felt the air in your lungs squeeze out, your hands gripping his shoulders, anything to bring you back to reality as his tongue poked at his cheek, debating some things in his head.

“out,” he spoke, loudly now so that the guards could hear, his voice commanding and starkly different from how he talked to you, “get out.” 

while he liked showing you off, but there were things only meant for his eyes and his ears.

you could hear them shuffling to leave, looking over your shoulder as you giggled at their hurried movements, the door shutting behind them as they left you and satoru alone in the dining hall. 

you turned back to him, his eyes twinkling in the faint candlelight, his hands running across your back, up and down your arms as you shifted across his lap, your clog rubbing on his hard-on as he sucked in a deep breath. 

 “you’d go to war for me?” you teased, your sweet breath fanning across his lips as his tongue poked out, his eyes glazing over as he scoffed at your ridiculous question. his hands settled on your waist, your skirts hitching upwards. 

“i’d do anything for you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering above them as his eyes held yours, “if you told me you wanted me to ransack that clan dry i’d do it.” though he was a joking sort of person, you knew his words were nothing but the truth. 

if you wanted, he’d burn down villages for you. he’d make sure that when the stories were written, your name came first. he wanted the masses to know that he was yours and that his every waking moment was spent in your presence. 

satoru was sure the stars were shifting to accommodate for the two of you, and that it would only take years before he’d look up to see you there with him, splattered across the night sky.

“as much as i’d like you to,” you kissed his neck, enjoying the way he writhed beneath you, knowing that only you had the luxury of seeing him like this, “i wouldn’t want any spillage of blood to be traced back to me. i’d like for you to come home alive.” it’s not as if you doubted his talents, nor his strength, you doubted others. 

“i’ll always find my way back to you,” he promised, tilting his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. 

it was slow, as if he wanted to savor every moment with you. satoru was cheeky, smiling whenever he’d pull slightly away to hear your sweet whines. your fingers tugged at his hair, warning him to stop. 

his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, and it didn’t take long before the kisses turned sloppy, spit staining your chin as you slowly move your body up and down on his. 

“you drive me to shambles,” he said against your lips, a train of spit connecting the two of you together, and it was sinful the way he looked right now. lips rosy and plump, his hair messy and his smile cocky. 

“me?” you ask slyly, coyly moving up and down his dick, enjoying the way he sucked in a breath through his teeth, his fingers digging into your ass as you tilt your head to the side, “really?” 

his hands hiked up your skirt so that it bushed around your thighs, his fingers pressing against your heat as he felt the dampness seeping through your underwear, his own victorious grin plastered on his face. 

“really,” he confirmed, grabbing a hold of your wrist as he guided it to his bulge, watching your eyes gloss over, your pupils widening at the feeling of him, never really getting used to just how big satoru was. 

his finger hicked your underwear to the side, letting it sink into your warm walls, your eyes rolling back, your slick staining his skin as he brought it out, tapping your lips as he motioned for you to open your mouth. 

you did, watching as he pushed his finger in, his eyes darkening at the way you closed your lips around him, sucking him hard as you tasted yourself on him, your hips shifting to ease your aching clit. 

“taste yourself? see why i can’t get enough of you?” he prompts and you slowly nod, not breaking eye contact with him as he feels pride swell in his chest, as well as something else a little bit lower. 

“see how i can’t get enough of you?” you ask, motioning towards his hand, and he chuckles darkly, drawing his finger out as he presses a short kiss to your lips, taunting you.

“be patient,” he murmured, fully enthralled with the way your tongue moved around him, his dick straining against his pants, painful as it wanted to be let free. you could feel him twitch beneath you, growing harder, if it was even possible. 

he couldn’t even be patient himself.

“then hurry up,” you whisper, biting his ear as he groans, pushing all of the silverware and cups out from behind you, lifting you up by your thighs as he made room for you on the table, setting you down as he settled in between your legs. 

he pushed down on your chest and you followed his movements, laying down on the table, your chest heaving up and down, the feeling something you’ve never experienced before. sex with satoru was unlike anything human, and he always left you with a taste of wanting more. 

your top fell loosely against your shoulder, almost undone from all of his ministrations, and some of the wine from his cup had spilled, soaking your white fabric red. it was hard to come out of this dining hall without hiding what had happened inside. 

his hand fisted the top that covered your chest, yanking it off with a swift motion, tearing it off of you in a split second. you didn’t have time to scold him for ruining yet another one of your shirts, taking in the way his breath came out in little puffs at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“‘toru!” you yelled, swatting his hands away as you groaned, looking at what was now rags, not knowing how you were going to be able to leave this dining hall with your dignity intact. 

“what?” he looked as if he truly had no idea why you’d be mad, and then looked at the remains of your top, sheepishly scratching at his jaw as he leaned down to peck at the corner of your lips, and you begrudgingly let him. 

“‘m sorry,” he whispered against your lips, but he didn’t really sound like it, “i’ll cover you in my robes, yeah?” you rolled your eyes, flicking at his forehead. he whined, back caught your hand, kissing just above your wrist as he winked at you. you could never stay mad at him for too long because he knew just what to do to make you forget about it.

“you owe me a new one, alongside the four other ones you’ve ruined so far,” you say, eyeing it with a hefty sigh. satoru nodded insistently, his hands wandering down your torso as he got himself distracted. his hands were so large, and you would never get tired of the way he looked at you.

“how ‘bout i make it up to you, hm?” and you didn’t have any restraint in you as you nodded slowly, knowing that you were the only person who could make him like this, the only person who could have the gojo satoru in such a vulnerable and loving way.

he began bunching up your skirt once again, sinking down to his knees as your back arched off of the table, using your elbow to stabilize yourself as your head tilted backward at the feeling of his fingers pushing past your walls. 

your underwear was thrown to the side, disregarded as his tongue poked at your entrance, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nub, knowing just the way to make you go crazy. he slurped up all you had to offer, the sounds too much for you to handle, cheek heating up. 

he took his time, wanting to make you feel every pleasurable feeling known to man as he ate you out. you would never get tired of the way he could reach that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never could. 

“you taste like so fucking sweet,” satoru’s eyes found yours, glinting as his nose nudged at your clit. it was too much, the way he ate you like he had never tasted anything better. he hadn’t and he was sure that sin was below you. 

his other hand found your tits, palming them, squeezing at the flesh as he rubbed at your nipples, hardening against him as you whined, fisting the tablecloth beneath you as you panted, it was just so hard to get used to this. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru, please…” you could barely muster up any words, his thumb swiping at your clit in a delicious way, his tongue prodding at your walls. 

“please what?” he teased, enjoying the way he could make you unravel, the way that nobody else could hear the way you’d sing just for him. 

“faster, mhh, shit!” you liked the way he obediently listened to you, his tongue and fingers moving per your request, and you felt your stomach clenching, your release threatening to come at any moment.

it was embarrassing just how fast he could bring you to this sort of state, but he reveled in it. he knew what you liked and disliked, how to tease you to make you cry even louder for him. he was a master in everything he did, and he wasn’t one to fail. 

“who does this to you?” he asked, knowing he was fucking you dumb even without his cock. 

“y-you, you ‘toru,” you couldn’t look at him, everything hot as sweat dotted at your forehead, “only you.” 

a cheshire grin found its way onto his face. 

“come on, know you can do it,” he pushed you further, his fingers joining his tongue, and it was just too much, prodding at the place that made you see stars. he looked just as wrecked as you, with your own essence smeared all over his chin, mixing with his spit, but he couldn’t have had it any other way. 

“‘m ‘gonna…fuck, ‘toru, i’m ‘gonna come…” you breathed out, and it didn’t take long till you did. 

the feeling was unlike any other, your walls clamping around him, your release gushing out, your stomach clenched, and your back arched, spasming around his fingers. he didn’t stop until he was sure you had ridden out your orgasm, watching the beautiful way your tits moved up and down with your every breath, the way the light bounced off your skin. you were a heavenly being and nothing you told him could convince him otherwise. 

he slowly stood up, his hands finding purchase on your hips as he gently pulled you closer to the edge of the table, giving you some time to come back down to earth as he slowly tapped his fingers on the expanse of your naked skin.

“you good?” you groaned, hitting his chest lightly as he chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked more at you. he was so sure that the love he held in his chest was going to seep out that it made him worried, knowing that others could love you the same way, selfishly wanting you just to himself.

“you’re so annoying,” you say, rubbing at your face, eyeing the bulge in his pants, feeling your mouth salivate at the sight. 

“you love it though,” and you couldn’t even argue because you did. you loved all the little things about him, the things he hid away from the public eye and saved just for you. it reminded you that he was yours and you were his and nothing was ever going to change it. 

“i put up with it,” you say, watching him pout, his white hair all messy and his cheeks rosy. 

“you’re so mean,” he whined, but only kissed the tip of your nose as he said it. his swift fingers made use of unbuttoning the buttons of his pants, hooking a finger around them as he tugged it down, his cock springing free as it hit his chest. 

he was long, curving to the right. his dick was pretty, just like the rest of him, and you would never get tired of seeing it flushed red, leaking pre as he shuddered against the cold, biting air. his mushroomed tip was aching to push past your walls, and you obliged him, slowly moving so that your hands found him. 

he sucked in a breath as your fingers wrapped around his length, expertly moving up and down in a teasing manner, your thumb swiping at his head as his pre stained your skin. his chest was moving in a crazed pattern, as if his lungs weren’t working properly, and he watched as your hands moved up and down, up and down. 

“s-stop, i don’t want to,” he scrambled before he embarrassed himself and finished from just your hands, tugging your fingers away from his aching cock as you looked up at him through your lashes, knowing just what made him go crazy for you. 

“hurry up ‘toru, i need you sooo bad,” you whined, your voice laced with something that made him lose all sense of control, and he quickly nodded, his hands gripping your thighs as he tugged you closer to himself. 

it would have been easier if he had you perched on the table with your back to him, but he couldn’t risk not being able to see your face, the way your mouth opened and your eyes squeezed shut, so he lined himself up with your entrance instead, knowing this was the only way he could fuck you. 

his dick prodded at your entrance, his bulbous head pushing past your walls that were still tight, squeezing him as he slowly inched your forehead, the two of you moaning in unison at the snug fit. 

“shit, you’re so tight, how,” his lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes flickered over to yours, “how are you so tight?” his grip on your hips was bruising, but you welcomed the marks, loving the fact that when you woke up the two of you would carry each other on your skin.

“stop talking ‘toru,” your hands hooked around his neck, tugging him in closer as your lips slotted against his, your teeth clashing as your pussy fluttered against him, your noses rubbing against each other, “fuck me…please.” 

and he did, pushing all of himself in, and your head tipped backward at the sting, gripping onto his arms as he let you adjust to his size, his cock twitching in your heat, and his jaw clenched, refraining himself from moving just yet. 

when you gave him the nod to move he slowly inched out, his dick shining in the light, before he slammed himself back in, your cries filling the vast space as he began to fuck you the way he wanted, his lips finding your neck as you thrust your hips against his. 

it was always delirious when the two of you fucked, your bodies meeting at one point that drove each of you to your own euphoria. satoru tried to be slow and gentle, but after a bit, he couldn’t anymore, picking up his pace as his head kept hitting your g spot. 

“love you s’much ‘toru,” your fingers curled in his hair, your other hand scratching lines down his back as the squelching sound resonated around you, “f-fuck-” he cut you off with a chaste kiss, dropping his head to your breasts as he sucked at them, positioning himself in and out of you with all his strength. 

“i know, i know sweetheart,” he murmured against your spit soaked skin, rubbing gently at the marks he left, “i’m yours, all for you,” he promised, his thumb finding your clit as he swiped at it, enjoying the way you mewled for him to go faster. 

your eyes fall all over his naked skin, at the way sweat dots on both of your bodies, and the way satoru can’t contain his moans and whines when he sinks in and out of you. the sounds he makes are for you only, and you want to damn anybody who longs to hear them too. 

“you feel s’good,” you kiss at his chest, his tunic slipping down him as the buttons and knots become undone, your fingers tugging them down so you could have more area to kiss and suckle at, “s’big ‘toru.” 

he loves how your voice gets breathy, the way you can’t keep your hands to yourself and can barely formulate a thought. he fucks you like he hates you, but that’s only because he doesn’t know how else to show you just how much you mean to him. 

“yeah? this dick makes you dumb?” you nod helplessly, feeling like you were going to go insane with the way his veins dragged alongside your walls, at the way your pussy was molding to the shape of him. 

“yes!” you cried out, nails digging into his skin, and he encouraged you to leave more lines, knowing that once he had to take off his shirt for training and the men around his eyes the scratches on his back they’d know who left them. 

“are you ‘gonna come? come with me, know you want to,” his hips are shuttering as if he can barely keep his release at bay, “know you can sweetheart,” and you whine even louder, his thumb relentlessly attacking your clit as your legs wrap tightly around him, keep him from straying too far away from your body. 

“mhh fuck, ‘toru m’gonna, fuck…!” you felt your release come before you could even stop yourself, spasming around his dick as you wailed, creaming around his dick as the tablecloth bunched beneath you, the wine spilling everywhere as your husband came just seconds after you. 

you felt his hot release in you, your walls hugging him in as your eyes rolled back, white dotting your vision as he pumped himself inside of you, keeping his dick in for a little while longer. your orgasm was so powerful that you wondered if you were going to be able to walk after this, feel yourself pulse around nothing as satoru slowly pulled himself out of you, his cum seeping out and sticking to your doughy thighs. 

it was a mess; wine and cum everywhere, but your laughter slowly filled the heated room, laughing at the entire prospect of this. 

“what?” he nudged at your jaw, kissing your cheekbones as he smiled at the sound, “was that not to your liking?” 

you snorted, shaking your head as your legs dropped from his waist, leaning back on your hands as you looked around, taking in the mess as you heaved out a sigh, knowing that there definitely wasn’t any way to hide what you had done now. especially since you were sure that anybody within a twenty-foot radius could have heard you as well. 

“it was fine,” you teased, watching him huff in annoyance because the two of you knew that it was far from fine. 

“just fine?” he asked, scooping a finger into your pussy, watching the way your head fell onto his shoulder, smearing his cum around just for extra measure, chuckling to himself when he felt you lightly bite his skin. 

“you’re painfully full of yourself,” you comment, your skirt falling back down as it hid your fluttering pussy, making it seem as if he hadn’t just fucked you dumb seconds ago, and satoru tugged you closer to his chest, his hands sprawling across the naked expanse of your back. 

“only because i love you so much,” and he wasn’t lying, but you knew that his cockiness stemmed from himself. 

the two of you smiled, your rings shining and you looked out the window to see the moon up, a chill running through the curtains, ruffling them as it hit your skin and you shuddered. 

as if he suddenly remembered your top was ruined, now resembling cleaning rags, he shrugged off the robe that was resting on the back of his chair as he settled it across your chest, buttoning up the buttons for you as you let him work. 

it had some of his military rankings on it, a deep blue that resembled the clan's colors, and you instantly felt warmer in the wool. 

“‘toru?” you twirled some of his baby hairs around your fingers, your voice hoarse but soft. 

he looked up, feeling awestruck by the way you looked right now. he loved the glow you radiated after a round of him pounding into you, the way your skin was shining and you had a content look on your face, resonating deep within him.

“hm?” his thumb ran across your face, tracing your features as he did every night, committing them to memory. 

“come home safe,” you whispered, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you held his unoccupied hand in yours, your fingers cradling his larger ones, “don’t do anything stupid, please.” 

he went to make a joke but stopped himself when he saw your serious stare, his mouth opening and then shutting until he nodded, smiling carefully, holding heavy emotions as he gave you a smaller, more understanding nod.

“okay,” he murmured, but you shook your head, not satisfied with his answer. 

“promise me,” and he hated and loved the fact that he couldn’t deny you anything. 

“i promise,” he whispered against your lips, bringing you closer as his tongue swiped against yours, your lips swollen and plush, just the way he liked it. 

and he held true to his promise, returning only a week later with a promise of no sort of war between the eastern clan. but according to suguru, your husband had shed off his clothes when he had to fight one of their men, everybody around him, including the girl, had seen the scratches and bruises you had left for him, 

just as he intended.

taglist: @chieeeeeee, @yxnjvnnie, @ladytamayolover, @iheartlinds

[sqgeism]

so i recently read a post about how aglaea represents divinity through humanity's flesh and blood and anaxa represents humanity through the mask of a porcelain doll.

Soooo this has got me very curious, how would anaxa react to his partner (reader) literally being the human equivalent of a porcelain doll? glassy eyes, long lashes, pasty pale/white skin. maybe they even visibly crack in response to stressors/trauma!! ive totally developed this into my own oc and would love to read your thoughts! ty as always

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

love mail — hii :3 i'm alive again! i had (married) femme reader in mind but honestly could pass as (still married) gn reader ＼(^o^)／ i suuper love this concept nd i hope it lives up to your expectations, anonnie :D kiss muwa ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ also anaxa's is rly long bc i intended for it to be standalone but added the others in the end ;p they're all (except anaxa) rlly short sorry LMAOAOA characters in order : anaxa, mydei, phainon

from the day anaxa met you, to the day of your wedding, and every moment after — he's learned to be careful. he's always described himself as 'experimental', ready to do it all for the sake of knowledge and further understanding. but when he met you, he couldn't be that. he was fascinated with you in seconds, your porcelain skin was delicate, the kind that shatters because of hands like his. you were his opposite, and ever since he fell in love with you, his treasure.

anaxa had built some sort of.. habit with you. when his sister was alive, she showed him different hairstyles that she wanted. anaxa, the loving boy he was, tried his very best to learn. unfortunately, as you've come to know, he never got to really do them. his own way of healing from that grief was through you, when you first allowed him to brush your hair for you — he found himself tying it into a beautiful braid. he won't forget the glimmer in your glassy eyes, thanking him so softly that he was sure even his cold, dead heart was touched. you had that affect on him, always have.

but that joy was short lived, as when you smiled- your face cracked. his face drops and so does he, falling to his knees right infront of you as his hands cup your cheek. "what happened? does it hurt? how can i help?" there's a noticeable shift in that indifferent demeanor that anaxa's always seen with.

and that makes you smile more, but the emotion is so strong that it causes you to shatter more. anaxa won't deny that he feels himself a little flustered at such a beautiful display that is your smile, but the cracking isn't stopping.

he eventually learns that you two are alike for different reasons. anaxa's nonchalance to most situations is caused by the fact he's lost all ability to care, he's lost everything that's ever mattered to him — why care about losing anything more? it'll make him just hurt all over again. he never wants to remember what it's like to drown in emotion ever again.

but your still expressions are the way they are because you feel too much. an overbundance of joy makes you smile, pressuring your porcelain complextion and causing it to crack. same with stress, sadness, any form of emotion makes you feel like you're breaking. but you wish to experience every single one deeply, you want to turn into nothing but pieces just to know what it's like to completely, and utterly, feel.

but around each other, there is a balance. while you were used to a disproportion of emotion, anaxa kept you calm in every situation, but still allowed you to feel. you wouldn't crack, no, but you still felt your heart race every time anaxa kissed your fingers or ran his hand through your hair. and so, you can come to the quick conclusion that you allowed him to experience what you have had too much of. you bring him comfort, unease, and affection all at once and he's willing to indulge in it. he doesn't want to completely experience it all, but you let him worry just enough to make something else but a thin line and an empty gaze in his expression.

he adores you, really. he'd punish the stars for ever trying to rival the beauty that is sparkle in your eyes.

mydei's in a similar position, but if you allow him- he'd love to bring you around to meet the children. if you're at all insecure about the way you exist as a person, he's sure that they can help. they're too young to understand or villainize you in any way, they're just.. in awe of you. the same manner that he was. a big, life sized doll? with pretty clothes and brushable hair? they're all over you in a moments notice. and mydei adores every second.

he has his head on your lap while they brush through your hair, humming a lullaby while you sit there, unmoving but enjoying yourself in silence. the breeze is cool, the grass is green and the flowers that surround you, mydei, and the little ones make the scene feel straight out of a painting.

a warrior and his muse, his weakness, his heart. everything that you are mends perfectly into an emptiness inside of him, and you fix the scars that have lingered for him to heal.

phainon's in a similar boat, except he's like the children. he ADOOOORES you. buys you outfits every week, learned to do your hair, sits by your vanity mirror with eyes of pure and utter admiration as you do makeup.. he's soo enamored by you, it's insane. though he does tend to worry that when he makes you laugh (which is a lot, he appreciates it), you start to crack. they do eventually heal, but he's noticed you've become insecure about it. growing a habit of wearing veils or large hats to hide that beautiful face he adores.

he likes to call your cracks 'smile lines', since they tend to happen after you laugh or smile. it's a human thing, but he's trying to describe the similarities to you. he'll tell you that when humans smile all throughout their life, they get smile lines.. and while some are insecure about them, phainon thinks they should be proud. that the aeon's have given them the gift of so many happy, special moments, that they make sure all of the world gets to see it. that they know they've lived a good, happy life. and you shouldn't be ashamed of yours either.

nothing could shatter how perfectly imperfect you are to him. to phainon, you embody his every need and want.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake has been your boyfriend in his heart for months—he just needs to hear you say it.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ 1.4k ⌗ fluff, jake is vulnerable, this one is longer than the other parts but it's a MONUMENTAL STEP in their relationship :')

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── everyone's favorite couple is OFFICIALLY a couple now,,,bc in case anyone didn’t noticed, i never actually established if they were officially official or not..whoops. but i think that's also kinda the entire premise of their relationship as of now─jake wanting to give y/n as much time as she needs to be ready and him proving that he's willing to wait however long it takes for her :')

“But…this doesn’t mean everything’s fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there.”

Jake remembers your words.

Clear as day. Burned into his memory. His life mantra.

And since then, he’s had one and only one promise on repeat inside his head:

That he’ll do whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes to deserve you again.

To deserve being with you.

To deserve loving you, out loud—without holding back this time.

And if that meant patience—if that meant doing it all on your terms—then okay.

He’ll wait.

For you?

Yeah. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

Because it’s not up to him. It can’t be.

Everything’s in your hands now.

He’s in your hands.

So Jake follows your lead.

And at first, it was easy. To just…let things be.

To just keep this—whatever this is.

To keep staying by your side, unwavering, like some stupidly devoted golden retriever boyfriend who’s, technically, not a boyfriend but definitely does your dishes and rubs your back and makes out with you on the couch like he does.

To keep letting you steal his hoodies and never ask for them back. To keep ordering drinks for you at cafes because he knows you hate talking to cashiers.

To keep coming home to you, as if your place was his own.

To keep kissing you goodnight and good morning like you belong to him, even though he’s never actually asked.

To keep pretending he’s fine.

Completely. Totally. Definitely fine.

Fine with being in this maybe-kinda-sorta relationship.

Fine with never keeping any of his hoodies if it means he gets to keep you.

Fine with giving you his whole heart without knowing if he’ll ever get yours back.

Because he gets it. He really does.

You need time. You need space. You need to heal.

Because of him. 

So Jake—Jake doesn’t push.

Because if there’s one thing he has never doubted—

It’s that he wants you.

So he waits.

And waits.

Until—

“…You’re thinking out loud again,” you say suddenly, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Jake blinks, caught red-handed.

He turns to look at you, and for half a second—he forgets what he was stressing about.

Because you’re sitting on the hood of his car, legs dangling, your knees brushing his, swallowed up in one of his old hoodies. Your skin glows warm under the melting summer sky, orange and gold pouring all across you, highlighting the slope of your nose, your cheekbones, the way you tilt your head back and let the light hit you.

And you’re just. So. You.

Soft and comfortable and beautiful and his.

Jake clears this throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands, your gaze going back toward the sunset, "Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Jake inhales sharply, “Y/N.”

You turn to him, curious. “Jake.”

And god, he almost chickens out right then and there.

Because you’re so close, and all you did was simply say his name and he wants to crumble.

He’s in so, so deep.

And that’s how he knows he needs to do this.

“What…exactly are we?”

Jake’s voice comes out small—more so than he intended, as if afraid for the answer.

You blink, caught off guard.

Your expression shifts just slightly.

And Jake sees it—the tiny hitch in your breath, the way you blink one, two, three times.

And then panic floods his chest, because—

Oh god, he just ruined everything.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

He told himself he’d wait. That he wouldn’t push. That this—whatever this is—would unfold whenever you were ready.

But you?

You’re not surprised, per say.

You weren’t not expecting this conversation.

It’s been lingering in the air between you and Jake for a while now—soft and subtle.

Lingering in the way he holds you during movie nights, in the way he always brings you ‘and yet’ flowers (an inside joke you both refuse to explain to anyone else). In the way he stays over every night just a little longer than the last, in the way one of your drawers turned into a Jake drawer.

In the way he looks at you like he’s already in love.

And you noticed it.

You’ve known.

You’ve felt it, too.

But still.

Your heart tightens at his words.

Finally, you open your mouth, but before anything can come out—

“I mean, I—I don’t know, I was just thinking, you know, and I just..,” Jake rambles, brows furrowing, lips forming a worried, endearing, pout. “I know we act like—like this, and I really, really like where we are right now. But I—”

He exhales sharply. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to assume anything without asking. Like, ever. And there’s no pressure, seriously. If you still want to take things slow, or just—keep doing what we’re doing, I’m fine with that. More than fine. It’s just—”

Your chest tightens.

Jake’s fully facing you now, eyes searching, voice lower—softer, vulnerable, “I just don’t know where we stand, I guess.”

He swallows hard. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve going haywire.

You glance away, your hands curling into your sleeves as if trying to ground yourself.

And then—you finally look back at him.

“…Do you?” You murmur. One of your hands reaches for his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Do you want to know?”

Jake’s breath catches.

Because you’re looking at him now, all hesitant and soft and wide-eyed, and maybe just a little hopeful.

And nervous—in the same way he is.

Like you’re waiting for him to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for months.

And he doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t even doubt it.

“Of course I do,” Jake says, voice low and certain. The words spill out like truth. Like instinct.

“I want to be with you,” he continues, voice unwavering, leaning in slightly. “I want to call you my girlfriend. I want to show up to dumb parties with you and watch everyone realize I’m the luckiest guy there. I want to buy you snacks you’ll forget to eat and make reservations at fancy restaurants we’re going to be late to.”

You blink, lip parting slightly at his words. Your brain is short-circuiting—you don’t even think you’re breathing anymore.

And Jake must’ve noticed your reaction, because the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. But his voice remains steady, “But most importantly, I just want you to be happy with whatever we decide. So if you need time, or if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Jake freezes.

A blink.

“What?”

You swallow, ignoring the way your face is burning, “I mean—yes. I want that too. The parties and snacks and reservations. All of it.”

For a solid business second, Jake just stares at you. Like he almost doesn’t believe you. Like his brain is making this up out of sheer desperation.

But he takes one look at you—the way you’re looking at him all soft and sure—and he breaks.

Into the biggest grin of all time.

He grabs both your hands, clutching them close to him, looking at you like you just handed him the universe, “You’re being serious? Like, for real, for real?”

You raise a brow. 

“You don’t believe me? I must be doing a terrible job if you really thought I didn’t like you this whole time,” you giggle, the air around you immediately shifting into something lighter, something that feels like forever. “Of course, I do, Jake.” 

Jake softens instantly. His smile turns a little crooked, a little shy, “Well, yeah, I knew that. I just…I don’t know, I just wanted to hear you say it, you know?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder lightly—but he tugs you closer, one arm winding easily around your waist while the other links your fingers together, his thumb immediately stroking the back of your hand.

And it’s so easy. So natural. Like you’ve been his forever.

“And you’re my girlfriend now,” he says, absolutely wanting to tattoo it on his forehead for the world to see.

You giggle to yourself, a little breathless now as you rest your head against his chest, “Mmhm. I’m your girlfriend, Sim Jaeyun. Officially.”

“Holy shit,” he groans from above you. “You’re gonna have to say that, like, five more times.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter into his hoodie, but you’re smiling.

“You’re mine,” Jake places a soft kiss into your hair, his words muffled against you, “Mine, mine, mine.”

You’re beaming under his hold, your heart full.

You tilt your head up, catching his gaze again—eyes full of wonder, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

��I’m yours, Jake. Completely.”

But that’s just the thing.

You were always his.

He just needed to know that he was yours, too.

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr

[gladiatorcunt]

- # LEMON SUGAR !

flew like a moth to you (sunlight)

cw: weird pet play, reader has a vagina, large age gap (reader early 20’s & logan is…. not), HEAVY PISS KINK, dirty yucky icky gross vibes, xmen 2 coded logan, dad (father figure) bf talk and behaviors (old man, kiddo, dad, essentially lifestyle dom-ing you) anal plug mention, praise kink but one usage of ‘bitch’ and ‘toilet’, reference to a canon scene with jean but in this au she was just clowning on him as a friend, scogan crumbs, mentally ill & unhinged!reader, self objectification/dehumanization (?), reader: “i wish a/b/o was real :(”, pt.2 to . bc the dynamic might be confusing, implied unaware mutant!reader

do not copy, translate, or feed this work to ai

1k event. / please consider commissioning me

Logan doesn’t slap his tip against your cheek more than a quick initial love tap (if a tight awkward handshake from a man decades older than you was a sexual act) but he loves to force your head against his crotch and really massage it into your skin. His other hand holds his dick like he’s aiming to piss, a slight scowl twisting his lips because he’s trying to concentrate. His cigar hangs out of his mouth and his bulky hips swivel as he grinds his precum into your face, cheeks, around your eyes, lips, check check check.

He doesn’t even necessarily want you to suck him off that bad and he’s not even trying to cum. orgasming is a slower pursuit for him these days anyway. He just wants to dirty his puppy up a little, enrichment and whatever the fuck. Maybe you can make a game of trying to catch the salty droplets on your tongue, see if you can spot them when they’re about to gush out and trickle down.

An activity can both be a perverted parlor trick and a form of indulgent self care that trivial things like ice rollers or under eye patches couldn’t replace.

“There we go, atta puppy.” Logan chuckles and ruffles your hair when you manage to lick away a bead of precum before it can drip down out of your reach.

“Daddy, don’t tease. ‘m trying to focus, that’s rude.” You give him a good shake, smiling wildly.

You’re already drunk and loopy just huffing the pure musk emanating from his uncut cock. You hum as the salty tang of his juices taint your tastebuds, luxuriating in the aftertaste like you were chowing down on a dainty macarron. He doesn’t really believe in eating or drinking anything special to make his crotch and the things it produces taste better. You couldn’t be more happy about that, the whiskey sour twang riding on the flavor notes were much more preferable than some biblical concoction of milk and honey. If only it was more acidic, that way it could burn a hole through your tongue and your cervix. Marking you so thoroughly from the deepest parts of your soul, you’d always be empty and every pang of pain would call for the man that caused it to soothe your burns with his saliva.

Intimacy with Logan feels like you’re reconnecting in whatever version of the garden of Eden can exist on Earth. Why can’t it be here? With you on your knees so close to barking into the skin of your old man’s cock, a fancy cushion settled under you with little golden tassels hanging off the corners. You are always so willing to be the best you can be for him, but he’ll never allow your service to come at the price of individual pain. Your eyes flutter and you take one of your many breaks to plunge your nostrils into his thick bush.

Wooden and spicy, your favorite perfume that is undeniably raunchy yet sensuous and romantic. Natural. You never thought you could be so in love with how a man’s pubes smell, but you can’t say that you thought that any part of this would have become your life’s purpose in more ways than not. Logan chuckles and pats your cheek, enamored with how clearly you seem to be enjoying suffocating yourself in his groin. He sharply inhales through his nose when you move up to trail your tongue along his happy trail, lapping at the thinner hairs because you adore each one just as much as every part of him.

“Bet you wish you could live off my dick, don’t ya, bunny?”

Of course you nod and moan as you let yourself be pulled back to where you’re supposed to be, the mothership calls you home and you answer happily with your phantom tail wagging all the way.

You pant, digging your nose bridge into the crease where his hip bleeds into his inner thigh, “Mmfh- hah… tastes good, Daddy. I could die here…”

You wanted to cut your voice break of ‘Daddy’ short, but you haven’t arrived at that particular station in your subconscious to shed your skin entirely. You’re having trouble forming a coherent line of thought and finishing your sentences now, but you feel sheepish about how easily he can box you into going nonverbal, so you clamor to stay afloat.

You forget that Logan knows your game by now, every step and caveat and every miniscule and complicated rule. It’s cute how you’re still ashamed of letting your dear old dad see you in all of your bunny-puppy-deer-kitty pet glory, when he clocked that shit the minute your shaky eyes fixated on his truck’s glove box rather than make a second of eye contact with him. You’re fucked up, there’s something fractured deeper in you that you keep under a diary shaped lock and key, but all these jagged edges have bows teetering on their precipices.

You’ve let him put them there, with a fond eyeroll and heaps of head pats. Thank your lucky stars that there’s something fucked up with his psyche too, buried under all his other baggage, because that first ride home with you didn’t end in tears and your nipples caught in his canines. You got to be a bunny settling down in their deserved cozy den instead of a rabbit relying on their prey instincts to throw the predator chasing them off their twitching fuzzy cotton tail.

You don’t get to hide and shrink in yourself. Not when the curled up needy angel hidden under the layers of you makes his jaw ache so ferociously that it’s borderline bestial.

Baby, you’ve gotta know that if he could, he’d pick you up with his teeth by your scruff so your feet would never have to touch the ground and grow ripe with callouses.

He takes a puff from his cigar and shakes the excess ash over your shoulder, out of your view because he also knows that you’d try to swallow the unhealthy specks down too. It’s a constant thing on his mind, the never ending job of pulling your leash enough to wean you off of engulfing whatever weird shit into your mouth you can see out of the corner of your eye. And if it comes from him or was in contact with him? Hell, the stuff might as well be damn catnip to you.

He thinks he feels the same way about you, that’s what he gets for being stupid enough to have an inch of his heart unguarded. You found a way and wormed your way through his arteries, and now he’d rather go sober cold turkey than let you squirm away. Which is what you try to do by pulling back and settling soft hands on his hairy and beefy thighs.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker when he clasps a burly hand around the base of his thick cock in the poor imitation of a knot. He even squeezes in short pulses, bringing to mind what it would look like swelling up and pumping you full of potent cum. Breeding you with all the love of a man who wants more of you in the world because that might make him believe in it again. He wags his length in his hand to you, wordlessly offering you your favorite snack because you’ve been so very good for your old man.

“Come on, hun, want your treat? I know my puppy wants this big dick in their cute fuckin’ mouth.” He grumbles, stubbing his cigar out on his arms without even flinching or gritting his teeth and tossing it on the floor.

The burn’s already healed by the time you’ve gotten yourself and obediently let your tongue hang out of your mouth. He grunts, pleased, and dabs his sticky tip on the center of your tongue. It gives you the taste you crave while simultaneously depriving you of having your mouth filled like you desperately need to be able to get through the day.

You whine, Logan’s lips split on a wry smile but he doesn’t laugh this time. Nah, he’s too busy feeding his throbbing cock into your mouth, cutting off your whining and reducing a thunderous sound to a muffled crack of lightning.

“Theeeeeeeeere we go, kiddo, relax.” He says a few inches in, because your gag reflex is already tickling the back of your throat.

You breathe through your nose and distract yourself by playing with the hairs on his legs, drawing little hearts and stars as you take more of his length. Tears well up in your pitiful eyes but you brave through it. They eventually bubble over as your lips are forced to stretch, but Logan’s rough thumb dutifully wipes them away just like how you’d attentively cleaned his tip.

His head falls back with a slight crack and his sweaty pecs heave, “Drank a whole lot for you today, ‘m all nice and backed up just waitin’ for a pretty lil’ thing to relieve myself with.”

Suddenly you’re a bunny hopping off on a mission, no god could pull you off of Logan’s musky cock as you swallow around him. You don’t really feel like bobbing your head and humming today, you’re tuckered out from how late he kept you up late last night. He’s not going to just fuck your mouth without being asked, as much as he cares about you, you’re impossibly cute when you’re forced to do the tiniest bit of work.

If your mouth wasn’t so stuffed full of dick you’d pout, and the raised eyebrow Logan gives you means he knows that. You’re a good pet though, so you work yourself off of his length, take a deep breath, and immediately slide back down to the hilt. His full balls press against your chin and you rub the heavy sacks with both hands.

“Oh, fuck.” Logan groans, his fingernails dig into your scalp like he’s the one that needs to stay grounded. “Your gonna make your old man jizz his pants too quick if you keep fuckin’ playin’ with my balls like that.”

You don’t mind that at all, but there's still something else you’re after. You didn’t think much of how many bottles of water and glasses of alcohol he had thrown back today, maybe it was some sort of mutant thing that you just didn’t understand. Super dehydration or whatever, but the fact that he had been preparing a little surprise for his piss thirsty puppy made you want to give him your bloody heart right out of your chest.

His moans and growled promises of rewards and declarations of the rawest form of love a person could feel fade into the background. You hollow your cheeks and go for gold, wet ‘schlop!’-ing sounds bounce off the walls as you fuck your throat with his girthy cock. Not the longest in the world, another one of your blessings (you’ve heard mutterings about mission showers and some guy that shoots lasers out of his eyes taking that prize), but the way it fills up the space in your mouth to the point it could burst gives your clit tachycardia.

“Yeah, fuck, are you ready to drink up, bitch? ‘m gonna use you like a toilet, gonna cum too- god fuckin’ damn-”

You give his balls a solid squeeze as the golden shower pours down your throat and past the seam of your lips to the floor. You don’t stop your ministrations, you actually speed up your pace and bring your wrists into it. Your hands bumping against his imitation knot-hand as you move them in circles, jacking him off while your plush lips glide up and down his cock.

You’re rubbing your pussy against the cushion, it has corduroy buttons that send a tingle down your spine when they catch your clit. The emerald green fabric drags and moves as you hump it while you put your all into making your dad-boyfriend-everything cum. You’re outright bouncing his heavy balls in your hands now, they’re so full you know that one load isn’t going to be nearly enough. So you tell yourself to lock in and hum, sending vibrations down his dick.

Determined puppies get extra treats, and you’ve never gone without them. So you push yourself to make eye contact, flicking your eyes up to stare at Logan as you ruin your own throat via his dick like it was nothing more than your toy. You think it’s the sheer and essentially licentious mannerisms and the glaringly obvious truth that there are men who are not immune to watching a pretty pet posturize themselves on an altar of their own making just to paw at their owner’s legs.

“My baby bunny, too damn sweet to me, yessssss-” His mouth wrenches up almost in pain as he clings to the back of your head and pounds your throat on his own for the next minute.

“Drink it all up, let me feel you swallow it down f’r me.”

You purposefully yank yourself off of his mid stream and duck down to bob his balls on your tongue, lathering them in that pungent scent. You rotate your wrist around his tip, coaxing him to empty everything he has in him and give it all to you. Your hand becomes just as scent marked as his balls and the divots in your collarbone where drops of his piss and cum are forming tiny pools.

He groans at the sight, “Doing so fuckin’ well, collectin’ Daddy’s juices and hoardin’ ‘em all for yourself.”

Your mouth envelops his twitch dick once more, most of what Logan keeps cooped up for you belongs in your growling tummy.

“You better not hiss at me when I have to wash your mouth out later, baby.”

Thus, your perfect record remains intact, you beam around his still hard dick as you float in a starless sea of white and yellow. A coat rack for cock fulfilling its duties.

His piss isn’t too orange-y, you’re glad you don’t have to nag him about cutting back on the booze this time.

Sadly there’s no blood sticking to your scalp from his nails, but you embrace the sting their indents leave behind. They’re almost as breathtaking as the plug buried in your ass, Dad always likes to keep your holes stretched out and ready.

—————————————————————————

“Girls flirt with the dangerous guy, Logan. They don’t bring him home. They marry the good guy.”

With you, he was that good guy. Whatever it meant to be one after all these years and invisible scars. It’s indescribable, how much meaning you can find in having to gain the strength to take care of someone else completely. Be their Atlas and shoulder the world so they can waltz around you, their wings spread wide. He’s glad, deep down, that your wings don’t extend past the small house he’s stuffed you in.

Logan Howlett deserves a nice thing or two every once in a while, and he already got a bottle of scotch from Scott. Fucker thinks he’s so clever. You’d do just fine being the second nice thing. A shame that the nicest thing you probably have is that slick stained cushion, he’s not anybody to write home about. But you seem to have stitched your sides together when he wasn’t looking, sewn your identity into his until you had emotionally fused into one being.

It happened way too fast and when he thought he wasn’t meant for loving a little pup like you, but he’s tired of being some old grump about it. You’d probably snap and try to beat him to a pulp with the bats he keeps in the closet (for you to use in emergencies since you don’t leave), and he’d have to hunt you down through the

Anything else other than you meant about as much to him as a pile of cigarette butts.

And some time later when the dam bursts for the first time and you’re trying not to fall off that cliff, sisyphus-esque struggling through recurring hoarse sobs because Logan is uncomfortably stroking your back gently as if you were a person and not a corpse, you’ll start to feel the molten hot gold seeping in and filling the cracks.

Maybe one day you can tell him about the v-shaped scars on your back, the ones that look like they were created when something was ripped away from you. They’re slanted craters, almost, hard material resembling bone jutting out from your back. Hooks lacking their ornaments.

Hell snatch up your old fashioned grocery list (written with an almost completely dried out ink pen from the bank on a flimsy college ruled sheet of paper) and make a quick run while you heal more than just your body, submerged in another acid trip of a dream.

You wanted to make a lemon cake before the summer ended, it’s always been your favorite.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I hope you’re having a great weekend. You asked for whimsical reader and I feel like that would be an interesting dynamic with Spencer (if you’re willing to write it ofc) bc he’s typically more logical and analytical. Like she is talking to him about one of her interests or showing him something and it’s so not Him but he’s fascinated by her and how her mind works

Thanks lovely!

Spencer Reid x whimsical!reader ♡ 557 words

“I’m only saying that we can’t know for sure.” 

“We do know.” There’s no pique in Spencer’s tone. For anyone else there might be, but he can never bring himself to agitation around you. You have a presence that feels like rain in summer. It lulls Spencer without him realizing it’s happening. 

“Spencer.” You give him a look. Indulgent, fond. “How much of the ocean did you say humans have explored?” 

He frowns. “About five percent.” 

“And we evolved from fish, didn’t you say that?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“So we can’t say for sure that mermaids don’t exist,” you say, patiently. Going back to braiding together three dandelions still rooted in the ground. Joggers pass on the park trail nearby. “Humans have come from the ocean before, and we haven’t seen enough of it to know that some who stopped halfway through evolution aren’t down there somewhere.” 

Spencer exhales a laugh. Something you and he have in common is your insatiable curiosity. If there were suddenly a way to go to the bottom of the ocean and explore everything humans have never seen, Spencer would go in a heartbeat and he really believes that you would, too. His curiosity is scientifically-minded, though, based in evidence. You work differently. 

“They’re always discovering things they weren’t expecting down there,” you go on. “Like sea angels. Nobody could have come up with that.” 

Spencer watches you. Your careful fingers, your relaxed posture, the way the afternoon sun tangles in your hair. He’s not sure when looking at you became less about fascination and more about feeding the aching hunger in his chest. 

“You know, there’s some speculation that early human sightings of animals like manatees or dugongs might have inspired stories of mermaids.” You glance up at him, intrigued. Like Spencer around you, you never seem to get upset when he argues. You’re only inquisitive. “Ancient Assyrians believed that Atargatis, the goddess of water and the moon, dove into a lake to take the form of a fish. Because the gods wouldn’t allow her to give up her beauty, they forced her to keep half of her human form.”

Your expression is rapt. “So she was the first mermaid.” 

You phrase it like it’s more than myth. “That’s the oldest known belief of mermaids, yes.” 

“I hope it’s true.” You go back to braiding your flowers. “That’s such a cool story.” 

You say it so contentedly Spencer can’t bring himself to contradict you. It’s not about what you hope is true, an insistent voice in his head cries. But maybe it is. With you, you’re happy enough just to believe in what you hope is true. 

You seem to sense what Spencer is craving, scooting over in the grass so that you’re closer to him. You lay your head on his shoulder. He can feel the warmth of your cheek through his sleeve. 

You say in a placid tone, gaze fixed on some faraway cloud, “Maybe some humans evolved into butterflies, too.” 

Spencer smiles and turns his head, enjoying the tickle of your hair against his chin. “You won’t convince me fairies are real, sorry.” 

“How much of the sky have we explored, Spencer?” 

“I work for the government. If there were fairies, I would tell you.” 

“What makes you think the government would know? Fairies are very good at hiding.”

[hoe4hotchner]

hey! can i request aaron x lawyer!r where r is unexpectedly the lawyer of one of the teams suspects and hotch is interrogating the suspect with r in the room and she's being a little harsh with him bc she's just doing her job? maybe a little nsfw? that's up to you totally 😚

also! the team knows aaron's married but they've never met his wife that ought to be fun

Conflict of interest | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x lawyer fem!reader | WC: 1.4k | CW: Tension (maybe on the cusp of a lil sexual tension), law language. They yell a little

The walls of the interrogation room were suffocatingly close, the air thick with the scent of stale police station coffee, that had likely been in the pot for hours. The overhead light cast a gloomy glow over the metal table where Hotch sat, his fingers laced together in a show of composure. His eyes were sharp and remained locked onto the man sitting cuffed across from him—Mr. Holt, their prime suspect in a long line of brutal homicides.

But it wasn’t Holt who made Hotch’s shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket. It wasn’t Holt who sent an unwelcome current of frustration coursing through his veins.

It was you.

Seated just to the right of the suspect, clad in a perfectly tailored black blazer and exuding impenetrable confidence, you sat with your hands folded neatly atop a thick legal pad. The elegant pen between your fingers tapped soundlessly against the paper, the only outward sign of your simmering irritation. Unlike Hotch, your composure wasn’t practiced—it was definite.

You had to be. After all, you weren’t just any defense attorney. You were the defense attorney. And right now, you were his opponent.

Hotch’s voice was steady as he laid out the facts, his tone laced with authority, but you saw right through him. “Security footage places you at the victim’s home at 11:42 p.m. Your car was seen parked half a block away, and your fingerprints were recovered from the front door. Would you like to explain why?”

Holt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but before he could even consider an answer, you leaned forward, exuding an air of casual yet deliberate defiance. “My client is under no legal obligation to respond to a question that presumes guilt,” you said smoothly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Unless, of course, you’re implying that the mere presence of fingerprints constitutes irrefutable evidence of criminal activity? Because if so, I’d love to hear how you intend to argue that in court.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He should have expected this—should have been prepared for the way you would anticipate every angle of his interrogation and counter it before he could press his suspect any further. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

He shifted tactics, leaning back slightly, his voice lowering just enough to force the suspect into hanging on to every word. “We don’t need a confession. We already have enough to charge him. But I’m giving him an opportunity to cooperate, and that cooperation might be the difference between second-degree murder and manslaughter.”

Your laugh was soft but biting, a quiet scoff of amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “Ah, so we’ve moved on to coercion. Good to know.” You tapped the pen against your notepad, feigning contemplation. “For the record, are you extending a plea offer, Agent Hotchner? Because if that’s the case, I’d be happy to discuss terms with the ADA. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making veiled threats regarding my client’s sentencing.”

There was no mistaking the flicker of frustration in Hotch’s eyes as his gaze locked on you. Tension hung between the two of you, thick and charged, stretching the air around you tight, neither of you willing to back down.

Holt shifted again, clearly uncomfortable as he glanced between the two of you. “Uh… you two know each other?”

You didn’t so much as spare him a glance, your focus entirely on your husband. “Irrelevant.”

But for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to react. His gaze flickered over you, assessing, weighing. Then, finally, he sat forward, mirroring your posture, his hands flattening against the table. “Not quite,” he murmured, the words carrying an undertone only you would recognize.

The suspect’s brows furrowed, but you ignored him, your fingers tightening around your pen. This wasn’t the time for personal matters. Not here. Not now.

With a measured inhale, you pushed your chair back, the scrape of the metal legs against the floor slicing through the quiet room. Gathering your papers with careful precision, you rose to your feet, smoothing out the sleeve of your blazer as you spoke. “Then I assume this interrogation is over. If the state wishes to pursue formal charges, you know how to reach me.” You turned your gaze to Holt. “We’re done here.”

Without another word, you strode toward the door, your heels clicking against the linoleum with unwavering confidence. But as you passed by the observation room, you could practically feel the weight of their stares.

The BAU had always known that Hotch was married. They just never knew to whom.

Hotch was on you the second you stepped out of the interrogation room, his long strides easily matching yours as you moved through the precinct’s fluorescent-lit hallways.

“You didn’t think to warn me?” His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable bite beneath it.

You barely spared him a glance as you kept walking, your expression composed, your heels clicking against the scuffed linoleum with confidence.

“That would have been a violation of privilege, Agent Hotchner.”

His last name, spoken with deliberate coolness, it was a dagger—pointed, sharp, meant to wound. It shouldn’t have affected him.

It did.

“Don’t give me that,” he bit out, his pace unyielding beside you. “This wasn’t just any case, and you damn well know it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shot back, finally turning to face him as you came to a stop near the bullpen, where uniformed officers and federal agents milled about, some stealing glances at the two of you. “Would you have preferred I compromised my ethical obligations to make your life easier?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning into yours. “I would have preferred not to walk into that room and find my wife sitting across from me, blocking my every move.”

A few nearby officers looked up from their desks, their attention settling on the argument unfolding in front of them. The BAU team wasn’t far, either—standing just past the evidence board, pretending not to eavesdrop.

They weren’t great at pretending.

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin slightly. “Then maybe you should learn how to conduct an interrogation without bordering on prosecutorial misconduct.”

Hotch exhaled sharply through his nose, a slow, measured breath that did little to temper his frustration. “I wasn’t coercing him.”

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms. “Implying that the only way out of a harsher sentence is to confess—without an official plea agreement on the table—is dangerously close to a violation. And don’t try to argue otherwise, because you know I’m right.”

His lips pressed into a firm line. “That’s an overstatement.”

“No, it’s a legal precedent,” you shot back. “One that I could use if I wanted to. And don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

The tension between you burned harsher by the second, coiling, tightening, thriving under the scrutiny of the station. Officers slowed their movements, their conversations quieter, their curiosity thick in the air.

Hotch’s team wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

Morgan let out a low whistle under his breath. “I gotta admit, this is better than I expected.”

JJ nudged him sharply, but even she couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement.

Hotch took a step closer, his voice dropping just enough that only you could hear it. “You’re making a scene.”

Your eyes glinted, sharp as a blade. “I’m winning a scene.”

That earned you a look—one that sent heat coiling low in your stomach despite every ounce of frustration pulsing through your veins.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, exasperation written into every taut line of his body. “You were harsh in there.”

Your arms stayed crossed, your stance was riggid. “I was effective.”

“You were antagonistic.”

“I was doing my job, Aaron,” you countered, voice sharp but controlled. “Something I refuse to apologize for.”

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if he was holding himself back from a response that would tip this battle into something else. Something neither of you could afford to acknowledge here, surrounded by far too many watchful eyes.

Instead, he inhaled slowly, steadying himself before speaking again. “We’re not done discussing this.”

You arched a brow. “Then I suggest you take it up with my office.”

With that, you turned on your heel, striding toward the station’s exit, your every movement exuding the same unyielding confidence that had been driving him insane since the moment you walked into that interrogation room.

Hotch watched you go, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, breaking the silence that had settled over the bullpen. “She really just left you on read in real life.”

Hotch barely spared him a glance.

But as he adjusted his tie and turned away, his team wasn’t fooled.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

[fairyhaos]

ও wen junhui as your college boyfriend

gn!reader, wc ~500 tags: requested by anon, college au, fluff, crack, est. rs., this is so cute omg i want a college bf!junhui now

he's honestly so adorable no matter what

so u can bet he's the cutest college bf ever too!!

memorised ur wholeee schedule on day one and sends YOU reminders about ur own classes every day

makes a point to eat lunch with u whenever possible

also whenever Not possible too

like he'll come SPRINTING across campus after his class just to have lunch with u if that's what it takes

sue him, he likes spending time with u :(((

he's also thee best comforter during exam season omg!!!

more than willing to stay up all night studying with you if it makes you feel better

he knows how u spiral into panic if you're left on ur own, so the closer it gets to exams, he starts showering u with even MOREE affection than before

and you know he'll be showering u with kisses once exams r FINALLY out of the way as a congratulations 😙

always leaves snacks in your bag and little post-its with cat faces drawn on them to reminder you to drink water bc he KNOWS that you're so bad at taking care of urself when you're fully locked in

"hey junnie, you know you can just text me, right?" / "are you saying you don't like my cat drawings :((" / "whAT NO I WOULD NEVER—"

also just bc he's a broke college student does nawwt mean you'll ever catch him slacking as ur bf !!

gives you little gifts whenever possible, is always showing up at ur dorm with flowers, buys you books + clothes + stationary + groceries + whatever he can to show he cares

one thing he won't do, though, is catch bugs for you.

nuh uh. that is a no-go.

who cares that he's literally 600000x bigger than the spider? the spider is still WAYY scarier than he'll EVER be so he is NOT touching that no thank you.

the two of you stay glued to one corner of the library till ur friend arrives and scares the spider off

but junhui makes up for his bug-related uselessness by being useful in literally every other area of ur life

hungry? he'll cook for you. sick? he'll take care of you. stuck on an essay? he'll help you, even if he's not studying anything remotely related to ur major

he could be in the throes of finishing his dissertation, bags under his eyes and the world on his shoulders but he'll still drop everything to help you

what can he say? he's in love with u.

and what makes it even better is he knows, he knows that you'd do the exact same thing for him too

you're so full of love, so kind and wonderful that he can't help but do all of this in return, just to try and give an ounce of that same love back

it's the least you deserve, he thinks.

(and don't tell anyone, but right after graduation, he's thinking of getting you a promise ring and taking u to visit china with him b4 u go to ur respective internships.)

(and then, further down the line... he's really hoping to marry you one day. you know. because he really does love you a lot. hopefully you love him just as much too.)

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia