#he just didn’t love him back that way </3 rip

[gojotojis]

The After Party pt.2

Part 1 Part 3

summary: You’re extremely confused about sukuna kissing you but your body craves him and maybe your heart too.

pairing: college sukuna x college fem reader

content MDNI: angst, pining, bestfriends brother, frenemies to lovers, loss of virginity, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, vaginal sex, overstimulation, praise kink, soft sukuna, fluff, aftercare, blood

It’s been a week since Sukuna made you cum with nothing but a kiss. You avoid him like the plague, unfortunately you have classes with Choso so you at least have to see him.

You’re so confused by your kiss with Sukuna that your hurt over Choso faded into the background. That one kiss crumbled years of pining after Choso.

You’re so frustrated and you have so many questions but you have to face the facts. Sukuna is a raging asshole, that’s been nothing but mean to you, and was sickeningly cruel to you at the party.

He’s said mean things that you’ve often let slide because he’s Sukuna but he kissed you and it changed the trajectory of everything.

You think about the disgustingly inappropriate comments he’s made and the fact that he’s fucked half the student body. This has to be a game for him, there’s no other explanation, and you refuse to play any part in it.

You’re hesitant to join Choso for lunch but he’s dragging you to the cafeteria. You simply grab some omurice and water before taking a seat at your usual table. You guys haven’t talked about the party or much at all, you don’t want but it’s obvious he does.

“What happened at the party with Sukuna, it’s like you two just kept ripping into eachother. He refuses to talk about it,” Choso says as you push your food around on your plate.

You feel angry at Sukuna and yourself, how could he be so selfish but how could you be so stupid.

“Nothing,” you mumble, before you finally take a bite of your food. Choso doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t push and you’re grateful for that.

You feel distant from him even though he’s rights here, why didn’t he tell you about Yuki? You’re suppose to be his bestfriend and yet he didn’t tell you something so big, but at the same time you don’t tell him that his brother made you cum with nothing but his mouth pressed to yours. You’re truly mortified by that, cringing as you relive the way your body trembled against his.

You’re not sure why but you ask Choso a question that’s been on your mind since you left the party. “Did Sukuna have sex with Kiko?.

His brows raise unsure of why it matters to you but he shrugs, “Probably,” he says, and you nod. You hate the feeling that takes over, like you’ve been used but you force it down.

The libraries quiet and probably the only thing you love about your school. You chew on the tip of your pen as you read over Bram Stokers Dracula, embarrassingly engrossed that you don’t notice when someone takes a seat across you.

Large tattooed hands appear in front of you, covering the pages and gripping the book till they’re closing it and sliding it away from you. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and your cheeks burn as you look up.

Sukuna reads over the title before sliding it back to you and you hold your breath, waiting to hear what dreadful words will leave his mouth.

“You really gonna fucking ignore me?” He asks and you feel the urge to roll your eyes. If you’re delusional, well he’s just fucking insane.

“Ignore you? Sukuna, we’ve only hung out when Choso’s around, do you see him around?” you ask looking around the library for dramatic effect. You watch the way his jaw ticks, like you’re annoying him.

“You know what I’m talking about, want me to shout it across the library? The way you came against me and ran off?” He asks and your skin turns hot.

“That never happened!” You whisper yell and he leans back with a smug grin.

“The wet patch you left on my shirt says otherwise,” he says and your eyes widen, all you can do is pray that God smites you where you sit.

“Please stop. You got what you wanted, I don’t want to play into your games. This is drawing a line, torment me, make fun of me but please don’t use me,” you say genuinely and his brows furrow. You’re so stupid it’s cute.

“Is that what you think this is?” He asks and you sigh.

“You’ve done nothing but torment me, you’ve made fun of my body, my clothes, my looks, my intelligence, why would I think anything else?” You ask and his features soften for a fraction of a second.

“They’re jokes,” he says like that’s suppose to make it okay and you shake your head.

“You took things too far. Those ‘jokes’ speak volumes about what you think of me,” you answer and he leans forward.

“You don’t have a clue what I think of you,” he says and your fingers grip the edge of your chair. He’s growing agitated and it’s obvious at the amount of times his jaw ticks.

“I do. And let’s not forget how you manipulated me into going to that party, you told me Choso and Yuki were going to have sex but the whole time you knew they already had. You’re actually sick,” you say and he glares at you.

“You don’t have a clue what sick is, sick is watching you follow my brother around like a fucking puppy. Sick is making up excuses to third wheel with you two fucking imbeciles, sick is wanting someone you can’t have,” he says, his voice is rough and harsh.

Your insides burn as you take his words in, still not sure what he’s saying.

“I don’t understand,” you admit, and his hand grips the back of your head, pulling your lips to his. It’s sweet and gentle, the opposite of what he wants but he knows you’ll move to Russia if he makes you orgasm again in the library.

He pulls away, hand sliding to grip the side of your neck. His forehead presses against yours as you conclude what he’s trying to say. He likes you.

“Why,” you whisper, too scared to pull away and look him in the eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s not use to this and he can’t force himself to tell you how he feels with words. He’s the most honest and blunt person you know but this has him stumped.

“We can’t,” you whisper. It’s Sukuna, Choso’s brother, the boy that chased you with worms, the boy that mixed slime in your hair, the boy that poured salt in your water.

“I know,” he says and it fills you with disappointment. You shouldn’t be disappointed, you don’t want this, you don’t want him.

“It’s gonna be Choso, it’s always gonna be him,”he says, his voice empty and wrong. Choso was the farthest thing from your mind since Sukuna kissed you. Your brain feels fried, trying to bring clarity to a head of jumbled thoughts.

You don’t owe Sukuna anything, not after all that he’s done but the thought of this being it, this being the end of any sense of normality for you two feels saddening. You two stay pressed together, your hair a curtain around you. You’re afraid that once you pull away, you’ll never see him again and if you do, it’ll never be the same.

“Kiko’s nice,” you say, and you feel his forehead wrinkle against yours.

“I don’t like her,” he says, his breath fanning your lips. You subtly inhale the aftertaste of cinnamon and spice with a hint of smoke.

“You had sex with her,” you say.

“I did,” he answers and you pull away. He slightly panics at your expression as you reach for your book.

“A long time ago, I didn’t touch her that night. I didn’t touch anyone,”he says, it shouldn’t matter to you but it does. He relaxes as you let go of your book, not making a move to leave.

He’s fucked up a lot of things up between you, he knows that but all he knows how to do is hurt and take. Choso said he was never the same after their mom died, so afraid to let anyone in.

When he realized all you saw was Choso, he didn’t know how to react but pick on you. When it became clear Choso didn’t want you but you kept trying, something in him turned to rage.

Seeing you cry sobered him up, he was never suppose to hurt you and somehow that got lost along the way. He grew comfortable with your banter, the only way he got a reaction from you, the only way he could get you to talk to him.

But he accepted a long time ago that you two would never be anything, until he saw you crying because of him. Every fiber of his being begged him to comfort you, so he did the only way he knows how, by taking.

He was greedy and when you kissed him back, maybe the idea of you wasn’t so unobtainable anymore.

He looks at you, the conflicting thoughts so clear on your face and he knows what he has to do. He’s not good enough for you, he doesn’t know if he ever will be. He can end this all for you, the hurt, the confusion and finally give you the peace you’ve always wanted.

“I don’t think we should be around eachother anymore,” he says and you inhale. You should be so grateful, to finally be free of him but this feels painful. Your heart feels like it’s breaking, worse than when you found out Choso slept with Yuki.

You blink back tears several time and shove your book into your bag. “Goodbye Sukuna,”.

You sob, violently into your mother’s lap as she threads her fingers through your hair. You tell her everything from your crush on Choso to Sukuna kissing you and deciding you two shouldn’t see eachother. You leave out the explicit details but it’s enough to paint the picture.

“He’s a sweet boy, just troubled,” your mother says, she’d always defended Sukuna, growing up when nobody else would. She always made sure he was included between you and Choso.

“Why am I not happy?” you ask, confused on why you’re sobbing.

“You like him, and it hurts” she whispers as hot tears roll down your cheeks. You had never cried over Choso like this, you’re literally hicupping as your sobs die down. Your face is red and puffy as you stare at the blank wall ahead of you.

“You know how he feels, you felt that over Choso. He’s hurting and he may never admit that but just because he says you can’t see eachother anymore, doesn’t mean it’s what he wants” she says and you think about those words.

You’re not even sure what you want, but you’d rather have him making fun of your outfits and the way you walk than to not have him at all. You’ve been so blinded by Choso that nothing else has ever mattered until now.

You like Sukuna, so fucking much and it hurts more than anything else. The sound of thunder and rain pouring, snaps you from your thoughts and you sit up like a light bulbs gone off.

You’re not sure what you’ll say, or if he’ll reject you but you have to fix this. You thank your mom before you’re running out of her room and down the stairs, you shove your feet into your tennis shoes and open the front door.

It’s pouring rain, but you don’t care. You close the door behind you and break off into a sprint, a few streets over to Sukunas house.

By the time you reach the door, you’re completely drenched from head to toe and shivering as your fist knocks on the door. Nobody comes and you sigh, ringing the doorbell several times until you hear the locks click.

Sukuna answers and your breathing hitches.

“Choso’s not here,” he says and you shake your head.

“I’m not here for him, I wanted to talk to you,” you say shaking. He wants to tell you no but you look on the verge of hypothermia, so he pulls you inside. You feel bad about the puddle that forms underneath you.

“You’re shaking,” he says and you nod, teeth chattering as he grabs your wrist and guides you upstairs. You stand awkwardly at the entrance of his room as he opens his dresser.

You stare at the paused video game on his desktop before he’s handing you a white shirt and a pair of boxers.

You enter his bathroom and change into them, rolling up the boxers till they disappear under the shirt, you dry your hair with his towel before you step out.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed and you fiddle with your fingers as you walk toward him.

“I don’t want to stop talking to you, I don’t want to stop being around you. If that’s what you really want then I’ll have no choice but to accept it. You should know my thoughts though,” you say and he looks up at you with hesitancy but you continue.

“I like you, more than a friend. I don’t think I deserved the way that you treated me but despite it all, I like you. And the thought of not seeing you makes my heart hurt, I’m sorry I never saw you the way you wanted me to but I do now, just please don’t hurt me,” you say staring down at the carpet.

You feel hands grip your waist and he pulls you between his legs. You lean your forehead against his and close your eyes.

“You don’t deserve what I did, any of it and I’ll spend everyday making up for it. But I love you, and I’m sorry, for everything,” he says, the words feel strange on his tongue but it’s the truth.

“You love me?” you ask and he nods against you.

“Since middle school,” he says and you actually start crying, you know that pain and you hate that you put him through it. You straddle his lap and slide your arms underneath his till they’re hugging him.

His body engulfs yours and you slump against him, soaking up the warmth that radiates from him. His hands slip up under his your shirt and rub against your icy skin, leaving trails of heat with his touch.

“You’re freezing, baby” he says, the pet name shooting straight to your core as you try to bury yourself closer to him.

You look up at his lips, so soft and plump. Your fingers graze them and he pretends to bite you, making you giggle until he leans down and kisses you. It’s sweet but you want more, you nip at his bottom lip and his mouth opens.

Your tongue grazes the roof of his mouth, teasingly before it licks at his. He’s licking around your lips, your teeth and then he sucks on your tongue which drives you crazy. You both feel your nipples harden and you feel the bulge beneath you, pressing up into you.

You gasp when his hands squeeze your hips tighter and pushes you down against it. The pressure has you grinding against him, it feels so good, too good.

You cry when his hands slide into your shorts and squeeze your ass, his touch is bruising and rough but it turns you on. You feel your arousal dripping through your shorts, desperate for release until he stills your movements and you whine.

“What do you want?” He asks, breathing heavily. You’re too shy to speak so instead you fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head. You grab one of his hands and shove his index and middle finger into your mouth, you lick at the digits and suck on them.

“Fuck…” he groans as you pull them out and rub them over your nipple, you bite your lip and make the cutest face at how good it feels. He’s pulling his fingers away and his mouth latches on instead, you moan, fingers digging into his scalp as he sucks your tit and his tongue licks around your nipple, tugging it with his teeth before biting down on it and he does the same to the other one.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes licking all around your tits till your chest is covered in saliva. You grind against him, seeking any sort of relief from the ache in your pussy but nothing works until he’s lifting you off of him laying you on your back.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asks and you nod desperately. You need him inside of you, you need to relieve this ache.

His fingers skim the band of your shorts before tugging them down, you squeeze your legs together. You’re completely naked now and are scared of what he’ll think. Your legs shake as his hands rest on your thighs before spreading them open.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes looking at your pussy, soaked and swollen from need.

“Please,” you beg, and he presses a kiss to your belly only making you ache more. He’s so gentle, it’s unlike him but he loves you and he knows this is your first time. You squeeze your belly when you feel a finger glide up your cunt, and your legs instinctively go to close but his hands immediately press down on them.

“Sorry,” you squeak and he chuckles, it’s not arrogant or malicious, it’s a whole hearted laugh that makes you smile.

“It’s okay baby, just relax. I gotta stretch you out, so you can take me,” he says so casually but the words feel so filthy as they reach your ears. His fingers graze your clit and slowly start flicking it making you press your hips further into the matresss, his thumb swipes over it before you feel something prodding at your hole and you gasp when it pushes inside of you.

He watches your pussy swallow his finger, clenching around it as you try to relax. It’s feels so good, really good and he curls it making you sit up on your elbows. You watch him insert a second finger and your mouth forms into an O. You buck your hips against his hand, riding his fingers and his thumb rubs circles into your clit.

“Feels so good,” you cry out feeling his lips kiss each of your inner thighs. Your eyes open and watch his fingers fuck into you. You can hear the squelching your pussy makes around them and it becomes too much.

Your stomach tightens and you clench around him, feeling yourself cum. Your eyes widen when he starts slamming his fingers into you, fucking into you with brute force.

“Too much, too much, I can’t I can’t,” you cry as your body spasms around him, eyes rolling back.

“You can baby, one more,” he says and you break, your pussy sprays all over him and the bed. You feel mortified as he stares at your pussy, retracting his fingers.

“Need you to do that around my cock,” he says, and your cheeks redden watching him bring his fingers to his mouth and lick at them.

Your eyes close at the sight before they open to see him lifting his shirt off. His body is so muscular and sexy, your finger itch to feel the muscle. You bite your lip, you’re really about to have sex with him.

He pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion and you feel scared when his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, long and so swollen. Angry veins protrude around it as he smears precum over the tip.

He looks to you and starts pumping it in his hand. He wants to fuck you till you can’t walk, till the only person on your mind is him and the only name you can speak is his but this is about you.

Your pussy clenches as he kneels onto the bed, crawling to you and his fingers graze your lips, smearing precum on them and you lick them. You can’t begin to imagine how many times he’s dreamed of this, dreamed of being inside you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, whimpering when you feel him slap his cock against your cunt, he nudges the tip against your clit, rubbing them against eachother. The feeling is so erotic and you buck against him. Your hands squeeze together when you feel him nudging his tip inside of you.

“Need you to be a good girl and relax,” he says and you nod, loosening your muscles and your hold around his neck. You’re scared but you know he won’t hurt you, not intentionally, not anymore.

He slowly pushes into you, the stretch burns and you cry. It feels like he’s splitting you open.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay,” he says pressing a kiss to your cheeks, before his mouth is on yours and his thumb rubs against your clit to ease and distract you as he keeps pushing into you.

You squeeze around him, loving the way his tongue fucks yours. He pushes past the tight ring of muscle and you squeeze your thighs around him, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out.

Full. You feel so fucking full.

He slowly pulls out and looks down to the creamy red ring around his cock and pushes back in. His hips roll against yours earning several moans from you. Your hands slide up his arms until they’re clutching his biceps.

His movements are slow but he’s fucking deep into you, you feel his cock kiss your cervix with each thrust. You look at him with big doe and watery eyes, lips swollen and parted. His hips move harder against yours and your eyes water more at the sensation.

“Harder,” you beg and feel him pull out leaving you empty until he slams into you and your back arches, clutching to him tightly.

“So fucking tight,” he groans bucking into you. Your crying turns into full on sobs as he fucks into you, the room fills with the sounds of your wet pussy swallowing the fuck out of him.

“You’re mine now, nobody else’s,” he says rutting into you, all you can do is nod through your sobs. “Such a good fucking girl,” he breathes against your lips, feeling your tits bounce against him with each thrust.

“My” thrust. “Fucking” thrust. “Girl” thrust.

“Yours,” you cry out and his tongue swipes your lips.

“I need this pretty pussy to squirt on my cock, you think you can do that baby?” He asks feeling you shake against him and you nod. He moans as you clench around him and he beats into your cervix, the sound of your skin slapping against his has you tightening until you can’t take it anymore and you start gushing around him. You spray his cock and his stomach, dripping down the bed.

His eyes are focused on his cock fucking into you, the way your pussy swallows him like you can’t let go and he forces more from you. Watching the way you keep squirting and your body spasms around him, arms tightening around his neck.

“I gotta cum inside you,” he says, you’re too cock drunk to register his words.

“Please” you beg as he pounds into you, you cry, arms circling around him bouncing off his cock. Liquid just gushing from you endlessly, so overstimulated you keep orgasming around him.

He grunts with one final thrust and you feel something hot and thick shoot up into you, it doesn’t stop, his cock twitches inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick ropes of cum.

You sag against him until he finally pulls out of you, you feel empty as he lifts you off the bed and carries you to his bathroom. He sets you down to pee while he changes the sheets.

Your pussy burns from being split open but you feel so content when he comes back. He wets a rag and wipes your blood and your mixed cum from his dick. You feel so tired once you’re done, he lifts you up and you wrap your arms around his neck your head resting against his shoulder , legs clinging around his waist. He pushes your hair out of your face and kisses your nose.

“You did so good baby,” he whispers, which earns him a tired smile as he walks you to his bed. He lays down with you still wrapped around him, lying atop his chest.

You feel his fingers trace circles into your naked hip as he kisses the top of your head.

“I love you,” he says as you close your eyes.

pt 1. pt.3

this has been so fun to write, I hope this is good. Thank you all for your support and kind words! Y’all this got flagged, I about cried…

@whosmarjj @getoxmahito @officialholyagua @adollsdarkdiary @jazzyysstuff @denenene @xra1 @bbyxxm @aqxllo @allofffmypeaches @evelynxx8 @deepenthevoid @aerithsthingss

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, parenting, self doubt, body image, mention of the word ‘daddy,’ kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant/ baby logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Chapter 15 - Uh Oh | ‘Ours’

“Erm… where were you?!” Winnie yelped when you returned to your area of the club. “You left me alone with a strange man!” she grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side.

“I didn’t leave with a strange man. I left you with T’s friends, one of which you had your tongue down his throat so I kind of assumed you were okay being near him.” You quipped with a smug smile. Winnie didn’t realize you had caught her cheeky makeout with Jadon as you walked to the bathroom about an hour ago.

“Regardless!” She yelped again. You rolled your eyes. She stopped a waitress by your table and she grabbed 2 shots off a tray. “Here…” She handed you one. “Actually…” She grabbed 3 more. “Jadon!” She called for him, interrupting his conversation. As expected, like many boys before him, when Winnie called they answered. “George” She pulled the back of George’s shirt nearby. He turned around pretending that Winnie had yanked him over with some force which she hadn’t. You shook your head at his theatrics. Winnie asked him where Trent was. Trent was with George but since Winnie had begun her round up he had found his way over to you. “Oh shit! Sorry, I didn’t know you were here already.” She laughed seeing Trent. “Sorry! Okay, to George, Happy Birthday, Jadon, nice to meet you, Trent, I hope you had fun fucking my sister! Cheers!” She yelled before she ripped her shot back. Your jaw slacked. You slapped at her arm. You watched everyone at the table take theirs.

“Thank you, Winnie, that was very nice of you.” George had a goofy smile on his face, drunk beyond belief, loving that Winnie paid him mind and that she just called Trent out. George had a slight crush on Winnie. It was definitely more of a looks based attraction. You couldn’t really imagine it passed that. He didn’t know her all that well. You understood Winnie was gorgeous but she was outgoing and George was fairly reserved. It definitely didn’t go over your head though as you sat at dinner to celebrate his birthday while Winnie macked on Jadon. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, she didn’t know he had a thing for her.

“I did have a fun time so yeah, thank you very much, Win” Trent joked pinching in between her shoulder and neck. He rested his chin on you with a sly smile.

“Thank you for including me, Win. George, Happy Birthday bro.” Jadon spoke before he eyed that you hadn’t taken your shot. “Y/N… What’s this? It’s George’s birthday. Go on…” He gave you a sinister smile. You shut your eyes.

“Go on, baby or if you don’t want it, I’ll take it for you.” Trent cooed sweetly kissing your cheek.

“No! No! That’s not how this works! It’s for George’s birthday, welcoming Jadon, and for fucking her, she has to take it.” Winnie quipped with a similar smile to Jadons.

“Okay… Can we just stop with the whole I got fucked please? Like I didn’t…” You tried to keep talking but everyone just jeered.

“Y/N, first off, don’t be such a pussy. Take the shot, you used to be so fun. Secondly, your delusional if you think anyone here believes you two were just gone for an hour and didn’t fuck. Also, T came back with a fresh hickey that wasn’t there when the day started… you know what I’m not going to explain to you that you just had sex in vegas club...” Winnie kept rambling. The way she said it made it sound absolutely disgusting so you laughed. George shook his head at Winnie as she continued. Jadon looked at Winnie amazed with the way she spoke to you but more so at the speed at which she was talking.

“Baby, just take the shot please. Winnie, shut up.” Trent laughed, pinching her cheeks together, pursing her lips closed against her will. You dumped the glass of tequila in your mouth and swallowed so Trent let go of her. Winnie gave you a satisfied smile.

“T, baby?” you cooed asking for his attention as you walked down the corridor of the hotel towards your room. He hummed letting go of your hand momentarily to unlock the door. “Do you think I’m fun?”

“What?” He laughed a little confused as he pushed the door to your room open. Looking back at you as he held it open.

“Like do you think I’m fun? I feel like now I’m a mum.. Let’s do something fun.” While the door shut behind you, you came up to Trent and backed him into one of the entryway walls. You ran your hands up his chest and over his shoulders. You leaned in and started to kiss on his neck. He rolled his head to the side to give you more room loving the feeling of your lips on him.

“Yeah? You want to show me you’re fun?” He asked you. You hummed against his neck. “Where do you wanna be fun, baby?” Trent looked unfairly pretty all the time. He didn’t even have to try. The hour you spent this morning on your makeup couldn’t keep up with his genetics. You envied Teddy for inheriting the lottery that was his features. You sank into his embrace loving the way his hands felt on you. He dropped them lower and lower down your back until he could cheekily slap your ass. You gasped at the sting of it but didn’t even have time to scold him before he picked you up by the back of your thighs. You wrapped your legs around him tight and dragged your foot down his spine. He carried you outside onto the balcony. You moaned when you felt your back press into the railing.

“Can you kiss me, T?” You whined looking deep into his perfect mahogany eyes. You didn’t mean to sound so whiny but just the way he picked you up felt so rough and you wanted him to take control subconsciously. He smirked at you loving that he got you to a place where you were asking for him. He slid his thumb over your lips before he tilted your chin and pressed his to yours.

“I need more of you, baby.” He pulled away, breaking your steamy kiss. “I need you so bad.” He gruffed before his lips met yours again. Your hands were all over each other as you peeled your clothes off from tonight. His words were like gasoline on a fire. He treated you like a rag doll once your clothes were all peeled off. He set you down to stand on the balcony of your hotel room high above the city of Las Vegas in just the pretty bra you had worn under your top. He turned your body around slow. You bent over the railing willingly raising your ass into the night air. Trent let his spit fall onto your ass. He watched it fall down over your ass and into the folds of your pussy. His hands caressed the fat of your ass. He ran his hand up your spine.

“Did you like not wearing anything tonight?” You cocked your head to the side to see him. You gave a cheeky grin and shook your head ‘no.’ “Nah? Not even for me, baby. Didn’t like that I had these in my pocket all night?” He spoke to you with his lips right behind your ear in the sexiest way. He had pulled you back up to him, your back to his chest. He said he needed you but you thought you were going to scream if he didn’t touch you soon. He licked against your earlobe. He knew exactly what he was doing, riling you up. You felt his chest rumble when he silently giggled as you tried to rub your ass against his hardening cock to get him to do something, anything.

“T… Please, baby. It’s not funny.” You whined. He kissed your neck with a sly smirk. He grabbed your wrists off the railing and held them together behind your back. You felt him pull out said thong you hadn’t been wearing all night and wrapped them around your wrists linking them tightly together. You whimpered as he tightened them. “Oh fuck… T, You weren't kidding about that?”

“No baby, I’m not fucking about. I am here to have fun with you, yeah? I thought you wanted that?” He cooed in a teasing tone. You felt his hand slip underneath you dragging his fingers through your absolutely drenched folds and you whimpered. “I want you to make a mess on my fingers, can you do that for me?” he whispered into your ear as you nodded desperately overwhelmed by the intrusion of his fingers entering you. He curled his fingers inside you finding your gspot in seconds. He refused to let up. You were practically riding his fingers. Your moans getting increasingly louder when his thumb pressed harsh circles on your clit. You let out a soft cry as you rocked your hips onto his hand. Almost immediately you felt your orgasm come crashing over you. Your body shaking, if he wasn’t holding you, you would’ve collapsed. “Good girl.” He whispered in your ear. He teased you, dragging his leaking tip across the smooth skin of your ass before slipping it between your folds teasing your entrance. He slowly pushed his cock into your pussy without another word. You were completely drenched. You could feel yourself coat his length in your slick again and again as he drilled in and out of you. The recoil of your ass from his hard thrusts had Trent in pure heaven. God, it must’ve been a good 30 minutes of him just blowing your back out until you felt like your legs were going to give out. Trent could tell. You got whiny and had a hard time staying up and withstanding his force.

“You okay, baby? Want me to take care of you now?” you got out a measly ‘please.’ “Yeah? Alright baby. Just gimme cum f’me like this and then I’ll take care of you.”

“T…” You whined as you felt his hand come to rub tight harsh circles on your clit. You didn’t have a shot in hell at lasting. “Oh my god, baby, please.” You cried. You felt the tears roll down your face. Your high crashed over you

“Alright… c’mere baby.” He turned you around. “Promise, okay?” You nodded with a shy smile. You stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his chest. He rubbed your back before he picked you and carried you to the couch on the balcony. He laid your back down onto the cushion.

“I love you so much.” You pulled Trent down to you by his biceps pressing your lips to his. Your watery eyes looked up at him. He kissed you again.

“I love you, baby. Always. Want me to keep fucking you?” He gave you such a innocent sweet smile but he was eager to get back inside.

“Please” you giggled

“Ah yeah, fine, I guess I can. If you want” He threw his head to the side pretending it wasn't really something he wanted but Trent hadn’t cum yet and he was dying. He just needed to make sure you were okay. You were impatient though missing the feeling of him so you pulled him closer to your entrance. He slid his painfully hard cock back inside your dripping pussy. He was brash and filled you completely right away, unable to wait any longer. You took his whole length. You gasped at the way his cock stretched you out. Trent let out a moan that made your pussy twitch. Your arms scratched at his back as your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Want me to cum inside you, baby? Fill you up?” He asked you with his lips nibbling on your neck as he began to drill into you. You nodded ardently with a whimper, unable to speak. “Want me to get you pregnant again? That what you want?” he grunted.

“Oh my god, T!” You yelped as he pushed somehow even deeper inside of you. “Fuck…” You don’t know what it was but just the idea of the beautiful man that you loved above you getting you pregnant, carrying his child set you off. Your pussy clenched tighter around him. He threw his head back in pleasure before he came forward again raising one of your legs up above your head keeping it straight. He softly kissed your ankle. The new position made your jaw slack.

“Cum f’me. Can you do that for me, baby?” He breathed into your neck. His thrusts were mind numbingly perfect. His warm lips covering your collarbones in steamy kisses. His pace had become relentless, his hips unforgiving as he moved, driving his cock in and out of you, consistently hitting a spot so deep inside you. You didn’t really have an option if you came or not, you were going to.

“Fuck, gonna cum beautiful.” he cursed. His fingers dug into your skin and his nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, as he pushed his hips into one last time before he spilled into your tight heat. Trent’s eyes rolled back at the way you gently moved your hips against his to help him ride out his high. You stayed like that for ages. The hot Southwest night air encompassing you. “C’mon… bringing you inside. I gotta lay down.” He laughed while picking you up. You weren’t sure how he managed because you felt like you could barely move. You wrapped your legs around him tightly and nestled yourself against his chest. He sat down on the bed and laid back.

“I hope no one else was outside on their balcony…” You looked up at him with a laugh. Trent’s eyes were closed but a cheeky smile started to pull his lips. You kissed him gently. He started laughing. He rolled his head to the side holding you tighter to him.

“I’m hungry, baby.” He turned back to look at you. “You want anything?” He sat up and reached for the hotel room phone. You shook your head ‘no’ at first. He gave you a patient glare. “You’re not eating my food, so what do you want?” He laughed.

“You wouldn’t share with me?” You pouted. “Me… The mother of your child? You wouldn’t share?” You draped your arms around his neck dramatically as if you were begging him. He shook his head ‘no.’ “Fine… fine… I think I want….” You rattled off way too much food. You laid in bed on top of him exhausted waiting. He ran his hands up and down your sides racking over your ribs when you heard a knock on the door. Room service had arrived. It was about 5 am at this point you should be eating breakfast probably but you had ordered all sorts of things. Trent was a bit more cautious with his order considering he was in season. He hadn’t even drank that much and your eyes were probably bigger than your stomach.

“Can you get it…” You giggled before you gave Trent a pouty face and puppy dog eyes.

“You’re on top of me!” He laughed at you. “How do you want me to.. Ugh.” He groaned sitting up bringing your body with his. “Alright c’mon.” Trent sat up right using his core strength and moved to the edge of the bed. You wrapped your legs around him before placing a kiss on his lips. He stood up and turned around. “Thank you. Now, let go.” he leaned over so your back was to the mattress. You let go over him and your limbs flopped onto the bed. Trent pulled on his boxers and made his way to the door.

“Thank youuuu” You sang cheekily happily getting situated back under the covers. He joined you and you ate about ¼ of your food. Trent ate about half of yours complaining the whole time that he shouldn’t have been doing it which was cute. You cuddled up, splitting the milkshake you had gotten watching a film until you realized you had about three hours before you had to leave to get to the race track.

“You’ve always been fun. Every day, baby.” Trent cooed ghosting his lips over your hair as you began to drift to sleep.

“How can I be more fun though?” You asked quietly. Trent was quiet for a moment trying to think about how to answer this correctly.

“Baby I think you’re the most fun. Maybe you need some spontaneity though.” He looked down at you and brushed some of your hair behind your ear.

“One year olds don’t do spontaneity.” You giggled sleepily imaging your little girl who you missed so much.

“Well I do. Give it a go sometime. Do something that you think would surprise me.” he cooed in a soft tone. You laid in bed with Trent in silence thinking of all the ways you could potentially ‘surprise’ him until his voice cut off your thoughts.

“Baby? When did you stop telling me?” He spoke quietly, almost half asleep. You looked up at him confused “like when you want me to blow your back out, when did you stop telling me?”

“Oh… I don’t know just has been so hectic, we’re on your schedule now so.” You responded, trying to brush it off. Frankly, it wasn’t really a thought out thing. You weren’t actively trying not to tell him.

“It’s our schedule.” He corrected you.

“I am not paid by Liverpool Football Club so not exactly... “ You giggled, reaching up to brush your thumb over his high cheekbone.

“Baby…” He cooed. You softly smiled at him. “I promise you for the rest of my life you can always tell me you want me to fuck you. Alright?” He laughed pretty damn sure every time you asked 99/100 times he was going to say yes.

“Okay, what about right now?” You cheekily asked him.

“C’mere.” he dragged your face up to his smushing a wet sloppy kiss on your lips, squishing your body impossibly tight to him.

You and Winnie had a flight back to New York from Las Vegas. You hated leaving Trent but you were desperate to get back to your baby. When you landed you and Winnie met your parents in Manhattan to get Teddy and then went to her apartment. You FaceTimed Lauren from her tiny living room exhausted from your travels but relieved to have the cutest girl in the world back in your arms.

“Winnie! I don’t know what you should do. It’s your call. It’s you and him in the bed, not me.” You finished your sentence with a little laugh..

“It wasn’t in the bed.” She giggled. You and Lauren rolled your eyes. You were updating her all about the trip you had just been on despite the fact that you were going to see her for dinner in a few hours.

“So it was fun?” Lauren cooed with interest.

“Y/N got her back blow out though.” Winnie felt inclined to let her know, trying to deviate away from the conversation about her. Lauren’s jaw dropped sarcastically to tease you. You having sex wasn’t exactly that groundbreaking.

“Okay, we need to stop saying that. I’ve heard that phrase more in the last 24 hours than I needed to in a lifetime.” You flashed a glare at Winnie. Returning back to your friend group an hour later from the bathroom of a club didn’t go unnoticed. Winnie was all ears of course when you finally caved and told her about the amazing sex you had. It was brag worthy, to be fair.

“Oooo how good did he fuck you? Mum and Daddddddyyy” Lauren teased you laughing. Teddy squealed, hearing the playful way Lauren sang ‘daddy.’ Winnie joined in riling up Teddy tickling her tummy.

“Guys! We’re talking about her father stop!!!!” You laughed trying to scold them but it was funny. “Yeah, you like dada, huh? We miss him right? We’ll call him in a second, Ted.” You cooed in a baby voice just to her.

“Ew! Well don’t say that!” Winnie gave you a sick face. You ignored her childishness about highlighting that Trent was Teddy’s dad. The three of you had a field day calling him daddy. He hated it when they did it but it always made you laugh.

“Aw, our Teddy girl. We only got you because your mummy was a little slutty, maybe we’ll get you a cousin with Win.” Lauren joked. She was poking fun about the morning you had had before you made it to the airport with Winnie which included an urgent stop at a pharmacy.

“No, stop. Not funny. No cousins, thank you.” Winnie quickly scolded Lauren for a joke she didn’t appreciate.

“No, we got her because mummy loves dada and we wanted you more than anything in the world. We love you so much, baby.” You corrected Lauren’s statement more speaking to Teddy and kissing her incessantly.

“Wait… so why is it any different than when you do it!?” Winnie yelped. She had been debating with you and Lauren and really herself if it was okay or not that she had let Jadon cum inside her. You couldn’t say anything, you didn’t have a horse in the race, you were holding a baby.

“Winnie, because you had to buy Plan B this morning!” Lauren screamed through the phone. Honestly, they were just being precautionary and it’s not like your first few nights with Trent were any different. It was a heat of the moment thing.

“Yeah, well who asked you.” Winnie waved her hand dismissing Lauren. She didn’t want to hear the facts.

“You called me. Goodbyeee. See you soon my pretty girls!” Lauren cooed before she hung up. You had dinner in a little over near Lauren’s apartment but you obviously couldn’t wait until then to spill all the tea. Teddy was coming so it was fairly early but you were still excited to go out in the city again with them.

“Can you believe almost 2 years ago you just had sex one day or night and now you have a baby.” Winnie turned to you on her couch, pulling both her legs up onto the cushion. She said it like it was the craziest thing in the world.

“That was the goal, Win.” You laughed. Then for a moment you paused trying to think about what day or night it might’ve been. You never really did the math. You were just so excited.

“Insane. Like you were ‘trying’' Winnie air quoted the word and then turned back to her TV shaking her head imagining that.

“Ugh I hate when people say that. ‘Trying’” you rolled your eyes. “Like you and him are trying, to everyone else you’re just having sex.” You spoke to her but she had already checked out. She wasn’t even watching TV anymore; she was engrossed in her phone. You were quiet for a little while before Winnie began kicking her feet against the couch excitedly. “What was that?” You laughed at her with curiosity about what had her so giddy. She turned her phone for you to see a message from Jadon.

‘So into you. Can’t stop thinking about you.’

“Well what did you send him?” You asked naively. You were happy she had a fun weekend. Of course, it did make you slightly nervous that the two people you were closest with were both talking to Trent’s friends. You hoped it would be fine, nothing dramatic happen. Jadon wasn’t as close but still you just hoped this either worked or had an amicable end.

“That’s besides the point!” She smirked. She didn’t need to tell you. The face alone gave it away immediately. Clearly it was something dirty.

“Winnie!” You yelled. She fell forward, pressing her forehead against your thigh attempting to hide her face from you. She sat back up and nestled into the corner of the couch though holding her phone high and tight to her chest as she responded.

“I don’t even want to see your response. Do we, Ted?” You giggled and kissed Teddy’s temple as she sat in your lap happily. “You know, I never put that together but you with a London boy makes a lot of sense.” You tried to discuss the possibility with Winnie but she was in her own world. A silly smile glued on her face as she texted away. Maybe at dinner she’d give you more.

December was a really busy month for Trent so he flew back directly to Liverpool for work. You were planning on staying in New York for a few days to check out some things for the wedding. It was really hard to do all of it remotely. You needed to see things first hand and approve a lot. You felt like the date was fast approaching. Your mum hated the idea but you and Trent decided you wanted to do it this summer. Why wait was your mentality. Your mum would’ve preferred she had two years to plan but that wasn’t going to happen you wanted to be his wife. You were a little worried about having Teddy alone for a few days but it’d be fine. You had Winnie and Lauren around. You few days passed and you went to the Plaza to look at florals, colors of tablecloths and plates. You’d text Trent everysingle decision you’d be asked to make and he’d respond with a simple ‘I trust you.’ It was fine. It was a little sad you couldn’t do it together but this is how things were. You and Lauren went to Ellie Saab one day for a fitting for a dress you wanted to wear the night before. Then you facetimed Trent from Tavern on the Green to look at the back garden and discuss menus. It was all a blur so day three or four of your trip, Winnie offered to take you and Teddy for lunch uptown to not think about the wedding for a little. You appreciated it. You were on the phone with Trent walking with Winnie and Teddy after you ate at Saint Ambrose on the Upper East Side.

“Can you go check on something for me while you’re in the area?” Trent asked you over the phone. You nodded and he said he’d text you the information. You didn’t understand what he was asking you to do. Anything he ever did or anyone he knew in New York was usually through you.

“What does that even mean?” You looked at Winnie after you hung up. You clicked the address he sent and went on your way. What you didn’t know was that Winnie and Trent were in cahoots the whole time. She helped plan this because he couldn’t be there. You walked into a residential apartment. It was a beautiful building with a gorgeous lobby but you didn’t understand what you were even there for. “What are we doing… this is so sus” You turned around to her as you pushed Teddy in her pram through the door towards the doorman.

“I know! For real.” Winnie lied pretending she was as confused as you. Trent had asked you to ‘check on something’ whatever that meant at this apartment.

“Hi, I need to pick something up I think?” You said unsure and with a question mark at the end. You looked back at Winnie once more with a ‘what the fuck do I say’ type of look. “Its Apartment 26A?” You told the doorman.

“Oh, of course mam. We were expecting you today.” He looked past you and at Winnie. Which you should’ve clocked in retrospect. He escorted you to the elevators and up you went. You went to the apartment and knocked.

“Trent said it’d be open right?” She looked at you for confirmation but you had no idea. She smiled and turned the doorknob. She opened it a little and let you push. It was an empty apartment. Big, white, and bright. You walked in just as confused as you were when you entered the building. You haphazardly stepped further inside into what you assumed to be the living space. Massive windows paneling the wall let light flood in. You squinted, it was so bright. There was obviously no window furnishings yet. When your eyes adjusted you looked at the hardwood floor and saw a few pieces of paper. You beant over and picked them up and thought you were going to literally fall over when you started reading. It was the original receipt from your first date with Trent. There was a card with it asking you on a date to the same restaurant and a little note.

‘I don’t want you to forget how equally important your life and your background is to our daughter. I love you both so much. Call me. T xx

You crouched down and began to cry. What was this? You grabbed your phone out of your purse and immediately called Trent obviously as instructed.

“What the fuck is this?” You sobbed. He laughed as he answered. You could tell he was training in the gym so he walked out of the room to hear you better.

“What do you think, baby?” He asked you like you were supposed to understand.

“To dinner? Sure.” You giggled.

“Yeah… baby, I figured but I meant about the apartment. It’s ours if you want it. I didn’t want to make a big decision like that without you and before the wedding if you get me but it can be, is what I’m saying.” He cooed with a smile. You had to sit down you could squat anymore you felt dizzy like your legs were going numb. You started crying and wiped the flooding tears off your face with your free hand. You nodded with a pout though. “Good. I love you, baby.”

You sat on the floor looking around the apartment and just kept crying after you hung up with him. Maybe the stress of planning and all the different time zones were getting to you or maybe you were just emotional. Trent didn’t have to do this. You loved living in England and you were happy Teddy was being raised there but this really was special. Winnie stood with Teddy at the big windows identifying and pointing to things outside as she giggled. This was really special.

You sat on the living room floor of Lauren’s apartment the following day with Teddy still in shock that you’d have an apartment in Manhattan again for her. You were watching Trent’s match which was weird to be having US pundits again but you were just happy you could watch at all and support him. The camera stuck to him as they discussed the upcoming fixture and his past performances.

“Is that your dada, Teddy girl?” You asked Teddy as she giggled loving seeing Trent’s face blown up on Lauren's big TV screen. Of course, they had to note that Trent attended the Grand Prix recently. It was just so typical for American coverage to focus on something so unrelated. ‘Looks like he had a lot of fun in Vegas’ one pundit said as Trent turned his head. The side of his neck, right before the color of his jersey began was a love bite, a bruising mark still visible on his fading tanned skin.

“Y/N!!! Oh my god! You did him dirty. He’s on live TV.” You shut your eyes a little embarrassed as Lauren yelled laughing that you obviously were the one that left that on him. “Your child is watching!” She teased. You rolled your eyes. “His mum will see that. Slutty, slutty, slutty.”

“Oh my god! Don’t say that!” You flicked your head back at her at the realization. It didn’t matter that you had a kid, that you were getting married, you didn’t want Dianne to know you were marking Trent up. You watched the game and Trent was in really good form. He was having a strong start to the season. The first half was okay it was 2-1 Liverppol but they really needed the win. All was looking good until the 65th minute or so when… honestly you weren't even sure what happened. All of sudden when the camera pulled to a wide angle you could see trent bent over holding onto the goal post in pain.

“What just happened…” You yelped, turning to Lauren. She shook her head equally confused. The game continued to play on so he proceeded to try to run but you could see he was limping. “Oh my god, Lauren… He needs to get off the pitch what just happened.” You thought you were going to have a panic attack when he bent over again in pain. You couldn’t believe you weren't there, that you couldn’t do anything while you just watched him. Trent had never really had many injuries before and practically none since you got together so this was uncharted.

“He’s fine. I’m sure it’s just a cramp.” Lauren cooed quietly trying to calm you down. You stood up and paced holding Teddy.

“He’s not. I know him, he’s not. He wouldn’t drag something out like this if it didn’t actually hurt.” You felt sick. Why was the ball still in play. You think maybe three minutes passed but it felt like an hour. “Stop playing! Oh my god. This is so dumb.” You watched until about the 70th minute when he finally got subbed off. You were relieved but then panic set in when he walked down the tunnel back to the locker room. That wasn’t good. You needed to get home.

You spoke to Trent after the game and he said he was fine. It was a muscle pull but it just tightened up so badly he couldn’t move it on the pitch. He said it already felt better but you didn’t really believe that. You knew he was just trying to settle your nerves. Thankfully your flight was tomorrow morning. You and Teddy got all your bags and said goodbye to Lauren and Winnie and began your long trip back to England. It wasn’t too bad. Teddy barely slept at all during the flight which made things interesting but for the hour she did you decided to listen to a podcast episode Liverpool had put out that Trent was on. He told you not to listen to it. It was just him babbling about things you already knew. You told him would though regardless because you just wanted to hear him talk to you for an hour when you couldn’t be with him so that’s just what you did.

“Trent, we know you don’t talk much about your private life off the pitch but we did want to say congratulations since you did share Instagram recently that you’re going to be getting married.” One of the podcasts hosts congratulated him and by proxy, you guessed, you. You had decided to finally share on Instagram a picture from your engagement and Trent had reshared it. You had been avoiding the internet since to be honest because you didn’t really want to read any negative comments.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you. Marrying the love of my life. I’m very excited for this summer.” Trent told them and in turn revealed that you’d be getting married this summer which wasn’t a big deal most footballers got married in the summer.

“You seem to be taking on a lot of responsibility.” The other host didn’t ask a question but just kind of laid the fact out in the open. “Vice captain, dad, husband” He listed Trent’s titles.

“I think vice captain is probably the easiest you know.” He laughed. The sound of his coquettish laugh shattered your heart. You just wanted to rush home to him and instead you were stuck hours away. “I’m learning to be a dad. My fiance is just the most incredible mum. Straight out the gate she’s been amazing.” You pouted at his sweet compliment. It wasn’t true, you were learning how to be a parent along with him “It’s definitely not hard to love her, it’s hard not to if you’ve ever met her. So I think making the decision to get married was not really a decision at all. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Erm…but I think you know, taking on roles like that in my personal life…” Trent kept yapping segueing away from details about his life to get back to talking about football. You could just feel your whole body relaxing hearing him. It was so comfortable. It’s not like you didn’t speak to him before you took off, it just was nice and comforting. You couldn’t wait to get home. “I’m so blessed. A lot of people always say ‘oh what a nice life you’re able to provide for your family’ all these types of things and it’s very true. We’re fortunate in a lot of ways because of my job but honestly I couldn’t dream of the things my fiance provides for me and our daughter. What she gives to us is priceless and beyond comparison. I love that when I come off the pitch doing the thing I love most in the world I get to go home to the people that I love most in the world. If I have a bad game or things aren't going my way, I have my family and that’s so important for me. I’ve really never been happier.” You couldn't stop the silly smile coming across your face. He told you these things but the fact that he spoke about you like that in a professional setting, to other people, for the world to hear just made you melt.

You opened twitter and went to go see what people had said about the podcast. There of course was plenty of discourse about what he said about the team tactics and club related things but the other thing that seemed to populate a lot of conversation was the engagement.

“They’re engagedd??? I’m screaming!’

‘Trent fucking Alexander-Arnold is fucking engaged!”

‘I saw a TikTok of them in New York when he said she was his fiance STG’

That was the one. Frankly you hadn’t seen the TikTok but you remember doing the interview on the street in SoHo. The TkTok resurfaced after the podcast and everyone went berserk. They were shocked that you and Trent had kept this so wrapped up. It was also one of the few times people saw all 3 of you together and one of the even fewer times that they heard you speak. It made you laugh a little seeing all the chaos online, a little sad when people took shots at you, proud when people commented on how beautiful Teddy was but it was just nice that all the while you were scrolling you got to listen to your fiance’s calm voice.

When you got home you felt like you were going to cry seeing Trent. He just looked so sad. His already natural pout turned down even further. He looked so sleepy and cozy on your couch. When you had gotten through all your hellos and I miss yous you had gone upstairs to unpack your bags. Teddy stayed with Trent. He had some sort of like compression ice thing on his outstretched leg on the couch. Teddy sat on the floor pulling herself up and down excitedly playing her own game of peek-a boo with him. Trent hated when he couldn’t move like this. He’d go stir crazy but having Teddy for entertainment and extra cuddles didn’t make it as bad.

“Uh Oh!” Teddy cooed with a pout after she pulled herself once more to stand up holding onto the couch. She finally noticed Trent’s leg. She gave him an adorably sad face.

“Yeah, uh oh, Ted.” He laughed, picking her up from underneath her chubby arms. “C’mere, baby.” she giggled as he placed her to sit on his stomach. “Did you miss me?” She just kinda plopped forward to give him a hug. You felt like she could fully understand questions and directions, she just was still building her vocabulary. Trent answered a call from a trainer after Teddy had fallen asleep on his chest. You came downstairs and sat by his feet. You kissed his ankle waiting patiently as he listened to a reminder of his instructions for the next couple days. When he hung up, he patted the seat next to him so you came and cozied up to him. You leaned your head onto his chest and pushed some of Teddy’s little curls off her face. You smiled at him when the dogs came running into the room. One jumped on the couch next to you. Teddy woke up slowly hearing the jingles of their collars and the comotion. You pulled him into your lap and gave him a good scratch and cuddle. Teddy pushed herself upright with a huff and looked at you.

‘Woof!’ she pointed at the dog in your lap. You smiled and laughed. She had started to label things, not necessarily by their correct names but the ones that made sense and sort of stuck.

“Yeah, woof. Good job, smart girl. It’s a doggie. Can you say dog for me?” She gave it a go but just landed back on saying woof. So your dogs for the meantime were ‘woof’ and so were any other four legged animal.

“We got ‘woof’ before ‘daddy’ I don’t understand.” Trent looked at you a little annoyed but it was softened when Teddy cuddled back into his chest. You and he both knew she’d get there. She definitely knew that he was dada. She loved being with dada. Maybe it was just ‘d’ sounds you weren’t sure but you did feel a little bad. You crawled into bed that night happy to be back home with him.

“I missed you.” You whispered close to him under the covers. You dragged your hand over his chest and down his abs towards the waistband of his boxers. He looked good in any lighting but there were certain ones like the one you were in right now that he just looked exceptionally good. The way your bedroom had a warm glow to it before you turned the final light off that just worked for him. He looked angelic and simultaneously deliciously sexy.

“I can’t baby…” He groaned, annoyed at his own predicament. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead on yours. You probably could find a sex position that would work for you but it probably wasn’t a great idea so soon after the injury. You understood you were just being cheeky.

“I know… I love you though.” You pouted at him teasingly. You’d have to find a position that would work for him though soon. You cuddled up closer to him the way you’d fall asleep with your head on his chest and one hand next to it. But you coyly placed that hand lower and lower and lower. “Goodnight.” You whispered one final time letting that hand get just about to where his hardening cock was.

“Stop!” He laughed. “Get your hands off me.” he whispered with a smile he couldn’t suppress. The rest of that week was slow paced. Trent would go into AXA for workouts and assessments for his muscle pull. He was sort of moody but you understood all he wanted to do was be back out playing.

“It’s constant.” He looked at you amazed and surprised as you fed Teddy some strawberries you had cut up for her. 2 weeks had passed and Trent was getting a lot closer to returning to the first team training but he still wasn’t there yet which meant he had been home a lot more and with Teddy a lot more.

“I know.” You laughed as Teddy squealed, squishing a strawberry in her hand and then pressing the mess it into the tabletop. She was a very happy baby, fairly quiet most of the time but she was still a baby. Trent wasn’t used to a full day shift with her. Sure, he was there the whole time in the summer but so were you. It was 2 v 1 and she was under a year old. In a short few months she was walking and talking a lot more.

“Like she’s nonstop.” He laughed bewildered as he wiped the smushed strawberry up.

“T… I know.” You giggled back at him picking Teddy up from her high chair. You wiped her mouth and rocked her back and forth. You stood in the kitchen holding your daughter wearing Trent’s sweat pants and a tiny tank top. Trent stared at you in awe. He couldn’t believe you were alone with her everyday when she was this active. He stood up and wrapped his arms around you. He kissed your lips soft and slow. You hummed loving the taste of the strawberries he had stolen from Teddy. “Promise me you’ll never stop kissing me.” You looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He whispered to you, ghosting his lips over yours before he gave you another equally sweet kiss.

“I want our kids to almost be annoyed with our affection when they're older.” You laughed, stepping out of his hold to grab the container of fruit to put it back into your refrigerator.

“Kids?” He questioned you with a smile excited by curiosity if you meant kids as in having more or if it was just a slip of the tongue.

“Yeah… I think I guess kids. If you’d want that.” You cooed trying not to deep it too much. Trent came over and grabbed you once more, giving you a kiss as his answer. Teddy though was much more aware of this one and pressed her hand against his cheek.

“See we’re already halfway there.” He laughed referring to Teddy trying to push him away from you. Teddy had gotten clingy. You were her mummy and she wanted to make sure that was known to daddy as well. She had developed an understanding of her daily routine and would anticipate her everyday activities so a little while after her snack Teddy needed to nap and she waddled her way over to your staircase waiting for you saying ‘mama’ on repeat until you brought her.

“Should we be being more careful?” Trent asked you sort of vaguely as you sat on the couch.

“Are you serious?” You laughed unsure if he was being or not.

“Well this is a lot. Could we do a second? I don’t want to leave for training and you be home with two kids this young like what should or plan be?” He clarified and then questioned what you two should do.

“Is it bad if I say I need a little more time?” You sheepishly got your words out. “I just feel like my body is finally getting back to a place I’m okay with. I can’t imagine losing all my progress. Is that selfish? What do you want?” You looked at him feeling terribly guilty.

“Nah, I think we wait a minute. Give you a rest. Get accustomed and really appreciate family of 3 life and then maybe you know after the wedding we can reasses.”

“Yeah, that’s fine by me but we want more right?” You face pulled into a cheeky smile waiting to hear his answer you were pretty sure you already knew.

“Yeah, beautiful. I definitely want more babies with you. Wouldn’t mind the process either.” He whispered coming in to nibble on your neck. You rolled your eyes and teasingly shoved at his chest but quickly nestled back into his embrace on the couch.

A few hours later, Trent was in the back garden doing some activation things he had to do for the muscle pull. You had a turf field off the back of the house you had installed. It was convenient for Trent although he probably didn’t use it as much as you thought he would but he had been lately with the injury. It was a cold but sunny day so you figured after Teddy woke up you’d bundle her up in her coat and you could go get some fresh air.

“What’s daddy doing outside, hmm? Should we go see dada?” You asked her. You crouched down to her and helped her put her little puffer coat on and tiny trainers. You could scream every time you picked up her baby shoes. They were so cute. She giggled at the sound of her coat’s zipper being done up.

“Dada” Teddy repeated you and she palmed your cheek as your tied the laces of her trainers.

“Yeah?! That’s right, Teddy. Going to go see dada” Your eyes widened excitedly. “Can you say that again, say dada again?” you asked her whilst scooping her up. She repeated it giddy with the attention she got from saying it. You walked to the back of your house and slid the glass door open to outside.

“Ooo sunny but chilly, baby, huh? Brrrr.” you cooed rubbing your nose against her cheek. You walked over to the small field and put teddy down on the grass and she attempted to run which was adorable. It was like a wobbly walk but you understood she was trying to get to Trent as fast as she could. You followed in her wake.

“Hi, beautiful.” His cold hand cupped your face.

“Hi, we just came to see dada.” You stood holding Teddy’s hands above her head keeping her standing up right in between your legs.

“Dada!” She wiggled out of your hold tumbling forward onto her hands and knees. Like she was moving a lot as months progressed but it was clumsy as she still got the hang of things. Trent’s eyes widened. He immediately sat on the ground and pulled her to him.

“Oh my days… C’mere baby bear. Did you say dada?” He asked her enthusiastically. She giggled as he picked her up off the ground and buried his face in the tiny crook of her neck. His hair tickling her skin. She screamed dada a million times to get him to stop, excited he was so happy with her. Trent picked his head up with the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen him give you. He looked at you bright eyed. “You know how we were talking about waiting…” He spoke with a cheeky tone.

“Oh shut up! Her saying two additional syllables doesn’t not rule out all the other things we talked about.” You laughed dismissing him. Now that Teddy had said dada he was all about having more.

“Yeah but listen to herrrr” He groaned standing back up with Teddy in his arms. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and took a few candid photos of them. They’d be good memories one day. “C’mon want to help dada?” He leaned over and placed Teddy on her two feet. She clung to his leg. He grabbed a ball and placed it in front of them. He pulled her off his leg and held her under her arms and helped her kick it. When you say she screamed… she screamed. She was so excited. You couldn't not laugh. Trent turned around to look at you in a fit of laughter.

“Good girl, Ted.” You encouraged her as you took your seat down onto the turf. You assumed after that reaction you’d be here for a while. You watched on with a smile. Teddy would turn around every so often to make sure you were still watching them after she heard your first compliment. If you happened to be on your phone the second she did, she would let you know. ‘Mama!’ yelled immediately grabbing your attention. They must’ve done that on repeat for an hour. Neither one was tired of it. Trent was stood on his knees next to her but leaned over and whispered in her ear. You watched him stand up and turn towards you.

“Should we go get mummy?” He asked Teddy and started to jog towards you Teddy eagerly trying to keep up with him. You smiled and got up from the turf. You ran towards Teddy and scooped her up off the grass. She squealed.

“Got you first, Teddy girl. Should we get daddy now? Daddy’s not that fast. Let’s chase daddy” You cooed, kissing her cheek about a 100 times in a row. He rolled his eyes unimpressed with your subtle jab. You jogged with her in your arms playfully and Trent took off away from you. Teddy was giggling so much you couldn’t help but laugh with her. The sound of her precious laugh was infectious. This probably wasn’t great for Trent to be doing but it was nice to have fun all together. He’d pivot in a different direction or make a face at her and she’d excitedly shriek.

“Dada!!!”” She screamed with her chubby little arms outstretched. You put her down and let her run after him on her own. You were out there much much later than you thought you’d be but the time was the last thing on your mind if she and him were this happy. Trent let Teddy catch him eventually. He was slowly learning how to ‘lose’ for her.

“I’m gonna grab mummy, watch Ted.” He whispered. You looked at him confused why he turned his attention towards you. He gave you a cheeky smirk. He ran at you full speed. He was fast whether or not you wanted to admit it so you didn’t get very far. He wrapped his arms around your waist and swung you around like you weighed nothing. “Mwah!” he kissed your cheek so grossly but you loved it. “Mwah!” He scooped up your legs so he was fully carrying you with another wet kiss.

“T!’ You squealed in a fit of giggles not expecting him to throw you around like this. Teddy’s eyes were bright and wide, loving seeing her mum and dad so happy. He jogged with you in his arms back towards Teddy. He crouched down to her level. You thought he'd let you go but he held you tight you couldn’t break out if you tried.

“Come give mummy a kiss, baby bear.” Trent cooed for Teddy to come. She quickly was at your side pressing her lips out in the cutest way slobbering all over your face. “Wow…” Trent couldn’t hold in his laughter watching her practically just spit on you. “You must love mummy a lot, huh?”

“Love mama!” She screamed, attempting to kiss you again. You stopped her next attempt with a giggle and held her face in your hands. You pressed a kiss of your own onto her lips.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter … 🤍

Next part - Chapter 16 xx

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3| Read on AO3

Elain knew she’d gotten Ayla into some trouble. For a month, her friend had been locked away in her family's chambers and when she returned, Elain noticed she winced every time she sat down. 

You’re making a mess of everything, she thought morosely when Ayla wouldn’t make eye contact with her at all. Arina had retreated back into the library, leaving Elain to return to her overrun garden. She’d begun sketching it out crudely in a journal, trying to map out where things would go so she wasn’t planting blind. 

Elain’s garden was the only place she felt true peace anymore. Spending time around Lucien was beginning to feel unbearable—something hot built in her throat if they were around each other too long, spilling into angry words that she couldn’t take back. Elain didn’t know why she couldn’t just be nicer or why the sight of him frustrated her the way it did.

Lucien had given her another gift just that morning—a pretty set of pearl combs she’d thanked him for before tossing them into a drawer that was increasingly becoming dedicated to the things he purchased for her. Lucien was trying, in his way. Everything he gave her was thoughtful and generous—Elain loved the simple elegance of pearls set into silver combs. 

They weren’t good for gardening, at any rate—that was what she told herself as she tied a scarf around her head and headed out, prepared for another long day of ripping out weeds until she couldn’t take the seeping cold. She wasn’t alone today. There, hanging around the gates, stood Tanwen.

“Come to help?” she asked, certain he wasn’t there for any particular reason. 

“Why not,” he replied, opening the iron for her before following just behind. “What do you need from me?”

“You could rip up that tree?” she suggested, pointing toward a sapling that was more weed than anything. “Or loosen up the soil with your magic?”

“Why not both?” he replied with a lopsided smile. For a while they worked in silence, digging up a pile of weeds they tossed in the center of the garden alongside all Elain’s ruined rocks. It was nice to have Tanwen there, if only to provide a little muscle when she didn’t want to exert herself so much. 

“So,” Tanwen began when the skies began to darken and a gloomy fog started to roll over the hillside from the cursed forest. “Have you seen Ayla?”

It took Elain a moment to absorb his words. “I see her, but I don’t speak to her. I think she’s angry with me.”

“Ah,” Tanwen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should take these to the stables, if you’ll…excuse me.”

Elain watched him go, hair blowing in a vicious wind. Was he asking because he’d been the one to carry her in, or because he wanted to hear more about her? Elain couldn’t be sure. It was wrong to meddle when she’d already been the cause of Ayla’s suffering and yet…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed later that night, greeting her husband sitting in a chair in the bedroom, book in hand. His eyes found her nails, caked with dirt and cracked again. Lucien’s mouth drew into a deep frown, though he said nothing.

Smart, she praised silently.

“Wife,” he replied, as if reminding her of exactly what she was to him. Elain knew they were on borrowed time—at some point she was going to have to get over herself and have sex with him. How long, she wondered? Another month, perhaps? Two? Lucien didn’t want her unwilling, but Elain couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she went to him gladly, either. 

“We never had a celebration,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed once she was done with her hands.

“Why would we?” he replied, turning the page of his book without looking at her.

“Why wouldn’t we? Everyone else gets one.”

Lucien glanced up. “You want to celebrate wedded bliss?” he questioned. 

Truthfully, no. It would require the two of them to be together all night, touching and dancing and smiling. Elain took a breath. “Yes, I want that. Will you ask your mother to organize it?”

Lucien stared long and hard, as if he could read her thoughts simply by willing it. Elain was careful to leave herself casual, though it did no good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she replied, heart picking up speed. “I just…think it’s strange we haven’t.”

Lucien took a breath. “Does this mean I can expect you to crawl into bed with me that night?”

“I get in bed with you every night,” she snapped, immediately annoyed. Elain didn’t bother mentioning that they were getting a little too accustomed to sleeping beside each other. She’d woken in the middle of the night to find Lucien’s arm flung over her stomach as he drooled into a pillow. 

“You keep your night clothes on.”

They were in dangerous territory. “What are you demanding of me?”

Lucien ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m demanding nothing. You’re the one who wants to celebrate our marriage and I…” And he was simply a male. He wanted the right to touch her and perhaps considered this a good negotiation point. 

“Don’t host it, then,” Elain said, turning back to the bathroom as a means to escape him. She slammed the door behind her, back against the wood as she listened for his response.

“Cauldron boil me,” he mumbled, but Lucien did nothing else. Even after Elain took a long bath, hoping he might find some other way to amuse himself, but when she came out, hair freshly braided and mostly dried, Lucien was already in bed. He seemed asleep, back facing her as it rose and fell in a steady, fluid motion. He’d pulled his hair out of the strap he’d been wearing, allowing it to cascade over his shoulders and Elain considered, not for the first time, what it might be like to let him touch her. To be curtained with the waterfall of auburn hair, to feel the muscles of his back shift as he moved…

Touch him, a little voice whispered. Elain panicked, drawing her fingers into a fist before sliding them under her body to keep her from doing so. What was wrong with her? The urge had come from nowhere, the instinct to run her finger down the length of his spine so overwhelming that Elain’s hands shook from the effort it took not to touch him.

It was his closeness, she decided as she settled into bed. His male presence and her instinctual response. Nothing more. Still, it took Elain a long time to sleep as a familiar vision crowded behind her vision.

Go away, she demanded. She didn’t want another image of Lucien’s naked form writhing atop her as her mind forced her to contend with what might be if she just gave in. He didn’t want her and Elain would be damned if she made the first move. Or second…or hundredth, actually. She woke a little before him, dressed herself, and made her way down to breakfast before Lucien could speak to her at all.

So she was surprised when the Lady of Autumn came to her, face beaming with joy. “I heard you wanted a celebration,” she said in that sweet voice of hers. The voices in the room fell to a near whisper as everyone listened in, the excitement in the room palpable. 

“I would,” Elain said, wanting so badly to be the daughter The Lady of Autumn—Amera—wanted her to be. She saw the way Amera fawned over Arina, who allowed it with glowing cheeks and shiny eyes. Elain bet Arina let Amera throw her a party the morning after, even if she spent the night torturing Eris with a knife.

Elain didn’t want to think about the implications there. 

Amera clapped pale, delicate hands together. “Oh, how lovely. It’ll take a bit of time to put together…would you like to help?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed, forgetting why she wanted to do this in the first place. Her own mother could be cold, calculated and careful. There had never been much warmth even for her favorites, and Elain often felt intimidated around her mother. Amera exuded the kind of warmth she’d often wished for as a child. If Amera had asked her to commit a murder, Elain was certain she would have picked up a sword and marched beneath the Lady of Autumn’s banner. 

Not that Elain knew how to use a weapon. Perhaps Tanwen could teach her.

Or your husband.

“Should we get started?” Amera asked.

Elain couldn’t suppress her grin. “Nothing would delight me more.”

LUCIEN:

“How do you stand it?” Lucien demanded, interrupting Eris and Cadmus in their private parlor. 

“Looking at you?” Eris replied dryly, eyes flicking up from his cards. “I manage.”

Lucien growled, earning a laugh from Conall across the room. He sat on a sofa, the picture of bored nobility while Tanwen tossed a knife up in the air. They were hiding from Beron, who had woken up in a foul mood. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for his sons.

Better to make themselves scarce and wait for the storm to pass. 

“You’re very funny,” Lucien said flatly, pulling up a chair to sit with his brothers. “I mean with mother. How do you stand her fawning over Arina?”

Eris’s brows knit together. “I rather like it.”

Of fucking course he did. 

“Gets her out of your hair, does it?” Tanwen taunted, clearly bored and looking for sport. 

“Her mother is dead,” Eris snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. It hadn’t been more than a year since the bond had snapped and Lucien didn’t think Eris would ever stop chafing beneath it. Even a whisper of insult toward Arina was enough to set his teeth to snapping. 

“Elain is planning a celebration,” Lucien informed his brothers, sinking further into his chair as he swiped a decanter of whiskey from the ornately carved table. “All mother speaks of is how sweet and lovely Elain is.”

“She is sweet,” Connall goaded. “If she were my—”

“That’s enough!” Eris barked, unwilling to mop up blood. “She would never be your wife because that would require you to be a male with honor…which you are decidedly not.”

Tanwen chuckled as Cadmus only nodded, eyes flicking from Eris to a scowling Connall. Would Cadmus break them up? That was his usual role in moments like these. 

“I don’t have a wife because Elain and Arina electrocuted the only good option left to us. How is little Ayla doing these days?”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered to talk to his brothers at all.

“She’s well,” was all Eris said, laying his cards down with a triumphant smile. Lucien, having the benefit of standing behind Cadmus, cracked a half smile knowing that Eris was outmatched. A scowl darkened Eris’s face as Cadmus chuckled, pulling coins toward his already sizable pile.

No one could outsmart Cadmus in a game of cards.

“If you’re so bothered by your wife, why not remove her from court?” Cadmus finally said, glancing over his shoulder. “Send her to the Mountain Palace, or the Seaside Palace, if you must. Send some of the ladies from court to keep her company.”

The room had suddenly become frosty, the temperature dropping by several degrees. Lucien could feel all of his brothers glaring at him, their disapproval plain. She’d won them over just as surely as she’d stolen his mother and Lucien was jealous. Elain had simply come in and charmed everyone while he’d been trying to win the approval of his family presumably from the day he’d been born.

His brothers acted as if they knew something about him he did not—he was kept just out of reach, tolerated but not one of them. They shared some secret language Lucien did not speak. It didn’t help that Lucien was also a century younger than his next oldest brother, and Eris was nearly three centuries old by the time Lucien had been a baby. They’d watched him grow up, but in his memories, they were all grown.

Why was it so hard for him and so easy for Elain?

“Enjoy yourself, little Lucien,” Connall said in that easy, flippant way of his. “If mother likes Elain, it means you’ve found yourself a keeper. From Spring, no less.”

“It’s just…”

Not what he wanted. Every eye in the room fell back to their hands, refusing to look at him. They knew, though. Even after Eris had sent Jesminda away, even after she’d told him to leave her alone, he was still holding out some sliver of hope that he was going to wake up one morning and it would be Jesminda's dark hair splayed out on the pillow.

Even after everything, he still wanted her.

Lucien knew he was a fool.

“Go to bed, Lucien,” Eris said, rising from his chair. “Go fuck your wife until you can think of nothing and no one else. And if that doesn’t work, take a mistress to amuse yourself.”

“Leave Elain alone,” Tanwen added, a sharp edge to his voice. When Lucien looked around, he found his brothers all looking at him again, their eyes matching Tanwen’s tone. 

Right. 

She was one of them, but he was not. Lucien strode from the room, determined not to take Eris’s advice. Cadmus’ held promise, though. What if he sent her away after the celebration? Eris would never agree to let Arina join her, but Ayla would likely be allowed. Hells, Elain could hand pick the ladies she wanted to accompany her. And if she picked up with some sentry, well. Lucien didn’t care.

I’ll kill any male who touches her—

Lucien exhaled with frustration, making his way back to his bedchambers where he found Elain seated at a table staring at several different color swatches. She looked up when he walked into the room and without thinking, offered him a pretty half smile.

“Come help me,” she said as Lucien stood there agape. Was Elain willingly asking him to sit in her company? She typically darted off anytime he walked into a room. Lucien walked to her, waiting for the spell to shatter and her to realize it was him and not one of the brothers she preferred.

“What do you need help with?”

“These different shades of pink,” she said, a frown tugging the corners of her pretty mouth. “I hate them all.”

“So do I,” Lucien admitted, drinking in the rosy, spring shades. “What is your theme?”

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Old meets new.”

Spring meets Autumn, he supposed. Elain fidgeted with one of the squares of cloth, unable to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps something darker?” he offered. “More maroon than pink?”

“I thought the same thing,” Elain admitted, setting the little square back on the table. “But your mother has this vision of pink and silver and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Trust me when I say you’ll disappoint her far more if you let her dress you in something you don’t like.”

“She’s been so nice,” Elain admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. “She’s like my mother if…”

Lucien held his breath, waiting for Elain to finish.

“Nevermind,” she said with a sigh, gathering up her swatches. “I—”

“No,” he breathed, strangely desperate. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” she said, but Lucien wasn’t going to be deterred. He’d take anything, any little piece of information that would give him a more solid footing with the stranger he called a wife. They’d been married for nearly two weeks and Lucien knew practically nothing about her. Elain didn’t give up her secrets easily and in her defense, Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation with her, either.

“Tell me anyway.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” she said, bracing herself against the table. Lucien scooted closer as Elain lifted herself atop it, legs swinging sweetly. He wanted to get on his knees, wanted to slide his hand up her slim calves and—

“No. So you may as well just tell me,” he said, flashing her what he hoped was a charming grin. 

“Your mother is like my mother if she was warm,” Elain managed, eyes latching on a painting across the room. 

“Your mother is unkind?”

“No, not unkind, just…” Elain bit her bottom lip again. “Spring is a lot like a vipers nest, and you have to think like one if you want to survive. My mother is queen of the vipers, I suppose. She wasn’t cruel, but…we all had our parts to play, clearly.”

“Why did you go first?” Lucien asked, giving voice to the question that had plagued him since she’d first been sent to him. “Why not your older sister?”

Elain sighed. “The High Lord delays the match. He’s angling for Feyre, but the humiliation of spurning Nesta would ruin all of us. I think mother wanted to see me gone just in case he decided to spit in the face of tradition.”

“Tamlin loves tradition,” Lucien said softly. “If he promised to marry Nesta, he will.”

Elain nodded, though it was clear she didn’t agree. Whatever was going on over there, Elain certainly knew it better. Still, it was nice to have some context to the marriage. Elain had agreed, even though she didn’t want to, to ensure her sister's futures, too. There was something strangely lovely about it.

Or maybe it was just the insight that Lucien appreciated. He didn’t understand Elain at all, especially knowing her father likely would have intervened if she’d begged. Sometimes, Lucien imagined that Elain had come simply to torment him, even if deep down he knew that wasn’t true.

She’d come because she loved her family. That made it a little harder to dislike her. Would Lucien have done the same for his brothers? He genuinely couldn’t say, though he suspected he wouldn’t have. Not that it mattered—males weren’t held to the same standards as females. If Lucien had ruined his engagement, Elain would have been tainted in the process but he would have come out unscathed. 

“If you want, I can talk to mother,” Lucien offered, wanting to do something for Elain that wasn’t half apology. He felt earnest—hopeful, even. “Soften the blow.”

Elain offered him a half smile that made her even more beautiful than usual. Lucien was terrified of the day she gave him a full smile, wholly directed at him. Would he survive it? Lucien wasn’t sure he’d survive any of this because Elain was his mate, and he had the terrible feeling that if he got to know her, he’d like her.

It was a constant war between not wanting her at all and wanting her so badly it made his teeth ache. It was going to be like this for his entire life. Lucien understood why so many gave in to the bond. A not small part of him wanted to. Wanted to throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she hadn’t told him if she felt it, too. And another part wanted…well. Wanted to know if she’d like her if he didn’t have that thread tugging in his chest. His heart pounded out a steady, consistent beat: mine, mine, mine.

“I can do it,” she said, rising from her chair while stretching out her neck. “I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her.”

“She wouldn’t think that,” Lucien assured her, though he appreciated Elain was willing to have a personally uncomfortable conversation. 

“All the same,” Elain said blithely, eyes still dancing even when her mouth had flattened into a neutral expression. She was so fucking pretty. 

“Well. Tell me the colors so I don’t embarrass you,” he said, hoping, once again, he was coming off as charming and not demanding. Elain glanced over her shoulder, a curl ghosting over her cheek.

“Whatever you say.”

She turned for the bedroom, leaving Lucien to trail helplessly behind her. 

ELAIN:

If everything went according to plan, Tanwen would ask Ayla to dance. They’d look at each other. Maybe even speak, assuming Tanwen could move both his feet and lips at the same time. Maybe they’d kiss, if the night went well, and Tanwen would realize he was madly in love with Ayla and Elain could spend the rest of her time arranging their marriage to take her mind off her own. 

The Lady of Autumn had gone all out—the ballroom was packed with people from a myriad of courts, including her own. She’d seen Nesta floating around in a gown made of spun silver—a match for the blue of her sharp eyes. If Nesta was there, Feyre was, too, likely exploring some hidden area of the palace she shouldn’t be in. Elain had seen a few Day Court courtiers flock to Arina, their eyes lined with kohl, dressed in bright, breezy linens that seemed strangely out of place around Arina. 

Elain had taken Lucien’s advice, told his mother she didn’t like the rose color that had been chosen and ended up in a blood red gown that she never would have chosen for herself, once upon a time. When Amera presented it to Elain, setting the silk gown gently on the bed, Elain’s heart had thrummed.

Feyre would have worn it. Nesta, too. Her sisters were bolder, less afraid of making a statement. She wanted to be the kind of female who wore things like that, though. It was modest enough, with the off-shoulder sleeves that revealed freckled skin and delicate collarbones without even a hint of cleavage. The bodice was tight, the sides embroidered in gold flowers that made it seem as if her waist was pulled in smaller, creating the illusion of real curves.

She’d pulled her hair off her face with the pearl combs Lucien had given her as a show of good faith given how nice he’d been over the last few days. Not friendly, exactly, but nicer than he’d been since they’d met. He was looking at her when he spoke to her, which felt like a major improvement.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though the night was still early—plenty of time for Lucien to embarrass her yet. 

Floating through the throngs of people, the smell of sticky pastries and wine in the air, Elain tried to find Ayla. Her friend had sworn she’d be there, as had Tanwen after a lot of cajoling and pleading. 

Who will dance with me? she’d asked, making her eyes big and round. Tanwen, unused to being manipulated by a female, had folded almost immediately though he’d grumbled that he didn’t dance. Not with her, perhaps—but someone else? Elain didn’t believe he was above courting entirely given the rumors she’d heard floating around.

The Vanserra’s had a reputation and if Elain had to guess, she’d bet she was one of the few people left that had no idea what it was like to be underneath one.

“There you are,” Lucien’s warm voice murmured as his fingers brushed the tops of her shoulder. Elain turned and immediately wished she hadn’t. Lucien had asked what color she was wearing and Elain had said red and yet somehow, he’d managed to coordinate his jacket to the exact shade of her dress.

Fuck him, she thought privately as she took in the well-tailored fabric fitted to his broad, muscular chest. His boots gleamed beneath the faelights, cut up to his knees before giving way to black pants that showed off powerful thighs. He wore a gold band around his ring finger and he’d half braided his hair off his face much like Elain had done with the combs. He looked…he looked good.

Beautiful, even, in a roguish kind of way. 

“Were you looking for me?” Elain asked, noting that Lucien was looking at her much like she’d just done. His eyes darkened, scent sharpening and oh. This wasn’t a good time for him to realize he was sexually attracted to her. 

Lucien cleared his throat, eyes returning to her face. “It’s our celebration, I figured we ought to be seen together. Happy,” he added with a frown.

Elain couldn’t help her laugh. The whole thing was absurd. “Well, you’re truly selling it.”

Lucien blinked. “Are you going to tell me what this is in service of, now?”

“You don’t believe I’m so incandescently happy?” Elain teased, gaze snagging on the High Lord. She hadn’t expected Beron Vanserra to come, but there he was, arm linked with his wife and brown eyes bright as he listened to her speak. Elain was terrified of Beron and his shows of temper, his violence, and the bruises Elain often caught on Amera’s body when her sleeves slid up her wrists.

And yet here, he was the picture of adoration. Was it possible to love someone you hated? Elain turned, catching her husband also watching with a disdainful expression on his face. He didn’t bother hiding it, and Beron didn’t notice. Elain had heard Beron was preoccupied with Eris and Cadmus, but paid little attention to Connall and Tanwen and practically none at all to Lucien. To Elain, that seemed like a best case scenario, but maybe Lucien resented his fathers disinterest.

Or maybe he resented the way Beron terrorized his family.

She’d never asked, determined not to make it her business. 

Lucien rolled his eyes, returning to their conversation as his fingers skimmed down her spine. He’d been touching her more often—absent gestures she wasn’t certain he was even aware he did. Every time his skin met hers, Elain’s whole body ignited with interest, which prompted her to try, desperately, to avoid his touch. What would Lucien do if he ever caught a whiff of her changing scent?

Elain knew she was on borrowed time, that eventually there would be questions about what they did when they were alone. The expectation of children would begin to arise and Elain would have to bow to the pressure and at least try. It had taken her own parents nearly five decades to conceive Nesta and Elain expected it would take her just as long, even if she and Lucien put themselves on a strict schedule.

What was worse was the thought that she might enjoy it. The vision persisted, lingering in her mind as it taunted. 

You could be happy if you made different choices.

Lucien's fingers stilled at the small of her back, as though he realized how far he’d drifted and knew he was in danger. 

“Tell me the truth,” Lucien murmured, leading the two of them through the throngs of people dancing to soft music played by musicians seated in elegant chairs. Cool air blew in from the open windows and some brave souls donned cloaks before sneaking out toward the garden for a moment alone. 

Elain would bet that's where Feyre was. 

“We deserve a little celebration, Lucien,” she said, turning abruptly for the garden just to see what her sister was doing. The last thing she needed was for Eris to find Feyre poking through something and start an international incident like that one time Feyre had been permitted to join their father in Winter. 

“Elain—”

“Why does it bother you?” she asked without malice, letting him trail after her as they made their way into the dark. A pillar half hid a couple furiously kissing, the smell of salt and desire half choking Elain. Lucien coughed, for all the good it did—the pair broke apart to look at them before deciding they didn’t care if they had an audience. Elain scurried toward the grounds when the male dropped to his knees, head ducking beneath a skirt. Behind her, Lucien muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, though it sounded disapproving. 

“What if I wanted to help whatever scheme you’re currently working through?” he responded, jogging up beside her. “Did that occur to you?”

Elain’s steps slowed. It hadn’t. “I’m trying to set up your brother.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”

“Tanwen.”

He laughed, which annoyed her. “What?”

“Tanwen? Elain, if you want to set him up, you need to hide her in the woods for him to find.”

“He said he’d dance,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced off with Lucien. The grass was damp, the wet bleeding through the soft fabric of her shoes. Unlike Lucien who had layers beneath his jacket, Elain merely had the thin fabric of her gown. Lucien looked warm, and some part of her wanted to close the distance between them and fold herself against his body.

“Did you use your feminine wiles on him? Poor Tanwen,” Lucien teased, poking her in the stomach. 

Elain scented something strange just as she was about to retort—sea salt and citrus, wholly out of place in the Autumn wood. Lucien, too, caught the scent of it, his eyes flicking up over Elain’s head as one hand came out to half pull her against his body. She’d been right—Lucien was warm. 

A moment later, Feyre Archeron appeared looking dazed and pale. Elain’s sister had merely stepped out of a rip in the world, trailing star-flecked shadows behind her as she went. There was no one with her—just Feyre, who could apparently winnow. Elain had never known that. 

“Are you okay?” Elain asked when Feyre passed. Her sister started, eyes bright like the moon.

“Of course,” she said, her tone strangely breathless. “I was…lost.”

“Lost.” Lucien repeated, his tone rich with disbelief. “Where were you going?”

“I…out,” Feyre finally said, practically floating away from them. Both Elain and Lucien watched and she suspected if she’d turned to look at him, they’d be wearing matching expressions of confusion.

“That…was strange,” Lucien finally said, releasing Elain from his grip. She took a step away on instinct, desperate for a breath of air not tainted by the soft, masculine scent of him. “Is she always like that?”

Elain wanted to assure him that Feyre wasn’t, but… “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. It was pretty par for the course for Feyre to slip off and keep secrets about her magic. If Feyre could winnow and hadn’t told anyone, it was for a reason. Elain certainly wasn’t going to divulge that information.

“Come on,” Lucien murmured, and she swore when she looked at him, a faint glow emanating off the edges of his skin. She blinked and it was gone, fading to a memory she couldn’t quite recall. Had she seen it? Or had she merely imagined it? 

“You’re shivering,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t move, reaching for her once again. He couldn’t keep touching her—he was wearing down her resolve. One of these days Lucien might put his hands on her and she’d thank him for it.

Something in her wanted to make him work harder, even if it was inevitable. She wanted to like him, at least, before he took her clothes off her. And more than that, Elain wanted Lucien to like her, too. She was certain he didn’t—not really. What she found gazing back at her when she looked at him was merely acceptance. He’d made his peace with this marriage, something he should have done the moment he found himself standing at the priestesses altar, and was ready to get on with things. 

Elain followed Lucien back into the bright, dizzying warmth, eyes scanning the room for both her sisters and Tanwen. She found Ayla, dressed in rich burgundy chatting with a male whose name escaped her. She saw Connall leaned against a pillar holding court while a semi-circle of females laughed at something undoubtedly stupid he’d said.

Cadmus and Eris patrolled the edges of the room, talking among themselves even as Eris’s eyes continued to slide to his mate, giggling with some of the females that routinely came to Ayla’s card games.

But no Tanwen. Lucien must have realized it, too, because his fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Told you.” It was the wrong thing to say to her right then. His touch, combined with her own confusing mix of emotions, caused a rush of anger to flood through her. Elain’s attraction to him, the closeness of his body, the way she swore she saw him looking at her at times—all of it was too much.

“That was uncalled for,” she hissed, grateful when he didn’t follow behind her. Elain didn’t turn to look at him, either.

She knew he was watching.

She could feel it.

LUCIEN:

“You’re an asshole,” Lucien began, snatching the weapon from his brothers hand before Tanwen could take a swing. Tanwen turned, brows raised. 

“For what?”

“You told Elain you’d dance with her,” Lucien reminded him, almost telling his brother the truth of the matter. Lucien very much doubted Elain would be forgiving if she learned he’d messed up her little plan—even if Lucien thought it was ridiculous. 

Tanwen blew out a breath. “I don’t dance.”

“It was one dance.”

“You dance with her,” Tanwen retorted, reaching for the axe but Lucien held it just out of reach. They were matched for height and likely matched in strength, though Lucien knew from experience that if Tanwen wanted to hurt him, it would be relatively easy for him to do so. In his youth, he’d tried to take on all his brothers to disastrous results. Besides, if he limped back into the house with a bruised eye and busted lip, Elain would know that he’d been meddling to help her.

It might make her like him a little better…and Lucien didn’t want her to know he was trying as hard as he was. He couldn’t explain it—call it petulance, call it his own inner angst, but Lucien wanted Elain to simply wake up one day desperate and needy from the bond and court him a little, too.

“You made a promise,” Lucien pressed, tossing the axe to the damp, leafy ground beside his brother. 

“I fucking hate that shit,” Tanwen snapped, running a hand over his messy hair. “The people, the noise, I—” he took a breath. “I tried, alright? But someone tried to talk to me and I couldn’t do it. If you want me to make it up to your wife, though—”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Lucien warned, temper flaring. Lucien was coming to the realization that he likely couldn’t spend another month sleeping in the same bed as his mate without touching her. He toyed with the idea of creating some kind of bargain between them in which he was allowed to have her in the evenings and she could do whatever she liked with the rest of her time. But Lucien’s treacherous mind betrayed him, conjuring images of her taking a lover and he became restless and angry all over again. In his mind, Lucien was allowed to have her however he wanted her, but ultimately bore no responsibility toward her as he figured out his own feelings.

To make matters worse, every time he pictured Elain, his guilty thoughts bled Jesminda into the image until Lucien was frustrated with himself—Jesminda had told him to move on. Move on. It was taking too long, the heartbreak making a fool out of him. How did people get over it? Did they ever? 

Or maybe you’re scared you’ll move on and be fine, a traitor's voice whispered in his mind. Maybe you’re afraid you’d be happy if you let yourself.

“Shut up,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Tawnen glanced at Lucien, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset Elain,” Tanwen conceded, though he didn’t look too shamed. “I’ll make it up to her.” Lucien doubted it, though, given his wife was very much trying to set Tanwen up. He trusted she’d find some new little scheme to put them back in the same room. Begrudgingly, he had to admit the thought of Elain trying to set Tanwen up amused him, if only because Tanwen was the most oblivious of the bunch. If he had his way, he’d abandon court entirely for some cottage in the woods and live entirely off the land. Tanwen would have thrived as governor of the rural counties of Autumn, though that post belonged to Connall, technically.

Beron sent Tanwen to their biggest port city and forced him to oversee the people there, knowing Tanwen hated the politics just as he knew counting crops bored Connall to tears. It wasn’t about learning anything, either. He simply liked making his sons suffer for his amusement. Lucien wasn’t allowed any leadership positions—Beron said he didn’t have enough cities, though Lucien knew that Beron simply didn’t like him and did not want to nurture any potential High Lord qualities in Lucien that might unseat Eris or Cadmus. 

Lucien left Tanwen to his weapons, meandering even when he knew where he was going. He wanted the pretense of stumbling upon her, of seeing her with her hair tied off her face with a pink bandana, hands buried in soil. Lucien found her dressed in a rich purple, hem pooled around her knees as she plunged a little trowel into the earth.

She wore his gloves. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight of them, once tossed carelessly in a drawer along with everything else. She’d worn his combs the night before, his gloves today…Lucien took a breath. Elain was softening. Maybe he could bend a little, too. Pushing open the gate, Lucien made his way toward her.

“Planting?” he asked, noting the bed of weeds had been cleared out of the space. It must have taken her hours to do it.

Elain glanced up, a bead of sweat sliding down her brow. He wanted to taste it. “Your brothers helped clear this place out,” she said sweetly, rising up to sit on her heels. “It’s made things go faster.”

“What are you planting?”

“Here? Aster,” she said, showing him the little trays of budding plants she’d clearly been growing herself. “I’ve mapped it all out. Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming close enough their knees brushed when he lowered himself to the ground. Elain pulled out a little journal and a rolled up piece of paper that she spread out for him.

Lucien recognized Cadmus’ work, sketched out beside Elain’s looping, pretty handwriting. 

“Your brother painted it for me,” Elain admitted, running her fingers over the pretty watercolors that graced the page. I showed him my layout and he put it together.

“We should frame this when you’re finished,” Lucien murmured, thinking it really was lovely. 

Elain’s eyes were bright. “Really?”

He didn’t like that creeping hope in her voice—her belief that he wasn’t a kind male, and didn’t care about her at all. It wasn’t true, though Lucien knew he’d done very little to disabuse her of the notion.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Elain tucked a curl behind her ear. “It’s just a garden, it’s not as if—”

“It’s important,” Lucien interrupted, tone gentle but firm. “Beautiful, too.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, eyes slipping back to the ground. “That’s…thank you, Lucien.”

“Can I help?” he asked, deciding to push his luck. What did it hurt, he reasoned, to try and get to know his wife? His mate? 

Biting her bottom lip, Elain nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I saw Tanwen this morning,” Lucien said, adopting a lighter, more gossipy tone. Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Did you tell him he ruined my night?” Elain demanded with a grin. “Winston occupied nearly all of Ayla’s time.”

“Winston,” Lucien grumbled, though in truth he had no issue with the lord. Winston was perfectly polite, in a bland kind of way. He was the kind of male Ayla could boss around and dominate, which wasn’t the worst position to be in given how Autumn viewed females. It was the closest thing to autonomy Ayla could hope for.

“Right?” Elain agreed, taking one of the little plants from him to nestle it gently in the dirt. “He’s so…”

“Agreed,” Lucien replied, heart thudding in his throat. “Could I offer you some advice?”

“Please,” she replied, eyes darting to him again. The urge to push her into the dirt and cover her mouth with his own reared through him with an intensity so hot that Lucien could feel his cock stir in his pants. 

Calm yourself, he ordered. 

“Consider an activity that Tanwen is interested in.”

“Like what?”

“What is the game you, Arina, and Ayla are always organizing on the lawn?”

“It’s a bit like tag, but less rough,” Elain admitted, cheeks flushing again.

“So why not a larger game?” Lucien suggested, mind racing with possibilities. “Or, perhaps something more akin to hide and seek. That could be romantic.”

Elain’s brows raised. “You’re quite clever.”

He grinned. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“How would we ensure we get them alone?”

“Easy enough. You and I will hide somewhere together—somewhere only I know,” Lucien added, his heart picking up again. He knew the exact tree he’d put her in, ancient and hollowed out by a High Lords son long since dead. Lucien had spent years hiding there as a child, reading and writing and otherwise daydreaming about more interesting adventures. With Elain, the space would feel smaller…perhaps he’d take the opportunity to truly touch her. Run his knuckles over her cheek, his nose along the curve of her neck.

“And Arina?”

Lucien snorted. “Eris won’t be able to help himself.”

Elain wrinkled her nose, scrunching the little freckles adorably. “Ew.”

“And Tanwen considers himself an expert tracker. Finding Ayla will be easiest, because she won’t be masked by another male's scent. And maybe, once they’re alone…”

Elain clapped her hands in front of her chest, giving him an excuse to look at the soft swell of her breasts. Elain was far too appealing, mate or not, and Lucien had the sinking suspicion he’d want her even without the cord currently wrapped around his throat. 

Squashing his guilt, Lucien took a breath. 

Unaware of his inner torment, Elain offered him a smile. “Okay. I like this plan—give me a few days to put it together so it seems natural and not too suspicious.”

“Naturally.”

“And you’ll join?”

“Nothing would amuse me more than to see Tanwen fall prey to the very court scheming he loathes.”

“You make it sound so sinister. I merely want him to find happiness,” she said, unaware that Ayla was the kind of female Tanwen had made a habit of ignoring. He could see her with Cadmus, perhaps, if Cadmus ever deigned to smile or have a moment of fun. Connall was too busy fucking his way through Prythian to ever consider a wife and truthfully, was likely to make someone very unhappy given how little he thought of commitment. 

“And you think Ayla is his happiness?” Lucien questioned.

Elain only shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Lucien began digging out Elain’s next chalk mark as she carefully replanted, not willing to look at her. “I suppose not,” he murmured, feeling as if she were speaking to him as well. You’re not trying at all, he swore her voice accused which wasn’t true. He’d given her gifts, hadn’t he? He was sitting outside despite the biting chill, hands without gloves, dirt gathering beneath his nails. 

Lucien wondered if she couldn’t sense his hesitation, his indecision. What did she feel? He was desperate to know. Experimentally, he pulled on the bond just to see what she’d do. Elain’s brow furrowed, hand flying to her chest to rub.

“Are you well?” he asked. Tell me you feel what I feel.

“I may have strained myself,” she admitted, hand falling to her lap. “Or perhaps I’m coming down with something.”

Lucien bit back his sigh. She felt it, but didn’t realize what was happening. Perhaps that was a blessing, then. He wondered if the snapping had felt different for her, or had been masked by her other emotions, lost to the swirl of fear and anxiety. How did he tell her without upsetting her? Could he? 

“You should take it easier,” he murmured, unsure how she’d even go about doing that. “Rest more.”

Elain bit her bottom lips, gaze far away. “I feel like all I do is rest. I garden, I go about with my friends, I eat, I sleep. Hardly exerting.” Interesting. “What would you like to be doing, then?”

She considered this, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Travel?”

Lucien’s whole body tightened. Was that it? His disbelief must have shown on his face because she quickly added, “I heard the continent had tulip fields as big as a sea.”

“I’ve never seen them,” he admitted, mind racing, “I’d like to, though.”

“Maybe we could go?” she suggested.

Lucien resisted the urge to crush her against him. “Whatever you like.”

It was a start.

[hollyhomburg]

I’m asking really really nicely for a sneak peek 🥹

it's just a little one~ i'm sorry i didn't respond last night i just had a few little things that i realized i needed to change in the chapter :( promise you won't hate me when you hear that i edited out yoongi's smut....i pushed it to the next chapter BUT STILL!

beware! angsty conversations and posessive smutt!!

Chapter 71 Sneak Peek <3

His hands go up and down your waist, hungry, small sleep shorts just pulled to the side to give his still pulsing cock room. Your slick is cooling and the sweat on the back of his neck is turning balmy. Alpha musk sweetening the air in satisfaction, but also challenge, the way that Hoseok smells when he and Jimin wrestle and he gains the upper hand- however briefly. Definitely not the way that the alphas usually smell after popping a knot.

You recognize the cross look on his face and aim to kiss it off of him. planting the type of kiss that almost always makes Hobi smile at the corner of his lips.

You pause for a second, for dramatic effect, but it still doesn't make him stop his pouting. “Okay- now you’ve ////got to tell me what's wrong you’re still literally inside me and you’re not smiling-” you laugh against his throat, pull back worried, “not that you have to be happy ///fuck- I didn’t mean-”

Your words jog him out of his thoughts and he lurches forward, Hoseok pecks your nose, your lips, still warm from your sighs and moans that he got out of you. his shifting causes his cock and knot to rub up and more fully inside you just slightly, forcing a tiny bit of cum to slip out, cooling and sticky. but oh well- the inside of the lambo has seen worse messes in recent weeks. you sigh at the movement and rest your face against the hollow of hobi's throat, pouting petulantly as he continues the small juts of his hips, content to rip another orgasam out of you (although the front of his white shirt is already soaked translucent with it). he's competitive like that.

you grab his arms to try and slow him, already a little overstimulated and unable to feel your thighs, but hoseok just grabs your waist and lifts you up, however briefly- to seat you more firmly on his knot, "Hobi fuck-"

There's an itch under his skin that just won't quiet down. Won't settle. "How many times does Yoongi usually make you cum?"

your eyes futter, and he settles you back against this chest, his heart thuds quick against your ear, "like 2 or three times but-" he starts up again, moving his cock syrupy slow, knot deflating but not gone entirely, rubbing and sending shivers up your spine as he twitches, not done with you at all yet, the drag hot and filthy and slow.

“It’s nothing” but you wait, because you know it’s not. He kisses at your temple. (How lovely is it- that your favorite place to be kissed should be called the same name as a house of worship? hoseok kisses you just as reverently cock still working diligently deep to pull more sweet sighs out of you. hoseok's cock and knot are not too small or too big- he fits you just as yoongi did (does); just right.

“You said, with Tae- that you wanted to marry her.” Hoseok closes his eyes, just briefly. his eyelashes catch the light from the streetlamps “I was just looking at you and wondering...wondering why you chose her.” //////and not me

[seraphdreams]

JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3

[chuluoyi]

✎ sweet felicity

- gojo satoru x reader

what do you get the man who already has everything for his birthday?

genre: teeth-rotting fluff and comfort because no—i can't make his birthday angsty ok

note: so this is my entry for the birthday boy <3 this takes place immediately after daddy-to-be, where the first years are still yuta, maki, panda and toge

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Honestly? Satoru wondered about it a lot these days.

He already has everything he wanted—unparalleled cursed technique, a fairly happy life, a pretty wife, and just recently, a kid on the way.

But his birthday was in a week and it was as clear as a day that you were planning something for him.

“Come on, you can't fool me, sweets.”

He noticed that you had started waking up earlier than usual. Initially, he thought it was due to your morning sickness, but it turned out you were sneaking away to another room for an hour or two and only came out when it was around breakfast time.

Did you really think he wouldn't catch on? Satoru found himself torn between concern and amusement. He didn't want you to strain yourself—especially after your recent fainting spells—and yet a part of him was over the moon by the fact that you did it for him.

His eyes crinkled, twinkling with affection. “You're planning something for my birthday in the mornings lately. That's sweet, but you don't have to, really.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why are you so sure that it's for your birthday? I never said anything."

"Well, what else could it be? Unless you're cheating on me at six in the morning—"

"I have your spawn inside me, Gojo Satoru—"

"Don't call it ‘spawn’!" Satoru interjected with a theatrical gasp. "It's our very own little munchkin! Our love! Love!"

This was so ridiculous and you couldn't help yourself from giggling. And seeing you like that softened something inside him.

"Really, don't push yourself too hard," he said with a pout, resigned. "You need lots and lots of sleep."

"I'm not a baby, Satoru."

"Half of you is, so it makes you one!"

He was dramatic, but it was his own way to care because your husband was just wired that way.

You sighed, relenting. “Okay, okay… I know my limits. I will stop when I don't feel well, yeah? Besides, I won't have time to do it except in the mornings because I still have classes to teach.” It seemed like he wasn’t satisfied with your answer so you added, “Just so you know, it's something I enjoy too.”

"Hmph," Satoru huffed, eyeing you petulantly. "It'd better be good, or I'll spank you."

If it were physically possible for your eyes to roll a full 360 degrees into the back of your head and back, they definitely would have. "Oh, you will adore it, I promise."

Well, it wasn't a part of the plan, but now that he had asked for it, you'd definitely add a twist in his gift...

Satoru connected the dots instantly when he saw yarn and needles—what else were you doing aside from knitting?

His sweet wife, who woke up early just to make a handmade gift for his birthday—ahh, his heart could've burst. It was so cute and so you, the warmhearted being that you were.

He would go back early today, he decided, as he strolled the halls of the Jujutsu High with a cheerful tune. You were certainly waiting back at home and he would shower you with love and praise just for your efforts alone these past few days.

And so, he would have never expected that when he received a call from Nanami that afternoon, his world would utterly shatter in the most terrifying way.

“Gojo-san, please, you must come back.” Nanami was always steadfast even in the direst situations. And yet, now he was breathing hard, and panicking. “Something happened. You must go back to your residence—”

In that moment all he could think of was you and his baby. His entire world. Were you hurt?

He didn’t dwell on it—or rather, he couldn’t. His fingers went to rip his blindfold off as a sense of exponential dread creeped in and threatened to engulf him whole—a very, very strange, unfamiliar feeling to him—and he teleported back to his haven in a blink of an eye.

He had been ready to unleash hell, to see you lying on your own pool of blood, or anything. No, that was something he could never be ready for, but he would somehow make it right—

“Ooh, there he is!”

“Already?!”

“Nevermind—”

—and suddenly, he was swept into a whirlwind of confusion and commotion.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GOJO-SENSEI!”

Today is December 7.

It took a while for Satoru to discern everything, with his pulsating heartbeats and the rush of emotions that overwhelmed him. His eyes darted from each and every face who were suddenly in his house, searching for yours—

“Satoru!” you greeted him from behind Nanami, radiantly beaming, and only then could he finally breathe. You are safe—you’re well—

You had meant for it as a joke, a little payback for all the grievances he had caused you—and let’s not forget, Nanami—but you immediately regretted it when you had a look over the absolute terror in his heavenly blue eyes that you loved so much.

You had seen this once, before, when he proposed to you.

“Satoru.” You waltzed towards him, gently cradling his stunned face in your hands. “Hey,” you coaxed him with an apologetic smile, reassuring him of your presence.

Satoru looked at you squarely in the eyes, and as he fully took in the sight of you, he let out a shuddering breath and pulled you close with a firm arm around your waist and and the other around your back.

“You evil woman,” he murmured in your ears, and you could feel the slight tremble of his body and the way his heart was still thumping wildly inside his sturdy chest, which made you feel even more sorry.

“Whoa, that got you good, huh?” Panda remarked with a bemused grin.

“As expected,” Megumi snorted.

“Salmon! Salmon!”

“Ehh, that’s actually sweet…” Maki noted thoughtfully. “I would have never expected him to drop everything that fast just to go back here only after a suspicious phone call—”

“Of course he would!” Yuta rebuked with pride. “It’s his wife after all! And Nanami-san truly did a really convincing job at it!”

Nanami. Satoru casted a stern glare toward his junior, while the man in question awkwardly coughed. How did you even involve him in this?

Nah, he would deal with him later.

Despite the scare that got him good, your little plan commenced as it should. The closest of his friends and students were there to throw him this silly birthday party, as well as shower him with a plethora of gifts.

You had managed to round up his students to write birthday wishes for him in a scrap book filled with various photographs throughout the past year. This is sweet, he thought.

And one note tugged at his heartstrings the most:

Thank you, sensei, for everything — Yuta.

If anything he did ever made an impact on those young sorcerers, then Satoru was wholeheartedly glad. He wanted them to grow and made their own path in this unforgiving world, and their gratitude stirred a profound sense of relief within him.

“Here.” He was genuinely surprised when Megumi abruptly pushed a long, thin box toward him next, shyly averting his gaze. “Happy birthday.”

A fountain pen. It must have costed him some. It was strange, but Satoru felt oddly emotional.

The kid was barely six when he first approached him. He was prickly and sour and definitely wasn't welcoming. And then, he had matured right before his eyes. Satoru couldn’t help ruffling his hair vigorously and snickered, disregarding the scowl directed his way.

Nanami extended his well-wishes, and even though he still had a score to settle with him later, he was happy to have him here. Shoko couldn’t come but she left you with a recorded message.

“Happy birthday, Gojo, idiot,” Shoko was grinning in the video you played. “I'm sorry I can't be there, but my wish is for you to tone down your antics. We could all use a bit less of that.”

The two remaining reminders of the bluest spring in his life. Something pricked his heart at the stark reminder that they were not whole—and if only that someone was here, they would—but the fact that these two thought of him was enough.

And now, at last, it was time for your gift. Satoru thought he knew what it was, but as he carefully opened the ivory box, a profound sense of warmth still washed over him.

Mittens, with the color of freshly fallen snow, lay in the box—two pairs in total. One was remarkably tiny, seemingly tailored for a baby, while the other was notably larger, undoubtedly meant for him.

You. Him. The baby. By this time next year, there would be three of you. The happy picture of all of you together in near future was a gift in and of itself. You two are his everything.

Satoru went by his instincts and grasped your arm, crashing his lips against yours ardently, beaming with the broadest grin. He paid no heed to the squeals and disapproving glances from everyone around, as he felt entitled to do so—declaring his love boldly so you would know… that he was utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

That he was grateful for you in this otherwise dreary life.

And that if there were any other lives he might live after this ended... then he hoped the heavens would always bring you back to him—and for you to always choose him just like this, no matter what.

Epilogue

“So you really did call Nanami at six in the morning.”

Later that night, just before bed, your husband was still holding a grudge on you for frightening him back in the day, evident by the permanent purse of his lips.

You shrugged, buttoning the last button of your sleepwear. “I did… but it’s for greater purpose, so… yeah.”

“I can’t stand this. I’m suing you for collateral damage.”

You almost laughed. “Pffft—what? What damage—”

“My fragile heart! You can’t do that to me and expect I won’t charge you!”

“Well…” You noted with a meaningful smile. You couldn’t say you didn’t expect this, because Satoru always got pouty whenever he was irked in one way or another, and so in advance, you had actually been prepared for this.

You caught him off guard when you suddenly sat on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers teasing his undercut. It was a nice change of pace, seeing the faint blush coloring his cheeks as he steadied you by your waist.

“…what if I say… I still have one present left for you?”

So, what did you get a man who already has everything for his birthday?

Your whole heart, of course.

And if you were in the mood for an additional surprise, a brand new pair of lacy lingerie you had under your pajamas might do the trick.

[murdrdocs]

BUT YOU'RE NOT MINE. miguel o'hara

description. if you're not his to have, why do you look like the one he has loved? why do you spread your legs and whine and moan for him?

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+, DUBCON & CNC ELEMENTS (it's complicated fr), SMUT 18+, slightly angsty but mostly filfthy smut, fem!reader, massive size kink, dacryphilia, p n v, oral (fem receiving), animalistic miguel (fangs and claws included), possessive miguel, reader is a variant of miguel's late wife, reader's miguel is dead, slight dumbification, power play, cervix kissing, brief mention of paralyzing reader unwillingly, told from miguel's pov (still 2nd person), creampies, like 3 spanish pet names (author does not speak spanish)

wc: 5.5k+

fanart creds to @shuploc

→ kinktober masterlist

He stalks his prey from the window. 

The house looks the same. There’s not much dust anywhere, there’s still four seats at the kitchen table and the still slightly cluttered island, the couches are the same worn in set. He can’t tell what the floorboards are like from outside, but he figures that there’s still the scratches from young Gabriella, or the times he dragged his luggage across the living room instead of picking it up like you wanted him too. 

He wonders if the kitchen has the one mixed matched knob on the furthest left cabinet like his house does. He remembers the time he underestimated his anger fueled strength, leading to the custom made knob being ripped off the wood. He remembers how upset you were for a second, mourning the loss, and then the flare of lust in your eyes as you looked at him. 

You look the same. 

A little thinner, clothing a little more muted than before, but you’re still you. 

Even though he knows you’re not the woman he married. 

And he’s not the Miguel you married. 

But you’re still his wife. 

He notices you wear your wedding ring, the band accompanying it, and he notices you’re wearing the necklace he got you for your first anniversary. So much is the same that he finds it hard to believe he’s in a different universe. He’s finding it hard to believe that he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

But the confusion on your face when you open the door quickly reminds him. 

It takes a while for you to calm down from the hysterics. He makes you your favorite tea, marveling, because this is the same, too. He rubs your back when you start to inch more towards him than away. He coos in your ear lovingly, calling you the sweet pet names that you always responded to. 

And when your cheeks are dried just enough, Miguel’s lips are on yours. 

He meant to lead more up to it. He didn’t even think he came here for this. But you smell like you and you look like you and you feel like you and Miguel just couldn’t take it anymore. 

You stall in the kiss, freezing against him, but Miguel continues. He knows you love him. He knows you’re as eager to see him as he is to see you. And he knows you want him as much as he wants you. 

You kiss him tentatively at first, and Miguel slows to let you set the pace. He follows your lead, gently connecting his lips with yours, a hand rising to cup your cheek. He slides his palm towards your head to stick his fingers tips in your roots, digits separating around your ear. It’s shocking almost, how his hand envelopes your entire cheek; fingers spread close to your eye all the way down to your jaw. 

And it’s with this –– and your hands going to his shoulders –– that Miguel realizes just how much bigger than you he is. He almost dwarfs you in comparison, having both stature and structure over you. 

The thought makes him animalistic. 

He groans into the kiss, his other hand cupping your other cheek, and he can’t take it slow much longer. He kisses you aggressively, noses smashing together before he tilts his head, and even then his nose digs into your cheek. 

You hum, slightly apprehensively, and Miguel feels your eyebrows furrow. Your hands lay over his, and he thinks you’re going to push him away. He prepares himself. 

But you don’t. 

You keep kissing him, movements still slow so you don’t move in time like you should. 

But Miguel’s forgiving. 

He takes one of his hands away to slide it down your back, rough palm rubbing against the worn in fabric of your crewneck. It fits you a little big, Miguel remembers from when he came in, and he wonders if it’s his. The him from here, smaller due to the lack of necessity to go out in a Spiderman suit. 

The envy that he feels makes him aggressive. This time he growls. 

Miguel fists the back of your shirt, using his grip to pull you impossibly closer, and it’s with this movement that you pull back. 

He chases your lips, and you let him kiss you once, twice, and Miguel goes for a third time until your lips pull from his with a smack. 

“Miguel …” you say, voice uneasy, a little shy. Not like his wife but he remembers that you’re not his wife. 

He’s instantly apologizing, fear rising in his chest. “I’m sorry. Am I too much?”

Your smile is soft and comforting. Miguel quickly feels at ease and he suddenly wants to cry. Just the effect you’ve always had on him. 

“No. You’re never too much for me. I’ll always want you. Always.” 

And that’s the same too. His eyes soften for a second, widening as his eyebrows lift. He searches your gaze for the look, the one that tells him you want this, that this is where you want the night to go. Because he doesn’t know if that’s what you mean. 

But you smile gently, you nod, you bite down onto your bottom lip, and Miguel knows. 

His body engulfs yours. 

You lay there, small in structure, but also in nature, too. You look shy, timid, intimidated by the large man above you. Which does nothing but hardens the prominent length between Miguel’s legs. 

He likes that he has this above you. He likes that your safety, your pleasure, your comfort, all relies on him. 

Most of all, he likes how your legs spread for him, even though your mouth says something different. 

“Miguel, I don’t think we should do this. You’re not my husband, you—“

“I’m not?” He dips down, teeth nipping at your neck. It’s just his front ones this time. He licks the spot, kisses it. “Am I not your husband?” 

Your head shakes and your hands go to his shoulders. 

“N … No. You’re not my Miguel. You’re not the father of my child.” 

Miguel hisses and his chest flares with anger. He didn’t need the reminder, not at a moment like this. He fists the sheets beside your head to calm himself, but when he nips you this time, it’s with his sharp canines. It’s not strong enough to pierce your skin, maybe not even strong enough to sting. 

You suck in a sharp breath anyway, realizing you did something wrong, and you’re quick to apologize, leaving Miguel to shut it down. 

“Don’t apologize, cariño. Just be good for me, yeah? Let me feel you.” 

His free hand slides down between your legs, forcibly cupping your mound, pushing the heel of his palm into the area where your clit resides. You hiss, your back arching, but your hands push at Miguel’s shoulders. 

“Mig, this isn’t right, this isn’t—“ but he’s cutting you off, tired of hearing your excuses. 

His lips kiss at the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks, his mind racing with how soft your skin is, and how thin the layers truly are. If he wanted to, he could easily sink his fangs into you, claiming you forever. 

He considers the thought as he chooses to gently press his lips into your skin instead. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Missed you so much, beautiful. I need you.” Your sounds are soft, little breaths, almost mewls whenever Miguel sucks harder in a spot. 

It’s all music to his ears. It does nothing but fuels his desires more and more. He wants you louder, he wants you to whine and cry for him. 

And Miguel has always been determined. He’ll do anything to reach his goal. 

His middle and ring fingers separate from the rest on your mound to press between your lips, the pinky and pointer fingers spreading them so his middle fingers can settle between. 

Your mouth falls open. 

Miguel can tell when he hears the clearly audible breaths you let out that sound a lot more like panting than breathing. 

“You still make those pretty little noises, too, yeah?” He pulls his head out of the crook of your neck to look at you head on, brown eyes searching yours. If he’s reading you right, he’s noticing it all. There’s shock, some guilt, maybe a tiny bit of fear, but Miguel can clearly see the arousal in them. 

He can’t help but smirk, smug and overconfident as he tilts his head. “I wanna hear everything, okay? I need to hear how good I make you feel.” 

He leans down, forehead pressing against yours, and you’re so warm, nearly sweating even though Miguel has done absolutely nothing to bring you true pleasure. Your eyes close while his stay open, and Miguel takes a second to admire just how gorgeous you are. 

He takes in all of the similarities; from your eyebrows, to your eyelashes, to your nose, to your lips. But it’s beside your lip that he notices something not right. You have a scar, deep enough to be visible, clearly healed, but it’s there. His eyebrows furrow, he gets possessive, he gets angry, because you weren’t protected. You’d gotten hurt, and he knows that if he were here, the Miguel above you not the other one, this wouldn’t have happened. 

So when Miguel presses his lips to yours, it’s soft at first. Gentle for a few moments as he tries to communicate the fact that this Miguel, while he might not be your husband or the father of Gabriella, is willing to be your protector all the same.

He wants to be more gentle with this entire ordeal, but you start to kiss him back and he loses it again. He starts to devour you, face a little scrunched as he pushes his lips against yours, moving with a pressure and pace that overwhelms you. 

Your smaller hands fist at the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material up at his shoulders, pushing at them but Miguel barely even moves. Miguel understands that your reaction comes from the way he’s attacking your lips, but the more illogical part of his brain reasons that you want his shirt gone, so he pulls back long enough to yank the fabric over his head with one hand. 

It’s thrown off and into one of the clean corners of your bedroom, Miguel’s eyes quickly taking in just how clean the room is. He notices the lack of anything belonging to him, save for an old pair of sneakers that sit in the vicinity of his shirt. 

Sadness overtakes him for a second, but then he hears your soft “wow” and he turns back to you. Your eyes are tracing his exposed body, taking in his physique. Your hands reach out, hovering over his biceps before they rest fully upon them. It’s amusing to Miguel, the way you squeeze the area and your eyes widen more. 

Your heart starts to beat faster, Miguel can hear it in the silence of the bedroom, and when your eyes look at his again, he sees a bit of fear in them. 

He tries not to have a positive reaction to the emotion, but he can’t help it. He’s entertained, thinking of how you’re finally realizing that Miguel is bigger than you. So much bigger. He can do whatever he wants at this moment, and you have to take it. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware, but you fucking whimper. You sound like a terrified pet, facing danger inescapable to them. 

Miguel reaches his free hand out, cupping your cheek just as his occupied hand starts to rub up and down your slit. Your lips part, your eyebrows push together, and Miguel smiles. 

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say it.” 

You know the code word, Miguel made sure of it before you reached the bedroom because he would never hurt you. Not if he could control it. 

You just stare at him. Not saying anything. And Miguel subtly feels your hips shift to push further down, more into his touch. 

He takes it as his go ahead. 

He sits back on his haunches, all six feet and nine inches of him, his chest rising and falling with shallowly taken breaths as he eyes you beneath him. 

Stripped of your shirt and shorts, wearing nothing but a clearly loved bra and a pair of printed cotton panties. There’s no manufactured bow in the center of them, and Miguel briefly wonders if you still have those. He thinks back to how you’d always pull them out for date nights, or nights where Gabriella wouldn’t be home, and when he’d comment on them, hinting that you were surely expecting something, you said nothing, gently smiled, and turned towards the bathroom. 

Miguel doesn’t realize it, but he’s gotten lost just staring at this single garment. Your wiggling hips breaks him out of the trance and he slips his thick fingers beneath the elastic waistband of your panties and he starts to pull them down your legs. 

The movement is awkward, a product of your refusal to work with him. Your legs are spread too far, you won’t close them enough to let Miguel slide your panties down, it fucking frustrates him. He’s holding back a growl, his lips clamped shut in a thin line so he doesn’t snarl. 

“Baby, just close your legs a little, let me–” but his words are cut off as Miguel grips one side of your underwear with both hands, and then the fabric is broken into two. 

A sharp gasp from you and your legs clamp shut. But Miguel’s not having any of that. His hands, palms rough against your soft skin, grips your knees, muscles barely flexing as he easily pulls your legs apart. 

He briefly wonders if the lack of resistance comes from your own personal will, or if he’s just that much stronger than you. Either thought has Miguel feeling a little dizzy, his blinks slowing as your opened legs reveal a slickened cunt. 

Pretty, glistening with your juices, evidence of how much your body wants him. He starts to salivate a little, his enhanced nose picking up on the aromatic scent coming from you. 

Miguel barely realizes that it’s happening, but suddenly he’s leveled with your cunt and his breath is fanning against the most sensitive parts of you. 

You jump, moving a little further up the bed and away from him, your escape futile when large hands drape over the tops of your thighs, pulling you back to him and pushing you down into the mattress simultaneously. 

Miguel’s sure that the sound that escapes from your mouth would’ve been a whimper if he hadn’t decided that now was the time to lick a long stripe from the lowest point of your cunt, to the clit. 

It’s slow, a little torturous on his end, but it’s worth it with the reaction you give him. 

Mouth dropping, eyes widening as your eyebrows attempt to meet in the middle, your hands fisting the sheets, your hips trying to pull away from him and get closer at the same time. 

How reactive you are does nothing but excite Miguel. 

He launches forward, head burying in your essence, his nostrils flaring as he takes deep inhales. He gets lightheaded for a second, the dizziness coming back, but he reminds himself to breathe when his nose bumps against your clit and he hears you take a deep inhale. 

What follows is Miguel O’hara behaving in a way that can barely be akin to a man, more akin to a beast, as he tries his best to devour you. The sounds are sinful; Miguel’s saliva combining with your wetness, his tongue uncoordinated as it plunges into your walls and comes back out to slurp the surrounding area. 

This isn’t his best work, and he wants to correct his technique to bring you more pleasure, but he can’t get enough. He’s like a man starved, attempting to consume a meal as if someone’s waiting to take it away from him. 

Briefly, he’s reminded that someone could take this all away. He can’t stay for long, or else your universe could collapse. He shouldn’t be here in the first place. But his greed, the very thing he’s displaying now, brought him here, completely on selfish desires. 

Guilt attempts to cloak his being, but you whine and Miguel’s right back in it. 

He lifts his mouth to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucks, once, twice, flattens his tongue to swirl the bud around, and then he bares his teeth, turns his head to the left, and his right fang gently connects with the sensitive nerve ending. 

A little gasp comes from you. “Fuck,” you whisper, and Miguel wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing.

It’s a positive reaction, he figures, so he does it again. And again. And one more time before he has two fingers plunging into your walls, inching further in even as you heave. 

“Not used to this, are you? Your little fingers haven’t been cutting it. Need something bigger to fill you up.” 

Miguel lifts himself again, arm going to rest beside your head, body hovering over yours once more. 

You don’t say anything, but Miguel’s fine with that. The pads of his fingers are deep inside of you, they’re massaging your walls, curled and reaching for the spot that Miguel still hasn’t forgotten. He finds it after a little too long, and you try to stifle the sound by biting onto your bottom lip, but Miguel can see the pleasure. 

It shows in your wide, pleading eyes. In your raised eyebrows. In your flared nostrils. 

He smirks, proud of himself, and pays special attention there. 

“That’s it. There it is. ‘S all the same.” 

He kisses your cheek and his fingers slowly pull out, only to thrust back in, finding the area of that spot over and over again. It has you mewling, your legs spread, your body clearly enjoying it even though you pretend the opposite. 

“Mig, Miguel, please, I … I’m, it’s all…” You’re saying so much but so little. Little jumbles of words that preface something that never comes. He can’t tell if you’re begging him to keep going or to stop. He doesn’t know if he could stop even if he wanted to. 

Not with the way you’re so obviously close. 

One of your hands fling to wrap around Miguel’s wrist, and he fucking laughs when he sees that your pointer finger and thumb is miles apart, on opposites sides of his wrist. 

“Don’t know how you’re gonna take this cock, baby. So fucking tiny beneath me. ‘M gonna split you open.” The words are whispered in your ear, meant as a warning, maybe even a promise, but it feels borderline threatening coming through his bared teeth. 

Your head turns away from him, your eyes squeeze shut, and you’re practically intelligible when you say, “‘M close.” 

It’s like Miguel’s been presented with a goal that could alter everything. He needs to make you come, this time being the first of many tonight. 

He has a thirst that can only be satisfied by feeling your walls squeeze and flutter around his fingers. 

He kisses your temple, his fingers speed up, and he’s encouraging you. 

Not even a few moments later Miguel’s fingers are constricted. His hand lifts with your hips, his ears drink in the sounds you let out; little moans and huffs of air that you’re clearly trying to keep hidden. Which Miguel is fine with for now, because he knows in due time you’ll be screaming around his cock, not even aware of the sounds that you make as you reside in complete ecstasy. 

You’re barely calmed down, the occasional twitch still in your legs, before you’re looking over at him. 

He stands off to the side of the bed now, eyes on you as his thumbs dig into the elastic of his gray sweatpants. He tugs them down, watching your eyes trail down his body. He exhales, abs flexing with the breath, and your eyes get just a little wider. 

But when his sweats are on the floor, and he’s stepped out of them, your eyes are low, lidded not just from the directional change, trained on the way his cock is straining against the stretchy fabric of his briefs. 

He steps closer, hand cupping your cheek, head dipped as he looks at you. 

“Would you like to do the honors?” A phrase he’s uttered frequently to you in this setting. Usually a wicked smile, and eager hands is your response. 

Now, you tilt your head, assumingly letting the words translate in your head, and Miguel realizes that it’s really been a while since you’ve had your Miguel. 

When you understand, your hand reaches out to his boxers, but then it stops midway. 

Miguel nods. “Come on, don’t be shy.” 

Then your nails scratch at his lower abdomen, beginning to stick under the elastic. 

“There you go.” His eyes turn down, watching his crotch, watching your hand disappear beneath the fabric. They flutter shut when you wrap your hand around him. 

The first touch is always the best for Miguel. He shudders, the feeling translating to a shaky breath. 

He wants to keep his eyes closed, basking in the feeling of you starting to timidly stroke him, but he feels eyes on him, and there’s nothing Miguel loves more than your eyes. 

So he looks down at you, he watches you as your hand trails to the tip of his cock, thumb smearing the precum along the circumference to give you better slip. 

Your hand glides up and down the expanse of Miguel’s cock, feeling him up, working him slowly. 

It feels nice. But it’s not nearly enough. 

Miguel takes the liberty to pull his briefs down his hips, the garment meeting the same fate as his pants. 

Your hand is still around him, but your grip falters just a bit when his cock springs free. 

Miguel watches your eyes size him up, taking in the sheer length and girth of him. 

He can already predict what you’re going to say before you go. 

“Miguel. It’s not gonna fit.”

The fear returns to you. It shines in your eyes, flares in your chest, scrapes up your limbs and leaves goosebumps in its trail. 

His head shakes. “It’ll fit, amor. I’ll make sure it fits.” 

He wants the words to soothe you. He hopes the words will soothe you. 

But as he situates himself between your legs, as he arranges your legs to lay over his, as he starts to line himself up, you look even more fearful. 

You’re clenched tight, it’s showing in your entire body, so Miguel rubs his thumbs along your hips, and he gives you what he thinks is a comforting look. He hasn’t been able to contort his features into that look for a while now, and he’s sure that he’s out of practice, but it works.

Your eyes set on his face, they roam over his features, then they lock onto his eyes like meeting a target. 

There’s an unspoken agreement for him to proceed. 

So he does. 

You’re tight. Miguel knew you would be, but it’s still slightly unexpected. He can’t help but hiss as the head starts to breach. You’re tight. 

“Baby. Let me in. Breathe.”

You try to do so, but it’s like no matter how many calming breaths you take, you get tighter as Miguel continues to push. 

It gets to the point where Miguel has no choice but to keep going, hoping that his attempt at soothing words work as he buries himself to the hilt. Miraculously, it’s only then that you relax, the feeling of loosening alerting Miguel of the change. 

He looks at your expression, satisfied to see your features slack, starting to morph into pleasure once more. 

He starts to move, slow drags out and even slower pushes back in. 

They’re intended to allow you room to adjust, to cease your whines and provide you comfort, in an alarmingly discomforting situation. Miguel thinks it’s working. You go mostly silent, he wrenches his eyes closed in pleasure, but they peel back open whenever he hears sniffles. 

It’s impossible for him to continue holding back when you look at him all pretty like this. Tears streaming down the sides of your face, pooling in your hair, salty liquid sticking your eyelashes together as you blink pathetically up at him. 

Something tugs at him, telling him to give it his all. 

So he does. He takes what he wants. 

He takes what he deserves. 

His snapping into yours with a force that sends you up the bed each time. He refuses to let you off the hook like this, hands gripping your hips, your soft and supple skin pinched between calloused fingers. You whine, crying out desperately as you push at Miguel’s hands. 

He doesn’t let up, believing that this is the only way to keep you close to him. Even if it hurts. 

He gives you some reprieve, however, taking away one of his hands to slide up the back of your thigh. He hooks your limb over his hip, encouraging you to dig your heel into the dimples at his lower back. It’s something the you that belongs to him would’ve done, and there’s a split second of fear in his chest as he anxiously waits for you to do it now. 

Whenever you do, the heel of your foot pressing into the skin right above his ass, he snarls. It’s unfiltered, an accident, but it’s real and raw. 

His claws come out and they swipe at your skin accidentally. A gasp from you, then a wince, alerts Miguel of the mishap, and his heart stops. His hips stop. He’s hurt you. He’s done the thing he swore he never would. 

You look at the bleeding cut, then at him, and Miguel doesn’t see hurt in your face. Instead, you pull him closer, arching your back, pushing your hips into his and grinding as best as you can against him. 

You go from stoic and pliant to untamed, your own nails digging into his forearms, your hips lifting off of the bed in what should be an unattractive motion. 

Yet there’s nothing that you could do that could be unattractive in Miguel’s eyes. 

He’s sworn to love you forever, despite the Universal difference. 

He licks his lips, and with the motion he feels his fangs. Sharp, pointy, ready to plunge into whatever flesh he can reach. He once again considers it for a second, sinking his teeth into your thigh and rendering your limbs useless. Keeping you stuck to the bed for him to use and abuse however he’d like. 

But you’ve been behaving so well tonight. So he finds no need. 

Miguel angles his hips differently and you whimper, the sound sweet and small and soft from you. It resembles a “hng”, tailoring off into a gasp towards the end that has Miguel grunting in response. 

“Acting like you’ve never been fucked like this before.” His voice is rough, lacking any romanticism in the tone. He could barely care less.

“Maybe you haven’t. Has no man taken you like this? This sweet, supple body, left unused for this long. You know that’s not your purpose. You’re wasting your potential, honey. This is what you’re made for.” He punctuates his statement with a piercing thrust, hitting a spot that makes you gasp sharply. 

“Made to give men like me pleasure. Not many can take what I can give, but you can, right?” You nod eagerly, seemingly attempting to prove your agreement by taking a deep breath and relaxing your cunt around Miguel enough for him to slide just a little deeper. 

He smirks, hand reaching to your tit where he strokes your nipple with his thumb. “Such a good girl. Probably make a good little housewife too. Maybe I'll stick around. We could do this more often. Get this tight little body to take me 24/7 until it’s second nature. I can feel her struggling around me. Pussy’s too tight. Hasn’t had a big cock to fill it in a while. But that’s alright, we can train her. She’ll be as good as new in no time, yeah?” 

It seems he’s fucked you too good, beyond any verbal or nonverbal responses from you. Instead, you’re a mess of whines and groans. Your mouth hangs open, drool pooling at the corner just before it fills over and slides down your chin. It doesn’t bother you, or you have more important things to focus on, because you let it glide down until it sits in your clavicle. 

Miguel’s ego inflates as he watches you fall apart like this. Earlier tonight you were the picture of perfection; a neat outfit, a neat home, your emotions and responses polished. But you shed all of that for him. Because of him. 

In his mind, there’s no greater honor. 

Especially whenever he slides his hand down to your clit, flicks your bud one, two, three, times, and then your back arches as your orgasm travels through your body. 

He sees it start in your loins first. Your pelvis rocks against his ferociously, and then it stops, twitching every so often as your orgasm travels to your limbs then. Your legs lifting, hovering on either side of Miguel and twitching sporadically as he continues to fuck you despite your feeble hands pushing at his shoulders. 

He’s bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter than you, and he knows what’s best. He knows your body better than you do. He knows you can handle another. 

He knows you need another. 

So he continues. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, presses his hands into the mattress on either side of your head, and starts fucking you to a second round of completion. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, your body tensing as you brace yourself through the pain. But Miguel tuts. 

“None of that, baby. Look at me. Look at who’s making you feel this way.” It takes you a second. You huff, your eyebrows push together. 

Miguel rolls his eyes. He lifts one hand, taps your cheek with enough force to have your eyes snap open, and then he grips your face. “I said: Look at me.” 

You do as told now, fear flashing through your eyes, and Miguel grins. He likes the power. He likes this feeling. 

“There you go. That’s it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Now give me another. Just one more, my love.” 

He’s so deep within you, your arousal leaking out around him, giving him access to the uncharted parts of you by virtue of providing absolutely no resistance. There’s possibly the easiest slip and slide happening between the two of you, Miguel’s cock entering and exiting your cunt rapidly, shallow thrusts that reach mere inches away from your cervix each time. 

Each drive into you prompts a sound, a gasp or moan or just a force of air from your diaphragm. They spur Miguel on, the vigilante adjusting your leg over his shoulder just a little, his chest almost parallel to yours as he forces himself deeper and fucks you harder. 

“C’mon, baby. When you’re ready, just let go for me.” 

He’s close at this point, too, but he absolutely refuses to cum without you clenching around him.

His wish comes true just a few thrusts later. This orgasm builds longer, your walls starting to flutter a few moments before your moans crescendo. 

“There we go. There we––” His words are cut off short as his orgasm pushes through his body. His balls twitch, his hips stutter, and he’s shooting warm ropes into your fluttering cunt. He can feel his claws come out and pierce the fabric of your mattress, but he doesn’t think about how he’ll replace it yet. Instead he focuses on this feeling. 

The euphoria taking over every fiber of his being as his hips automatically piston into you a couple of times as your cunt greedily milks him. It’s not until he has none left that he pulls out of you, his cock steadily softening, creating a sensitivity that has Miguel wincing. 

You’re silent except for a few breaths and Miguel mirrors your state. 

You both lay there, staring at the ceiling, and Miguel looks over at you after what could be anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. 

You’re already looking at him, smiling softly. He smiles, too, his features getting softer whenever your hand raises and cups his cheek. He places his hand over yours, body relaxing when he feels your wedding ring. 

“I’m glad you came back to me,” you say, voice earnest and honest. 

Miguel pulls you into his chest.

[nanaslutt]

Ok but giving gojo road head and he feels so good he has to pull over in the nearest parking lot to properly enjoy it oh my god just imagine his head bent backwards and his mouth open eyes closed moaning I can’t I need to suck his cock honestly ❤️ and maybe like if ur feeling a tad bit silly he could be a head pusher in this one 😁😁😁teehee just maybe ONLY jf ur feeling silly nana mwah!

OH I LOVE THIS we’re getting straight into this oh em gee

contains: fem reader, oral(m!receiving), sensitive!gojo, sooooo much dirty talk, road head :p, manhandling, throat fucking, headpusher!gojo <3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Your hands were all over Gojo, trying to rip off his belt, unzip his pants, and get his cock out as quick as possible.

“Baby slow downn,” he laughed, “My cock ain’t goin anywhere,” He placed a big hand on top of your own while you tried to undo his belt.

“We’ll be home in 20 minutes, ‘s my girl that needy?” he smirked. You ignored his teasing, pushing his hand out of the way; making him giggle and submit, placing it back on the wheel with his other hand.

You had just finished going shopping together. Gojo needed a new designer suit for some fancy get together with the jujutsu higher ups soon, dragging you along with him.

You protested at first, not wanting to spend your day off suit shopping with gojo. You would much rather cuddle up with him on the couch, but you didn’t want to be alone, so you caved, letting him drag you along with him.

And god damn it if you weren’t glad you did. Tight fitting suit after suit being tried on, all tailored perfectly to his measurements, accentuating his big biceps and toned frame.

Watching him roll up his cuffs and fiddle with his jacket was making your mouth water. You were clenching your thighs as he smoothed his big hands down his chest, veiny hands coming up to tighten the tie on his neck.

“How do I look baby? Ya like this one?” He asked, completely unaware of how something so simple as him trying on suits made you want to devour him right this second.

He found out your true feelings later, bringing you back to the car as you finally undid his difficult zipper after struggling with it for a while, reaching your smaller hands into his pants to pull his semi-hard cock out.

“You got this worked up while I was playin dress up? So dirtyy~,” he teased, biting his lip and smirking while you stroked his length in your warm hands, getting him fully erect.

“Satoru,” you said sternly, leaning your body over the center console and placing your mouth inches from his cock, “shut. up.” The second your words were out his cock was filling up your mouth, quickly falling into a rhythm as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, making his hips jolt up into your mouth when he drove over a bump, making you gag.

“Ahh- A-hh shittt baby,” Satoru groned, eyes fluttering as he tried to keep his focus on the road, occasionally dropping his gaze to watch the show you were putting on for him.

He dropped a heavy hand on your head, pushing down slightly, making you wince as it hit the back of your throat, “Thought you wanted my cock so bad huh? Cant take it?” he smirked, relishing in the feeling of you swallowing around him, trying to hold back your gags.

Your hand came up to place it on top of his challengingly, pushing his hand down against you. “Oh yeah?” he smirked. Gojo’s fingers curled into your hair as leverage as he started bobbing your mouth up and down on him like a cock sleeve.

“Such a thirsty girl- fuckkk- such a tight fucking throat.” He was trying his best to keep the acceleration of the car at one speed, his legs jerking and jolting every so often when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat, making his driving a little sketchy.

The vibrations from your moans combined with the tightness of your throat as you choked around him was going straight to his balls, “Gonna make me c-crash the fuckin car holy shiiiiit,” he whined, jaw dropping as moans repeatedly fell from his tongue.

Gojo couldn’t take this for much longer, he yanked you back from his dick, popping your mouth off of him with a wet sound as you coughed and sputtered in the air, hand immediately coming down to stroke him still.

“Gotta pull over, ‘s too fuckin much” he said out of breath, face red and heart beating out of his chest as he took the next exit the freeway provided.

His abs were clenching, back coming off from the back of his seat as you rubbed your thumb on the underside of his cock, right under his head, “Babyyyy, killin me, h-hold on just hold on please,” he wined, his big hand coming down to grip your wrist tight as he frantically searched for a semi secluded place to pull over.

Once he found a nice gravel patch off the side of the road covered decently with thick trees he turned the wheel a little too hard to the side, car rocking the both of you as you settled into the spot.

Gojo quickly put the car into park and flipping his hazards on before he brought you back down onto his cock, “All yours baby, take my fucking dick,” he groaned.

Your lips immediately came to suckle on his tip, before sliding down the length of his cock again. This time he just let his hand rest on your head, slightly pushing down on the downstroke.

His head was tipped back against the seat as loud groans and wines spilled from his slack jaw, “goddd baby that feels so good-“ he choked out, running his hands through your hair.

His abs clench when you swallow around him, moans being cut off with a gag when his dick reached too deep in your throat.

You pop your lips off his dick, rotating your wrist around him while while you jerk him off, “yeah? my throat feel good?” you moan, biting your lip while smiling up at him.

“Yes yes so fucking good pretty, so good” He smiled back at you. His big hand comes up to grip your neck, squeezing as he pulls you up to his mouth, “Don’t stop jerkin’ me off” He whispers before he crashes your lips together, moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue.

The kiss is so messy; whenever you twisted your twist around his wet tip his jaw would fall open, and his pretty blue eyes would roll back in his head.

“Fuuuuck, Im so close- fuck-“ He moaned into your mouth, gojo’s body jerking when you started pumping him more vigorously.

“Wanna cum d-down ur throat princess, cmon, why don’t you suck my dick again, huh?” His grip still hard on your neck as he gave it w squeeze to emphasize his need.

Gojo was trying his hardest to keep his composure, trying to stave off his orgasm long enough to at least feel your lips around him again, but your hand movements around his cock was making that task feel impossible.

You bit your lip and nodded, feeling his member start to pulse in your hand. He released your neck, letting you drop your head down to his cock again.

You started to kitten lick the tip softly, dipping your tongue into his leaky slit; but gojo was having none of that.

Without warning he shoved the entirety of his cock down your throat, bobbing your head up and down with his new grip on your hair, “Sorry baby, cant put up w-with your fuckin’ teasing when i’m this close” He smirked down at you, watching you struggle to take him.

You adjusted quickly, breathing through your nose so you wouldn’t choke, and focusing on sucking and rolling your tongue around him to get him to finish as fast as possible.

“Yesyesyes just like that fuck- right there-“ His grip tightened at his head fell back with a ‘thmp’ against the headrest when your tongue caressed a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his dick.

You were paying special attention to the thick vein running along the underside of his cock, and it made him feel fucking dizzy. His head was spinning every time your mouth fully engulfed him.

You continued your ministrations, letting the massive man above you manhandle you; pulling and tugging at your hair for his own pleasure, and steadily bringing himself to his orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum babe, oh my godd” He let his chin fall back down, jaw slack and eyes heavy as he watched your mouth create a mess of spit all over his cock.

Spit strings connected from your chin to his abdomen and balls, the feeling of you moaning and gagging around him; it was all too much.

You felt his cock twitch before you tasted him; his heavy hand pushing you to the base of his dick as hot ropes of his cum shot down your throat.

You swallowed his cum up greedily, like it was the antidote for some poison to save your life. “Fu-uuuck yeahhh” he wined, biting his lip hard watching you try to keep up with his orgasm flooding your mouth, “Just-like-that- swallow it alllll,” he emphasized by thrusting his too sensitive dick into your mouth.

His whole body was buzzing, long legs shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, mind feeling like jello as the aftershocks ran through his body.

When the stimulation became too much for him; and right when your vision started to be covered in black dots from asphyxiation; he pulled you away from his dick.

Still holding your hair as your hand came down to rub at your throat, coughing and gasping for air in the process. “Show me.” he demanded.

Your foggy mind knew exactly what he meant; sticking out your tongue you showed him how you swallowed every last drop of his seed into your tummy, smiling when you put your tongue back in your mouth.

Gojo’s big hand came up to pat your cheek, releasing your hair and opting to grip your jaw in his hand, “Good fucking girl baby~” He cooed, smashing your faces together.

You felt his tongue dart inside your mouth, greedily licking around, trying to taste himself in your mouth.

He pulled away with a smirk, spit string connecting the two of you as he gave you a quick peck, “God i’m still fucking shaking haha” He laughed breathlessly, making you giggle.

Gojo stared into your eyes for a couple more seconds, biting his lip looking at the expanse of your face before his sighed, dropping his hold on your chin.

“Okaayyyy~” He sighed out, tucking himself back in his pants and buckling his seatbelt back up.

By this point you were positive you had drenched a spot through your panties, pants, and his car seat with how aroused you felt, so you felt ecstatic at his next words.

Putting on his blinker and pulling out into the street, his big hand came to rest on your thigh, patting it a couple times before speaking, “I’m gonna eat your pussy till your fucking crying when we get home as thanks for that.”

[bunnylovesani]

A Marriage Story

Summary: You met your husband Spencer at college and fell in love at first sight. A decade later, he’s struggling to be the man you need after spending months away in prison. Can you find your way back to each other even when outside influences want to keep you apart?

Content warnings: smut, fluff and angst all rolled into one, rough sex, oral sex, degradation, sub/dom dynamics, references to infidelity and divorce

WC: 10.7k

“Can’t sleep?” You peered into the living room to see your husband slouched across the sofa, sporting a stiff, groggy expression as he examined what looked to be a pine-green leatherbound book.

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” He mumbled in response, barely looking up. Spencer was snarky by nature- it was something you’d grown accustomed to and even found endearing- but you were woefully unprepared for just how much would change following his stint in prison. 

“You can barely read in here, it’s so dark.” You grumbled as you stretched to turn on an orange light posted in the corner. Your fingertips brushed past the bobbly canvas of the lampshade as you recalled how the appliance was a wedding gift. You weren’t exactly sure who bestowed it to you but the memory made you a little misty-eyed. 

“And you don’t have your glasses either.” You muttered under your breath as you readily paced to your bedroom down the hall to retrieve his black-rimmed specs. “Here you go.” You extended your arm out, waiting for him to take them out of your grasp but he paid no notice. 

“Spence.” You nudged him but he just shook his head wordlessly and retreated into his pages even more, squinting profusely. Perching beside him, you tucked his unruly waves out of his face and nestled them behind his ear before carefully sliding on his glasses, letting them rest on the delicate bridge of his nose. 

“Thanks.” He whispered after a while and you tried your best not to sigh at the state of your husband. His under eyes throbbed purple, the darkness consuming them in a veiny, crescent spill. There was no avoiding the way Spencer’s eyes had gradually dullened, as if the light had drained from them entirely. 

“It’s 3 in the morning, my love. Clearly that stiff sofa isn’t doing you any favours, why don’t you try sleeping in our bed tonight?” You hummed, nervously pawing at his forearm in anticipation of his answer. 

“Not tonight.” He dismissed, shaking off your hand as he recoiled from you. 

“You always said that sleeping with me put your mind to rest. Let me scoop you up into my arms and I’ll bet those nightmares will ease right up.” You nuzzled into him playfully, badly craving that now unfamiliar warmth. It had been 3 months since Spencer returned home from jail and another 3 since you’d even slept in the same room. 

“That was back then.” He replied coldly, swallowing a lump in his throat before finally looking up to meet your gaze. “The sofa is just fine now.” 

“So you plan on spending the rest of our marriage sleeping in here, do you?” You laughed in disbelief, overwhelmed by the incredible misfortune that had struck your husband- and by cursed extension, you.

“I didn’t say that.” He ripped off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with tired frustration. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I have been more than understanding.” You observed the broken man hunched over before you with both pity and unbridled anger. “But my lenience has a limit. At some point, you have to get over it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.” He snapped back, almost interrupting. 

“Because you won’t tell me.” You countered, blood pressure rising over his incredulous obstinance. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t let me?”

“I don’t need your help.” He scoffed, shuffling back as if the slightest contact with you made his skin crawl. 

“I am your wife.” You uttered solemnly, the words beginning to sound foreign to you both. “Or have you forgotten?”

“How could I? You never leave me alone.” He stated carelessly with such absurd cruelty that it made your heart split in two. 

“Who are you? I don’t even recognise you anymore.” Your voice trembled as tears swelled and you willed yourself not to fall apart entirely right then and there. 

“I don’t recognise myself either.” He murmured inaudibly.

Awkwardly plumping the pillows you had flattened as you rose, you straightened out your cotton nightie and headed towards the solitary bedroom, leaving Spencer glaring shamefully at the floor. 

“Do you remember our wedding day?” You whispered into the doorway, unsure whether he would even hear. 

“Of course I do.” He sighed heavily, as if the memory hurt him and he wasn’t too grateful for the reminder. 

Realising that those were the only words you’d be able to coax out of him tonight, you proceeded down the corridor and slumped into bed defeatedly. The right side of the bed was always kept empty, partly out of habit and partly out of hope that he might, by some miracle, change his mind one of these nights and join you. A particular quote that your husband once read aloud from a Nietzsche book sprang to mind: “In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.” He had laughed it off as the words left his perfect lips, dismissing the mournful proclamation as pessimistic melodrama- but now you wondered whether the boy genius had, for once, been wrong. Clutching a rumpled old pillow close to your chest, you thought back to better days as your melancholy lulled you to sleep. 

“Spencer, you’re so annoying.” You playfully slapped his forearm once you caught sight of the little drawings he was leaving in your notebook. “This journal is for my notes, not your mediocre art. Is that one meant to be me?” You pointed at the silly stickman with long hair and a speech bubble declaring ‘I love Spencer’. 

“Well you’re obviously not the ruggedly handsome one.” He gestured at the nerdy-looking bespectacled caricature of himself. It was evident he didn’t have the highest self regard but you couldn’t figure out why- to you, there was no one more perfect. “Do you write about me in your little diary?” He glided the pages out of your reach and began flicking through their contents with a sneer. Knowing exactly what he would find, you allowed him to skim through your written confession as you witnessed his expression soften. 

“I met a guy today in my criminology class.” He muttered, reading an early entry aloud. “I hardly know anything about him, but I’m already certain I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Is that crazy? To love a complete stranger? I think I would let him drive me into the furthest depths of insanity if it meant I could hold onto a piece of him forever.��� 

You blushed hearing your own words spilling from his lips, recalling the day you met on your first day of college. 

“Wait.” Spencer put your notebook down before frantically rummaging through his backpack to retrieve his own. Yanking out a pine-green leatherbound journal, he flitted through its pages before turning it around and sliding it across the library desk. “Read this here.” He tapped a passage located right around the middle with an impatient forefinger. 

“Okay…” You drawled hesitantly, sliding your textbooks out of the way to focus on the script put before you. “I met a girl today. That doesn’t really happen to me. Liking aforementioned girl is even more of a rarity but today, I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. There I was, my nose deep in a second edition tome of Fundamentals of Research in Criminal Justice when someone who could only be described as a blinding ray of sunshine bounded into the lecture hall. When she took a seat in the back row beside me and made a deliciously snide comment over Garland’s incompetency in examining the Lombrosian Project, I knew I was a goner. Note to self: do further research on what it means to be ‘in love’.” 

“Yours was a little more romantic.” He chuckled, observing the incredulous look on your face. 

“Spence…” You shook your head as you grabbed his hand and tried unsuccessfully to convey the complexity of your feelings. “I- I don’t know what to say.” 

“I love you.” He said simply, like he had many times before but you never grew tired of hearing it. 

“I love you too.” You grinned, resisting the urge to kiss him and give surrounding students in the stuffy library a show. 

“Can I ask you something crazy? But promise not to think about it too much.” He chewed on his bottom lip with an almost crazed look in his eyes. 

“You can’t surprise me anymore.” You nodded, giggling. 

“Do you want to get married?” The question made you break out into a flurry of goosebumps, contradicting your last sentence entirely. 

“W-what?” You raised your eyebrows, listening intently for a sign that he was just teasing. 

“Right now. Lets go somewhere and get married.” You scanned his handsome face in shock as you realised he was being serious. 

“B-but we’re only 22. We’re so young.” 

“Yes, we are.” He calmly responded, allowing you to run through all your doubts.

“A-and we still haven’t graduated.” 

“No, we haven’t.” He shook his head.

“And oh, our parents would be so mad!”

“They very well might be. Marry me anyway.” He flashed a broad, toothy smile and the way it made your heart stop gave you the only indication you needed. 

“Okay.” You smiled. 

“Okay?!” He repeated in surprise.

“Okay. I’ll marry you.” 

Spencer shot out of his seat, lifting you up with him as he grabbed you by the face, planting excitable kisses over your lips and cheeks. 

“Don’t we need to make appointments for this kind of thing?” You squeaked out between kisses, the logistical cogs in your mind whirring. 

“Well, baby.” He paused, gazing into your eyes with a mischevious twinkle. “It’s a good thing we live in Vegas.” 

Grabbing each other’s hand with a fervour you thought would last forever, you headed straight to a walk-in chapel, where along with two drunken witnesses you dragged off the street and a pair of vending machine wedding bands, you officiated your love. The haughtily dressed minister, who resembled a cowboy more than a government official thanks to his white, studded getup- took several takes before agreeing to ordain the ceremony. “Crazy kids…” he muttered under his breath when you managed to persuade him, ushering you down the altar with a disapproving sigh.

Spencer marvelled at how you could look so beautiful in a cheap, rented veil and he vowed that day that he would never dare take you for granted. He would make damn sure to remember just how blessed he was, no matter what life threw at him. 

He remained true to his word for the most part, proceeding to spend the next decade or so faithfully by your side. As in most areas of his life, Spencer excelled at being a husband. After his first substantial promotion, he knew exactly what to spend all his savings on: he made a beeline to Tiffany’s for a long overdue engagement ring, surprising you with the small robin’s-egg-blue box on a random Tuesday night. You loved it, of course, and gushed over the lavish diamond, proudly flashing it to anyone who would let you- though you kept your tarnished old band on your bedside table and observed it with nostalgic fondness. 

Every promise Spencer made, Spencer kept. From the silly details down to the crux of your marriage, he was unfalteringly respectful, supportive and always appreciative. 

You certainly weren’t too shabby playing the part of his wife either. Dinner was always on the table, the house was always spick and span and you had no shortage of tight outfits to greet him home dressed up in. You hadn’t ever anticipated your role in life would be that of a housewife but Spencer made it easy- and if you had to be one, a loving, handsome genius was the man for the job. You figured you could do worse.

When the company you worked for years ago filed for bankruptcy and you were too burnt out to look elsewhere, your husband was more than happy to assume his new position as the breadwinner. 

While the thought of relying on a man used to inundate you with horror, this particular man was like something out of a movie- for him, you made every exception, choosing a life of domestic bliss in suburbia over the dreams you once had. You weren’t the most fulfilled woman in the world but you’d never had serious concerns- until this year. It wasn’t Spencer’s habit of overprioritising work, nor his stretch in prison- it wasn’t even the thousand yard stare that painted his face at all hours of the day following his release. 

It was the arrival of the sudden and unprecedented thought that he might actually leave you. 

As many fights as you’d had over the years, the possibility that Spencer may not be the man you spend the rest of your life with had never once crossed your mind- you had it ticked off as a definite and planned your life accordingly around that simple fact. You thought you had agreed that nothing could ever tear you apart. 

But now; the way he recoiled when you came near him and the disdain that dripped from his voice when he spoke to you had you reconsidering whether the man you knew would ever make a return. 

It was your biggest fear and everything your mother had warned you about; her nauseating words gnawed at you as you remembered how staunchly she opposed your impromptu decision to get married. She never really accepted Spencer- choosing instead to graciously tolerate him as a favour to you, but neither of you were under any illusions as to what her real thoughts on the matter were. 

“There you are, I was beginning to think you stood me up.” The lofty voice of your mother rang out and the air sharply shifted around her. 

“Sorry, mother. I- uh, woke up a little late. Got caught in the midday traffic.” You sniffled, trying your utmost to be subtle over the fact you’d spent all morning weeping pathetically in bed.

“Yes, I suppose that’s something you can afford being unemployed and childless.” She scoffed, suspiciously eyeing up your puffy face. “Though I suspect traffic isn’t to blame on this particular occasion.” 

“Of course it is.” You dismissed, taking a seat before her at the garden restaurant you had agreed to meet for lunch in. It was a little too snooty for your taste, but then so was she. 

Burying your face in the menu before she had the chance to inspect your somewhat ragged appearance further, you tried to ignore her heavy sighing. 

“I worry about you, you know.” She lowered your menu with a pristinely manicured finger. 

“Oh trust me, I know.” You rolled your eyes and snatched the menu back, eyeing up the scandalously named cocktails and wondering how many you could get away with ordering. 

“I’m being serious. Your whole life revolves around him. And he’s a mess. You know what that makes you?” She reached into her handbag and fished for a compact mirror.

“Please, enlighten me.” You groaned as she checked her mauve lipstick. 

“A mess by extension.” She haughtily added, snapping the mirror closed with a snappy click. “And it’s my job as your mother to set you straight.”

“Lucky me.” You muttered, disinterested. 

“Listen to me, young lady. I don’t care how old you get or how much you think you know, I know better. You need to come back down to Earth and realise that your marriage is failing.” She snakes her hand across the table and places it on top of your own. “Prison changes a man. He’s not the Spencer you once knew.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You retorted stroppily. “I know he’s changed but that doesn’t mean we’re going to- we’re not getting a- you know…”

“Divorce?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that.” You shrugged. 

“It fills me with deep concern that you can’t even say the word. How are you going to function when he leaves you?”

“Mother!” You gasped. 

“Oh, if and when, same thing.” She waved a hand in the air dismissively, her nimble pearl bracelets clinking against one another. “My point is, darling, you must accept that there’s a…significant possibility your life will change. You need to be ready for it.” 

“No.” You shook your head, refusing to let her words sink in. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me.”

“Oh?” She finally removed her sunglasses and you caught sight of the genuine concern in her steely eyes. “What did he say to you before you left this morning?” 

Your eyes shot to the floor as you remembered how he’d elected to go to work early, leaving the house without a farewell as was his routine these days. Seeing the anxiety and shame written all over your face, your mother sighed yet again. 

“Men in these situations often seek comfort in others.” She softened her tone but not her words. “You’re too close to the situation to make him feel better about it. You know too much.” 

“What are you trying to say?” You squinted. 

“He needs to feel like a man right now. And you can’t give him that.” She innocently sipped from the paper straw floating in her lemon water. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You dismissed her, the thought of Spencer cheating inconceivable. 

“Look out for the signs. If he’s working late too often, if he has secretive phone calls…” She trailed off. “It can’t hurt to pay attention.” 

Although you tried not to let them, her words had a nagging way of worming themselves into your brain and never coming back out. 

Later that evening, you returned to the empty confines of your house and spent several hours anxiously flitting your eyes to the clock on the wall. He should���ve been home early today. 

“Spence, is that you?” You called out once you heard the faint clicking of the door unlocking. The slow thudding of his heavy footsteps was heard before he entered your bedroom, looking very weary and sporting even more stubble than usual. 

“Who else would it be?” He asked with a shadow of a smile. Offering no explanation, he peeled off his blazer and loosened his tie as he perched on the edge of the bed. 

“Must be a really tough case you’re working on with the amount of overtime shifts you’ve been putting in.” You cleared your throat.

“It’s, uh, it’s been a tricky one. Yeah.” A deafening silence followed his obscure reply.

“Did you give any more thought to taking time off work?” You continued, yearning to wrap your arms around him but resisting. 

“No. I mean, yes I did, but I don’t want any time off. It wouldn’t help, I can hardly stand being at home.” You gulped at the hurtful connotation and he turned around to face you. “No, I didn’t mean like that. Not because of you. You know what I’m trying to say.” 

“Not sure I do.” You muttered under your breath. 

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” He dropped his head into his hands and took a deep, stabilising breath. “I just need time.”

“Of course, Spence, I understand that. It’s only that- well,  i-it’s been 6 months. 6 months of me doting on you and letting you get away with acting and speaking to me however you like. At what point does it end?” Your words had a desperate tinge to them. “I need some kind of indication.”

“I can’t tell you the exact time and date that I will forget everything that happened to me.” He stood up with a huff and you knew you’d touched a nerve.

“Don’t get defensive, I’m just trying to talk to you.” You got up and stood beside him, laying a flat palm to his chest. “To get through to you somehow, anyhow.” 

You could feel his warm, unsteady breath on your skin as he scrunched his eyes shut, wanting to be anywhere but here. 

“Why can’t you talk to me? You used to be able to tell me everything.” Your voice cracked as you rubbed your thumb across his cheek pleadingly. 

“I can’t give you what you want. Not right now.” He gently lowered your hand and stared into your eyes apologetically. 

“We haven’t made love in so long.” You murmured hesitantly and he shot you an irksome look. You hated to bring it up but the pain of his rejection was getting too much to bear- you had to let him know how badly you needed him.

“Is that why you’ve been on my case so much lately?” He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“No, of course not.” You sighed. “Not the only reason, at least.” 

“Sorry, baby. I’ve been too busy dealing with major trauma to factor in your sex drive.” He quipped sarcastically. 

“That’s not fair, Spencer.” You had anticipated such a response but your heart dropped anyway when you heard it. “It’s not just about that and you know it. I just miss my husband- all of him.”

“Things change.” He mumbled. 

“Well, will they ever change back?” You snapped a little. “Tell me right now, can I get my husband back? Matter of fact, do you even want to come back?” 

Your eyes betrayed you with a steady stream of tears pouring down your reddened cheeks. 

“Do you still want me?” Your voice quivered, praying he wouldn’t take this opportunity to shatter you completely. 

“Yes. I do.” He answered simply though there was an air of conflict about him. “I’ve loved being your husband. I just, I- not now. I just can’t. I can’t do it.” 

He shook his head and paced out to the hall, shutting the living room door loudly once he was safely inside. 

Your blood began to boil. All the grace and understanding you’d shown him this year and he couldn’t even finish a conversation without running away like a coward. 

“You bastard. Come back here right now, Reid.” You barked out, running after him. “Or so help me God-.” 

“You’ll do what?” He opened up, lean figure resting against the door frame. ”You gonna kill me, honey?” 

“I just might!” You shrieked frustratedly. “I’m so unbelievably sick of you doing nothing but sulking and feeling sorry for yourself. Enough is enough. Wake up and smell the fucking flowers!” You crossed your arms, exasperated and a small smirk spread across his handsome face. “You’re smiling.” 

“Such good attention to detail. This is exactly why I married you.” He winked and you slapped his arm a little too forcefully. “Yes, I’m smiling. You’re adorable when you’re bratty.”

“If being at my wits end with you means being a brat then yes, I’m the biggest brat in the world!” You started bawling- you knew it was irrational but you were too sensitive and overwhelmed with emotion to let his teasing slide.

“I know, I know. It’s okay, shh.” He pulled you in close, pressing your delicate head against his chest. “Come on, my love. You know I can’t stand seeing you cry.” 

“How come you’ve been letting me do it every night, then?” You whimpered, pitiful words swallowed by the fabric of his white work shirt.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” He looked down at you, a noxious blend of guilt and sympathy flickering in his tired eyes. “I-I thought you understood.” 

“Understood what?” You let out a muffled murmur as you drew in his heady scent, the musky cologne combined with his sweat soothing your overwrought senses. 

“That even though I’m in a dark place-” He lowered his face until you felt his hot breath against your flushed cheeks. “It doesn’t, for a single second, mean that I don’t love you.” 

“Really?” You gazed up at him lamentably. “It was starting to feel that way, li-like nothing I did was good enough.” 

“I’m sorry.” He almost winced, his regret tangible in how tightly he held you. “It’s not you, you’re perfect. You’ve been patient and understanding and I’ve completely put our marriage on the back burner….there’s no excuse.” He fell back into the sofa, pulling you down into his lap as he gently spoke.

“God it was just the weight of it all- the weight of how long it was taking me to shake it off. The longer it took, the more I felt like a failure and I couldn’t stand coming home to you every night and disappointing you. Seeing the unfalteringly hopeful look on your face and knowing it’d be wiped off after one conversation with me…I started avoiding you.”

“Spence…” You wilted like a flower at his confession.

“But that was selfish, I know that.” He took your face in his hands and professed earnestly. “I can’t apologise enough, my love.” 

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” Your heart leapt as your husband’s familiar warmth flooded you- and while you were grateful to get a glimpse of the old Spencer, you were also confused by the abrupt shift in his demeanour- if not suspicious. 

“Honestly? You getting pissed off flipped a switch in me.” He looked just as puzzled as you at the admission. “All this time you haven’t gotten mad once- even when you’re upset, you’re always sweet. I guess it took you acting out of character to make me see just how badly I’ve been treating you. You brought me to my senses by threatening me.” 

“And I’ll make good on that threat if you keep shutting me out.” You wagged a finger at him and he chuckled, clasping your hand and planting a soft kiss over it. 

“If I ever talk to you like that again, you have my full permission to kill me.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” You scowled at him playfully and he patted your damp cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, drying the remnants of your tears. 

“I was reading my journal from our college days last night.” He admitted as you soaked up how good it felt to be in his arms again. 

“I knew that dusty old green thing looked familiar!” You bit your lip to contain the smile about to burst through. “Why were you looking through that?” 

“I needed a reminder of what kind of man I vowed to be. To stay true to that little nerd who couldn’t believe his luck when he got to marry you.” He pressed his forehead against yours as he filled your head with words you’d spent the last 6 months dreaming about. “If you’ll have me, I’d love to sleep in our bed again tonight.”

“You mean it, Spence? You really don’t have to if you don’t-“

“No, I really do. You’re my home, baby. And I’ve been away from home for too long.” He pulled you in closer until his lips gently met yours, kissing you so sweetly you thought you might melt. 

“God, I missed you.” You whispered as a shudder ran down your spine, his touch proving to be too much after you’d spent so long deprived. 

“I missed you more. I promise I’ll make it up to you. For all my mistakes.” He cooed but you weren’t even paying attention, all your focus centred on the dizzying way his large palm stroked your back. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He whispered, nudging his shoulder against your own. 

“Mhm…” You moaned lazily, allowing him to drag you up and guide you into the comfort of your bedroom, which instantly seemed more welcoming now that you knew he was finally joining you. 

“There, all tucked in.” He beamed after stuffing the edges of the duvet beneath your languid body. “I just need to change and brush my teeth, I’ll be right in.” He kissed your forehead and sauntered over to the adjoining bathroom. 

Before you could surrender to sleep, you pawed clumsily at the nightstand in search of your phone, overcome with the urge to message your mother- you just had to let her know she was wrong. Composing a text to assure her your marriage was no longer in danger, you sent it through with a satisfied sigh. Unexpectedly, the screen lit up not a moment after you’d put it down, accompanied by a quiet chirp that let you know she had sent one back. 

“Don’t let your guard down. Guilt is a powerful thing.” Her ominous words pulsed off the screen and left you feeling queasy. 

“Remember what I said. Look for the signs.” A second text flashed across the screen. 

You dropped the phone with a shaky clatter, as if your hands couldn’t wait to be rid of the thing. How could she remain insistent that Spencer had been cheating when he’d given next to no indication of it? You would’ve chalked it all down to her longstanding aversion to him and fallen into a peaceful slumber- if it wasn’t for the muttering you heard coming from the other side of the bathroom door. 

Like a jumpy cat, you raised yourself against the headboard at once and listened with bated breath. Struggling to make out a complete sentence as the running water smothered his words, you cautiously crept over to the door and ever so slightly pressed your ear against it. 

“I appreciate that but I can’t. We’ll have to reschedule.” Spencer’s muffled voice rang out, sounding slightly stressed. “No, I’m not thinking about leaving. I know I need you. Yes. Everything’s fine, I’m just not free tonight.” 

You let out an exasperated breath, in pure disbelief over what you’d overheard. Before you could gather your thoughts, the tap stopped running and you heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, prompting you to leap into bed and swathe yourself amongst the covers. 

“You asleep already, baby?” He whispered when he emerged from the bathroom, pressing his warm, pyjama-clad body flat against yours. You said nothing, remaining as still as a church mouse as he cosily nestled his face into the crook of your neck and dozed off. While your husband enjoyed the best sleep he’d had in the better part of a year, you spent the remainder of the night staring into the expanse of your dark ceiling, paralysed with fear. 

A Saturday morning was usually yours and Spencer’s favourite day of the week; it meant you could sleep in, have breakfast in bed and make love until noon all in glorious succession. This particular Saturday was markedly different- partly because Spencer had been called into work- and partly because you couldn’t go a second without driving yourself crazy thinking about his affair. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Hotch is insisting he needs the whole team together.” Spencer rolled his eyes as he hopped around in a struggle to get his socks on. You sat up in bed and nodded complacently, not wanting to set off any alarm bells to your profiler husband. “Hey babe?” He asked, fiddling with his tie. 

“Hm?” You smiled innocuously. 

“How would you feel if you had to start working again?” He bit his lip and looked at you, full of intrigue. “Would you manage?”

“Umm, I-I don’t know.” You stuttered, caught off guard completely by his question. “Why do you ask?” 

“Didn’t you have dreams? Goals you wanted to accomplish?” He asked sincerely and a thinly veiled panic began to rise in you. 

“Sure, I guess. I didn’t plan on abandoning them but- I don’t know, life got in the way and other things took priority.” 

“Hm. Okay.” He looked absorbed in thought as he grabbed his blazer. “I’ve got to run- how about I meet you for dinner at that new steakhouse in town? We’ve got a lot of things to discuss.” 

“We do?” You gulped. 

“I know I do.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead as you desperately tried to read his body language. “See you later.” 

“Bye, honey.” You choked out as he breezed out the door, leaving you with bile rising up your throat. 

You hated to admit it, but your mother was right. 

“And-and then he told her he needed her!” You blubbed down the phone when you finally plucked up the courage to call her later that day. “And don’t you dare say you told me so!”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Your mother retorted dishonestly. 

“But that’s not all- before he left this morning, he was asking me how I’d feel if I had to start working again!” You whined, your body racked with so much anxiety it made you nauseous. 

“He’s trying to gauge how you’d cope if you no longer had him to financially rely on.” She sighed knowingly. “He’s trying to subconsciously prepare you. It’s almost thoughtful- in his own strange, dysfunctional way. Typical Spencer.”

“You really think this is it? He’s done with me?” You sniffed, desperately hanging onto the last thread of hope. “This might just all be a big misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I mean, the late nights, the phone call, the interrogation about your career. And the spontaneous apologetic outburst. It’s clear to see he’s bursting at the seams with guilt.” She tutted, feigning sympathy- but you knew she’d been waiting for Spencer to slip up for years. As much as it might have pained her to see her daughter like this, the satisfaction of knowing Spencer was almost out of her life outweighed the anguish. 

“So now what do I do?” You whinged, the last thread snapped. 

“You’re going to dress up in the tightest outfit you have, drive down to that restaurant and tell him you want a divorce.” She instructed with her signature self-assured candidness. 

“B-but I don’t want a divorce.” You mumbled meekly, acutely aware of how pitiable you sounded. 

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.” 

Her words resounded in your aching brain as you rummaged through your closet looking for an outfit that fit the brief, ultimately settling on a satin black mini dress- Spencer’s favourite. 

Driving to the restaurant rehearsing your parting words was nothing short of excruciating. You adored your husband just as much as you did the day you first met; spotting him in that lecture hall, shiny brown hair slicked back as he twiddled a pen between his spindly fingers and scrunched his eyebrows up in displeasure at the set text. It was like a bolt of lightning struck you- love at first sight. 

How did you get to the point of divorce? Your brain was racked with potential guesses as to where along the line you lost him. Were you not interesting enough? You wanted to get your career back on track but you assumed Spencer would prefer a stay-at-home wife. Is that where you went wrong? Perhaps some woman at work was more engaging, perhaps he had more mutual interests with her than his boring wife. 

Pulling into the parking lot, you braced yourself to head for the entrance and find your soon-to-be ex-husband. Who would get the car in the divorce? He paid for it so you supposed the courts would award it to him. 

“Oh God.” You muttered under your breath, head spinning as you waited inside for a hostess. If you went by that logic, you’d be left with nothing. 

“Do you have a reservation?” The young worker hobbled over breathlessly. 

“Uh- probably, under a Mr Reid.” You twiddled your thumbs as she searched her database.

“Oh, he’s already been seated, just down there.” She pointed in his direction and you saw the back of his head, luscious curls nestling around the base of his neck. You sighed, he was going to be a tough one to get over. 

“Baby, there you are.” He rose from his seat to plant a quick kiss on your cheek and as always, pull out your chair. Where were you going to find someone as gentlemanly as him? “Are you okay?” 

“Sure.” You managed a small smile though you were sure he saw right through it. 

“I’ve already ordered us some wine, they had that white zinfandel you like.” He said, pouring you a glass.

“Trying to get me drunk, Reid?” You swirled the liquid around, inhaling the sweet aroma. 

“From half a bottle?” He chuckled nervously, your mannerisms already causing suspicion. “No, I want you sober for tonight.” 

“That’s unkind.” You muttered unintelligibly, knocking back your glass in one go. 

“Woah, slow down.” He cautioned as you clinked your glass against the bottle, prompting him to hesitantly pour you another. 

“You sure everything’s okay?” 

“Yes, great. What did you need to talk to me about?” You braced yourself for impact. 

“Okay, well, I know it would be a big change but just hear me out. I think in the long run, it’d be better for you if-“

“Actually, no. Everything’s not okay.” You slurred, the alcohol already impairing your senses. 

“Oh? What’s the matter?” He asked anxiously, fidgeting with his wedding band. 

“I want a divorce.” You blurted out tastelessly.

“You- what?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he blinked rapidly. “A divorce?”

“You heard me.” You gulped, trying your hardest to be stern even though you were about to fall apart. “You’ve run out of chances with me.” 

“Baby, what? I-I know it’s been rocky but I thought we talked it through? You seemed just fine last night, I don’t understand.” He shook his head, eyebrows raised so high a painful-looking row of wrinkles stacked up on his forehead. 

“I thought we were fine too, but I was wrong.” You took another glug of liquid courage as you avoided eye contact, knowing you would cave if you took even one glance at his big, round eyes. 

“I know I don’t have much room to complain after what I’ve put you through but can’t we at least talk about it first?” He pleaded, heart jumping out of his chest. 

“What is there to talk about, Spencer? You couldn’t come to me so you closed yourself off and found comfort in another woman- God knows how long this has been going on while I’ve been here pining after you like an idiot-“

“What?” He raised his hand, signalling you to pause your rambling.

“Don’t play dumb, I know you’ve been cheating on me.” You scoffed, determined not to fall victim to his gaslighting. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” His mournful expression was replaced by one of bewilderment. 

“I heard you last night on the phone to her. Who is she?” You cocked your head, a little smug over the fact that you’d caught him- what kind of a genius calls his mistress while his wife’s next door? 

To your surprise, Spencer broke out into a laugh, taking his head into his hands as he shook it in relief. “You got me, baby. You caught me.” He smiled dazedly. 

“I did, so I don’t know why you’re smiling.” You scowled.

“You caught me talking to my therapist.” He shot you an unimpressed glare. “I started seeing her 2 weeks ago and I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want you getting your hopes up. But Jesus, baby. Divorce? That’s where you landed?” 

“It’s not just that!” You jumped to your own defence. “How do you explain all the late nights at work- and that conversation we had this morning about my career?”

“That’s what I was going to talk to you about today. I got you a job.” He stated. 

“Huh? Why?” You gawked, hesitant to believe anything he said. 

He took a deep breath, shuffling his chair a little closer and taking your hand. 

“Look, baby, I know you try your hardest to be a great wife. Too hard, if anything, and you’ve always been exceptional and far too good for me. As much as I love your dedication, you need to think about your own needs and prioritise those for a change. It’s no secret that you’ve been feeling unfulfilled for a while now, I can see it from a mile away. I should’ve addressed it sooner but, well, you know.”

“Spence?” You shook your head in uncertainty, wondering how you could’ve been so wrong.

“I should’ve never let you give your career up. I should’ve pushed you harder but I just loved having you at home all the time, it’s selfish, I know. My job is stressful but it gives me a sense of purpose, one I know you crave.” He explained, trying not to giggle at your awestruck face and your inability to form a single sentence. “What I’m saying is, I want to see you reignite that old passion you had. How would you feel about joining me in the BAU?” 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his admission and tears of shock and immense relief began coursing down your face. “Spencer, I can’t believe this.”

“In hindsight, I should’ve talked to you about it first but I thought it might be a nice surprise- I’m an idiot, you don’t have to take it, of course, if you don’t want to.” He backtracked, suddenly aware of how flawed his plan was. 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time.” You uttered softly. 

“R-really? You want to do it?” He raised his eyebrows in that adorably curious way of his. 

“I don’t know how you managed to figure out I wanted a job before I did, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, I want to do it.” You nodded, too consumed with excitement to mull over your embarrassingly wrong assumptions.

“Now, it’s only a low-level position for the time being, just to ease you into the transition but you have the potential to-“

“I’ll be with you.” You smiled simply.

“Yes, for the most part. I thought it’d be a good way to spend more time together- not including the times when I’d have to fly out and can’t take you with me yet, although-“

“Spencer.” You interrupted him. “Thank you.” 

“Well, of course. Anything for you.” He squeezed your hands and you felt the anxiety throb away. “Can’t believe you thought I was cheating.”

“You gave me some major indicators!” You scrunched your face up awkwardly. “And my mother pointed out that-“

“Ah, there we go.” He sighed, unimpressed. “That woman has had it out for me for the better part of a decade.” 

“Sorry, baby, you know she has a talent for burrowing inside my head.” You confessed shyly, aware you should’ve known better. 

“I’m going to talk to her.” Spencer declared.

“Huh?” 

“First thing tomorrow, we’re going to her house and I’m throwing it all out there. After a decade of pent-up resentment, it’s time.” 

Spencer usually avoided your mother at all costs, electing to work overtime on weekends when she decided to visit and often coming down with mysterious ailments during the holidays that prevented him from attending her get-togethers.

“Can’t wait to see how that turns out.” You chuckled gleefully. “And therapy, baby? Wow. I’m so proud of you.” 

“I was sceptical at first but I think it’s helping- I’m learning to compartmentalise the issues and most importantly, not take them out on you.” He stared into your eyes and your breath hitched; even after so many years, he had a way of making you feel impossibly shy. 

“You sound like a new man, Mr Reid.” You teased, the wine floating around your bloodstream in a way that made you deliciously fuzzy.

“It’s all because of you, Mrs Reid.” A smirk tugged at his lips. 

“So we’re really okay?” You asked in disbelief, immeasurably relieved that the rollercoaster seemed to be at an end. “What now?”

“I’ll tell you.” He drawled in a softly seductive tone. “We’re going to order dinner and dessert, I’m going to get you a little too drunk.” He dropped his hand to your thigh, trailing up it as he spoke. “And then I’m going to take you home and fuck you.” 

“Oh.” You squeaked, breaking into tingles at the prospect. 

“That sound good, doll?” He kneaded your inner thigh and you felt your body go numb as words failed you. “I thought so.”

Seeing that the bottle on your table was glisteningly empty, Spencer beckoned over a waiter.

“Give me your most expensive wine.” He smirked while ordering. “We’re celebrating.”

Although he was a law-abiding federal agent, Spencer ran more than a few red lights that evening given the ravenous way his wife stared at him from the passenger seat, crawling out of her skin with the desire to touch him. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, you were both in a desperate rush to get inside. You clawed at Spencer’s shirt while he shakily tried to unlock the door, trembling with anticipation. 

“H-hang on, baby.” The sound of clinking keys mixed with his groans. “God…”

You left messy, wet kisses all down his neck as he finally pushed the door open, taking you into his arms and guiding you indoors. 

“Right- mm, here.” You whined between kisses, gesturing at the sofa as you kicked your heels off. 

“My desperate girl, can’t even wait long enough to get to the bedroom.” He teased as he pushed you down onto the couch, hooking onto the waistband of your tights with his bony fingers and slowly dragging them down your legs- leaving small kisses down your thighs and calves in the process. 

You let out impatient whimpers as he folded your dress up over itself and dragged down your panties.

“Were these your ‘I’m a strong woman’ divorce panties?” He chuckled as he yanked the tiny lace garment off your feet and threw it behind him. 

“I needed as much confidence as I could muster.” You pulled him closer by the tie for a heated kiss. “I was about to lose the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“You could never lose me.” He stared into your eyes with a dizzying intensity that made all the blood rush to your heat. “You’re my wife…” He drawled huskily as he ripped the front panel of your dress open. “Until the day I die.” Looping his fingers around it, he tore the material further with a loud tug, leaving your bare tits bouncing out of the tight fabric. “You jump to conclusions like it’s a full-time job.” He pressed his lips against your hot skin. “But I love you.” You wanted to laugh but a moan escaped your lips instead when he wrapped his tongue around one nipple, grasping the other with a rough hand. “And my God, do you have the best tits I’ve ever seen.” 

You raked your fingers through his thick, messy hair as you squirmed beneath him, sure that if he made you wait any longer you’d start crying. 

“Patience, baby. You’ll get it.” He whispered, dragging his lips down your body and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He left sloppy, open-mouth kisses along your thighs, so near your heat you could feel his warm breath fanning it. 

“P-please, Spence, please.” You muttered, bucking your hips to close the distance between you.

“You know I always give my girl what she wants.” He breathed heavily, snaking his arms around your shaky hips and tugging you closer to drag his tongue across your clit. You melted into the sofa as he sucked on your most sensitive spot, locking you into an unescapable vice with his strong arms. 

“Mmh…” You threw your head back, still squirming as he ate you with such passion and hunger that you committed every godless detail to memory. His hair became increasingly dishevelled as you twisted it into messy knots, fidgeting with the curls as he licked broad stripes up your clit with fanatical force. 

“Fuck, fuck…” You grew delirious as he sped up, legs trembling from how good he was making you feel; you desperately pressed yourself further against his mouth, wanting to be devoured until there was nothing left. 

“Can-can I, please, can you- oh God.” You rambled nonsensically as he showed no sign of slowing down, worshipping you with his tongue until you felt like blacking out. He groaned in approval as he flitted across your wet slit aggressively, knowing it pushed you over the brink every time. It had been months since he’d had you wrapped around his neck like this, panting in that slutty way that drove him wild- and as much as he wanted to savour it, he couldn’t wait much longer to have you. As you pushed his head down, he sucked so sloppily that the sounds emanating were nothing short of pornographic.

“Spencer!” You moaned out sinfully while you came, gripping his shoulders with your thighs as you dissolved into a mushy, whiney mess. Your hips twitched as he pulled away from you, wiping the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his collared shirt. 

“No need to yell, I’m right here.” He grinned, deriving great pleasure from seeing you fall apart. 

“Oh God, I’ve forgotten how good you are that.” You winced, trembling from the force of your release. 

“I’ll make sure you never forget again.” He smirked into the kiss as he pressed his lips against yours, barely giving you any time to come to as he ripped off the remnants of your dress. “Sorry about that, doll- I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“It was my divorce dress, I never would’ve worn it again.” You giggled as you helped him out of his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers, desperate to feel him inside you. Your back arched instinctively as soon as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit; your head rolled back as you felt him slide in teasingly slow, letting you feel every last inch as he spread you apart and scattered sensual kisses down your neck. An obscene moan left your lips when he buried himself as deep inside you as he could. 

“Spence, fuck, I don’t know if- ah.” You struggled to get the words out as he stared down at you with amusement. “Too big, I-“

“A few months without my dick and you’ve forgotten how to take it?” He jeers, a twisted smile radiating from him. “That’s no good at all, baby. We’re gonna have to teach you all over again.” 

You bit your lip to conceal the whimper that threatened to spill as you nodded obediently, hanging off his every word. 

“Breathe.” He pulled out by just an inch or two, ensuring you would barely notice before slowly pushing his hips forward and plunging himself to the hilt. 

His hair dangled over his forehead, the unruly locks almost tickling you as he hovered above you, waiting for you to adjust to his thick length. 

“Mm…” You peeped, looking at him coyly like butter wouldn’t melt. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, nudging his nose against yours before you nodded. With the thousands of times you’d made love, he knew the meaning of every subtle cue and whimper; he knew you were often too shy to speak so he let you get away with using your varying whines as a form of communication. His dirty talk overwhelmed you, leaving you flustered and speechless- and he knew just how much you loved it.  

Spencer pulled out half his length this time, grabbing you by the jaw to hold you lovingly as he thrusted in and out, making sure to look you in the eyes as his swollen cock massaged your walls. Ever the shy one, you tried averting eye contact and looking away from his intense glare but he gently guided you back with a firm hand. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he made love to you, your twisted eyebrows and parted lips too sweet to ignore.  

You cried out when his thrusts grew rougher, panting heavily as he fucked you even harder than you remembered. 

“You can take it, baby.” He cooed as he fucked you deep and slow. “I know you can.” He pulled out almost all the way before plunging his cock back in, coated in glistening arousal. “Deep breaths for me, doll.” He breathed with you, setting a tempo as you struggled to get anything but your whorish moans out.

“You like it when I stretch this little pussy out?” He groaned, wet flesh and skin smacking against hip bone. “Yeah you do.” He smirked as your cheeks flushed red at his lewd words. “How were you going to go through with a divorce? You can’t even tell me you like the way I fuck you.” 

“Spencer!” You gasped, partly at his vulgarity and partly at the way his tip just brushed against your deepest spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“What, baby?” His hands trailed their way down to your hips as he sat up, gripping the handles of your body tightly as he fucked you onto himself. “We both know you could never find someone who fucks you this good again. Who pounds into your cunt exactly the way you need it.” Your jaw dropped at his crude words- he’d always had a penchant for making you flustered but it was clear that prison had made him even rougher around the edges. As much as you wanted to knock him down a peg, you couldn’t deny the truth to what he’d said; there was no upgrading after Spencer.

“You’re cockier than I remember.” You manage to breathe out, glassy eyes watering with overstimulation. 

“And you’re tighter than I remember.” He smirked maniacally as he started rubbing rough circles into your clit, not slowing down the way he was sorely pummelling into you. “Goddamn, angel, you take me so well.” He muttered under his breath as he observed the mouthwatering way in which your pussy swallowed his entire length, gushing with arousal as the wet smacking intensified. 

He swooped down to kiss you, swallowing your moans with his eager mouth as he pushed your knees against your chest. “You feel that?” He shuddered, guiding your hand to your stomach where his member was poking through the flesh, leaving an imprint.

“Uh huh.” You panted.

“You like having my cock this deep in your guts?” In an unexpected move, he pressed down on your lower stomach as you nodded to his question desperately. You screamed in blinding ecstasy as you reached your peak, the borderline cruel way in which Spencer continued pounding against your sweet spot proving too much to take. 

“Look at that, I got my answer.” He licked his lips at the sight of his cock glazed in creamy arousal as he pulled out with a groan. You lay motionless on the cushy sofa, limbs numb as you noticed the scowl Spencer was sporting on his chiselled face, small beads of sweat running down his temples. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled darkly. 

“Resting?” You upturned your eyebrows sweetly. 

Before you could protest, he dragged you down the sofa and turned you over, positioning you to arch your back and expose your throbbing pussy to him. 

“You think I’m going to let you get away with one round?” He spanked your ass with a firm, open palm. “I know you’ve been whining about this all the time to your friends. I know how desperate you’ve been for your husband to fuck you. Well, honey- I’ll give you something to talk about.” Before you could respond, he guided his veiny cock into your squishy walls, not giving you any time to adjust to the stretch as he pounded into you from the back. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He demanded as he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up, holding your back flush against his body. “You wanted to be fucked like a whore? Answer me.” 

“Yes! Yes, Spence, I want it so bad, treat me like a slut.” You surprised yourself with your sinful words, the rough treatment prompting you to act out of character. He pushed you back onto the bed, holding you down as he drilled into you with dizzying speed. The couch squeaked with the force of your face getting pressed into the pillows as you panted so breathily you thought your heart might give out. You bit into the cushions as drool seeped freely from your mouth and wet the dark grey fabric. 

“Harder…” You murmured, barely audible.

“What was that?” Spencer asked in disbelief, slowing down a little to make your words out clearly. 

“Harder. I want you to fuck me to within an inch of my life.” You confessed sultrily and a dangerous smirk crept across your husband’s face. 

“Anything for you.” He was more than happy to comply with your request.

You spent all night tangled up in each other’s bodies, taking turns being mind numbingly rough and tooth achingly sweet. He whispered confessions of love in your ear one minute and he pinned you down hard enough to leave bruises the next. It was, without a doubt, the best night of your life.

Waking up the next day in Spencer’s arms gave you more euphoria than any drug ever could. He smelled of last night’s wine and sweat, intermingled with the floral detergent of your freshly washed sheets. 

“Good morning, baby.” He cooed when he saw your eyes flutter open. “Or rather, good afternoon. How’d you sleep?” 

“Never better.” Your husky voice replied. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a while.” 

“I guess I’ll have to carry you to your mother’s, then.” He chuckled, pulling you in closer so that your head rested on his smooth, bare chest. 

“What? You’re not still serious about doing that.” You looked up at him pleadingly. 

“Oh, yes I am.” He scolded playfully. “She convinced you I was having an affair and encouraged you to get a divorce. I’d say there’s a conversation to be had there.”

“You know, I really wish you weren’t so respectable sometimes.” You dreaded the prospect of such a confrontation. 

“There was nothing respectable about the way I was splitting you open last night.” He countered mischeviously and you rolled your eyes to distract from the blush creeping over your cheeks. “Come on, I’ll buy us breakfast on the way. Get dressed.” 

“But Spence!” You tried to argue but he had already climbed out of bed, humming showtunes on his way to the bathroom. With a hefty sigh, you swung your legs round the side of the bed and started searching for your underwear. 

“Are you sure? It’s not too late to turn around.” You twiddled your thumbs standing outside your mother’s house, her near-black wooden door looming over you as you waited for her to answer. 

“Yes. Stop being a wimp.” Spencer replied just before the door swung open.

“Oh. Hi darling.” She eyed you up before slowly turning her head. “Hello Spencer.” 

“There’s my favourite mother-in-law. We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast.” He lifted the brown paper bag containing drive through diner food. 

“As if I’d eat that.” She raised her eyebrows contemptously. 

“Come on, mom, are you gonna let us in or not?” You piped up after seeing she had no intentions of making things easy for Spencer. 

“Yes, fine, in you come.” She opened the door wide and stepped aside, letting you both enter her lavish home. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” He commented a little snarkily, noticing the extensive remodeling work that had been done.

“Oh yes, we did it last spring. I suppose you haven’t been round for years so you wouldn’t know. Are you avoiding me, Spencer?” She took a seat across from you both in the living room. 

“Me? Never. Just like you’d never convince my wife to get a divorce, right?” He quipped and your stomach twisted over how little it took them to start arguing- you’d only just walked in through the door. 

“I’ve only ever advocated for what’s best for her.” She stuck her nose up at her son-in-law. 

“And why are you so certain that’s not me?” He snapped, genuine curiousity tinging his voice. 

“You’re not good enough.” She replied with a resoluteness that must’ve hurt. 

“Why, mom? What’s so bad about Spence?” You asked. 

“He’s just not who you were supposed to end up with. You were not meant to give up your life to be a housewife to a mediocre man.” She answered simply, like she didn’t even have to think about it. 

“So you resent him because of my career choices?” You couldn’t help but laugh a little as she shrugged. “Mother, I chose to leave the field. He had nothing to do with it, he supported me-“

“Oh, I bet he did. Having a woman at home to cook and clean must’ve been too tempting of an offer to pass up.” She scratched at her right arm- a leftover habit from the nicotine patches she used years ago. She claimed she quit smoking but you suspected she’d be in dire need of a cigarette after this conversation. 

“That’s ridiculous-“

“She’s right.” Spencer interrupted you. “I was more than happy to have you at home. I preferred it, really. And I didn’t say a word even though I knew you were making a mistake, even though I knew it wouldn’t make you happy.” 

“See. The pipe cleaner admits it.” She scoffed and you shot her a venomous glare. “Not to mention what you’ve put her through this year.” 

“I know I haven’t by any means been a good husband, but I wouldn’t cheat and I’d never want a divorce. I’m trying to make things right.” He confessed earnestly. 

“How?” She scowled, clearly believing him to be beyond redemption. 

“He got me a job at the BAU.” You chimed in, wanting to see the smugness wiped off her face. 

“And I’m seeing a therapist.” Spencer continued. “I’m determined to be better.” 

She sat there in silence, incapable as always of expressing any remorse. 

“I love your daughter and I’m not going anywhere. I’d like it very much if we could somehow start over.” He shot her those puppy dog eyes of his and you sincerely believed if she didn’t give in, she must be the only woman in the world immune to his charms. 

“Alright. Alright, Spencer.” She sighed after a short contemplation. “If my little girl is happy, I suppose I have no choice.” 

“The bastard actually managed it.” You thought as you witnessed his beaming smile flood the room with light, his vibrancy so infectious you knew even your mother noticed. 

“Glad to hear it, mom.” He joked and she choked on the water she had begun to sip.

“Don’t push it.”

“Told you it’d all work out.” He said excitedly while he opened the car door for you, practically skipping out of your mother’s house. 

“I know, and she actually invited you round?!” You shook your head in disbelief as he started the engine and drove away from her gated residence. 

“Maybe we’ll make these trips a weekly habit.” He suggested, resting his hand soundly on your thigh. 

“Not every week. I need some alone with my handsome husband.” You gushed, admiring his perfect side profile. 

“You must have me confused with someone else, lady.” He chuckled as he switched on the radio. “Oh my God, baby! This song!” 

“No way, I haven’t heard this since, since-“

“That time in college.” He winked at you and you threw your head back in laughter, precious memories flooding your mind as the familiar pop tune hummed on. 

“Yeah. That was the first and last time we ever do it on a carnival pedal boat.” 

“Hey, never say never- I see a lake right over there.” He pointed out the window as you drove by.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You slapped his arm playfully. “Those days are behind us, we’re old and boring now.”

“If this is boredom, sign me up for eternity.” A warm smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“God, I love you, Spencer Reid.” 

“I love you even more, Mrs Reid.”

[gojotojis]

When the Party’s Over pt.3

Part 1 Part 2

summary: you and sukuna are now dating, only you’re keeping it a secret but secrets eventually come out.

pairing: college! sukuna x college! fem reader

content MDNI: slight angst ?, bestfriends brother, frenemies, secret romance, soft sukuna, squirting,oral (m receiving) , unprotected sex, vaginal sex, riding, cum eating, fingering, fluff, aftercare, dacryphillia, oral choking, praise kink, overstimulation

This ended up being so fluffy, pls don’t beat me up. Soft sukuna just has me in a chokehold! Also this is my favorite smut I’ve written thus far!

Choso insisted on you coming over for a John Wick marathon, of course Yuki was there, which you didn’t mind. Yuki’s actually really nice to you and her music taste is so similar to yours, you’re constantly making eachother playlists and sending eachother songs you think the other would like. You’ve never had a girl friend so it’s nice.

You sit on the couch next to Yuji whose eyes widen everytime John fires his gun, while Choso and Yuki sit cuddled up on the other side of the sofa.

You have to admit, Johns incredibly sexy. You’d happily sit through four movies soley about him but your eyes keep drifting towards the stairs.

All you want to do is crawl into Sukunas bed and sleep but you can’t. You’re scared for Choso to find out, scared that it’ll ruin your friendship. Sukuna doesn’t care, he doubts Choso will give a shit and maybe he’s right but you’re not ready.

You and Sukuna have only been dating for three months now and you love being in your own little bubble with him. You also love the thrill you get from sneaking around, the way he sneaks you into his house after hours just so you can fall asleep on him.

You’re not sure the separation anxiety you feel is healthy, he’s the only thing on your mind, the first thing you think about when you wake up and the last thing you think about when you go to sleep. He’s your first boyfriend, your first everything and you hope he’s your last.

It feels so good to be utterly obsessed with someone and them to reciprocate it. It’s also a rush knowing your boyfriend hates everyone but you, that he’s mean in public but when he’s alone with you, he’s on his knees telling you how much he loves you.

You feel like you’re going insane, you need to feel his skin against yours. You’re never not clinging to him like a monkey, making him carry you everywhere. You’re just so obsessed with him, it makes you want to rip your hair out, definitely not healthy but you don’t give a shit.

You anxiously start eating the popcorn Yujis holding, fighting the urge to run up stairs and tackle Sukuna. This is different, so different, whatever you felt for Choso doesn’t come even a fraction close to how you feel about Sukuna.

“I’m so tired,” you fake yawn, stretching your arms up and Yuji scoffs.

“It’s only been an hour,” he says and you yawn again for emphasis.

“I had such a long day, I’m sorry guys,” you say innocently and Choso shakes his head. “Just go to sleep in one of the guest rooms, I can take you home in the morning,” he says and you nod standing up.

Yuji looks at you suspiciously but all you do is offer an apologetic smile before you’re climbing up the stairs. Your fingers wrap the handle to Sukunas door and open it. He’s sitting at his desk, engrossed in a game of call of duty while he curses out someone on his headset.

You lock the door and peel your clothes off till you’re naked. You pull your hair from its ponytail and let it fall to your hips before you walk toward him. He looks to you and then back to the screen before looking at you again with wide eyes and you giggle.

“I gotta go,” he says over the headset.

“We’re about to fucking win!” you hear someone yell at him as you turn the chair to face you. You climb onto his lap and reach for his hand as his teammates scream at him through the headset.

He watches you take his hand and press his fingers against your pussy, covering them in your arousal before you lift them to your mouth and lick them. He throws his head back and closes his eyes.

“I really gotta fucking go,” he says before closing the game, and the shouting stops. He quickly removes his headset and sets downs his controller.

“Hi,” you smile innocently.

“Hi baby,” he breathes before his lips find yours. Your lips brush and tongues lap against eachother. His hands slide over the curve of your waists and up to your tits. His large hands splay across them and he squeezes them hard.

“Does my good girl need some attention?” He asks, his tongue licking the sides of your breasts and you nod.

“How bad?” He asks, rolling a nipple between his fingers as you grind down against his bulge.

“Really bad,” you say creating a bouncing rhythm. He can feel the wet patch you’re making on his crotch. Your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms up, letting you take it off.

You’ll never get tired of his body, the ridges, the muscles and the defined v at his hips. Your nails graze his abs before they start tracing over the tattoos on his arms. His body is hot to the touch, and he shivers under your cold fingers.

“You gonna ride me?” He asks. You’re a pillow princess, you love just laying down and taking it while he does most of the work plus you’ve never done that before but it sounds dirty and you like it.

“Yes,” you say confidentially. You’ve only ever done missionary, he knows it’s your favorite, it’s just so intimate, being able to see his expressions and watch where your bodies connect as he fucks into you.

He knows he’s gonna be helping you by the end of this but he pats your ass and you sit up, letting him slide his pants off and his cock springs free. Your mouth waters at the sight and you slide down to your knees.

Your hand wraps around it and he hisses. You watch the way his abs contract when you spit repeatedly on it till it’s nice and sloppy, just how he likes it. You press several kisses to the tip letting precum smear against you lips, teasing him before you lick up the sides.

He groans as you feel the veins against your tongue. He stands up so he can get a better look at you when he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth widens as you breathe through your nose like he taught you, tears gather in your eyes, looking up at him until his dick is pressed against the back of your throat.

“Gonna fuck the shit out of this mouth,” he groans and your pussy throbs. His fingers thread through your hair and slowly pulls out of your mouth before plunging back in. His dick is so fucking warm in your mouth, he groans when you lick the underside. He starts thrusting into your mouth, not breaking eye contact as he watches you cry and it turns him on so fucking bad watching the tears flow down your cheeks.

You’re gagging on his dick, your hands gripping his thighs praying nobody can hear you choking.

“So good for me baby,” he grunts, forcing more down your throat and your eyes widen but you try to relax. He’s buried in your throat, your nose touching his pelvis. He thrusts in out, beating the back of your throat, saliva smearing all over your face and dripping onto your chest.

Your fingers find your pussy and you force your middle and index finger inside of you, desperate for a release as you bounce on your fingers. Your mouth cries against his cock, and it’s enough that he’s pulling out. He watches you fingering yourself and loses it, cum hits your face in thick ropes and then your chest, you fingers leave your cunt and you swipe the cum off your lips, sucking them off before you stand up and push Sukuna back down into the chair.

He watches you glide your fingers over your nipples, scooping up cum before you swallow it. You’re a fucking freak, not even close to what he dreamed of, but better.

You straddle him as he leans back, letting you take control. You grip his cock and line it up at your sopping hole. Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto it, the stretch one of your favorite parts.

Little tremors hit you as your pussy swallows him until your ass is flush against his thighs. He’s so fucking deep, you think you might cum if you move. His full attention is on you, hands gripping the arms of the chair.

You pull up, feeling his cock slowly leave you before you bounce back down. You moan as quietly as you can as you bounce up and down his cock. This feels so good but it’s so much work, work you’re not use to and you look at him with those big doe eyes. He was waiting for this.

“Help me,” you whisper and his hands slide to your ass, lifting you up and slamming you down on him, hard.

Your teeth sink into his shoulder as he slams you up and down his cock over and over, sweat starts to coat your body and your tits bounce with each thrust. You hear gunshots downstairs from the tv, praying they don’t hear Sukuna drilling into you.

“The sweetest fucking pussy,” he grunts as you grind against him, you feel your stomach knot and your pussy clamps as he batters your cervix. You start to shake against him and liquid gushes from your cunt but he doesn’t stop, he never does.

He fucks into you like he wants to touch the tip of your skull, your head lulls to the side, tongue sticking out as you gasp for air feeling your boyfriend demolish your cunt until you’re squirting again and dripping down his thighs.

“Too much ngghh, too much Kuna,” you cry when his thumb rubs at your clit and your eyes roll back. His mouth finds yours and he swallows your screams as you cum together, feeling him flood you with his seed.

You slump against him as he carries you to his bathroom. He turns the shower on and steps inside with you still wrapped around him. You whine when he lifts you off of him and sets you on your feet, your knees are wobbly as he reaches for your pink loofah and lathers his body wash onto it.

He begins scrubbing your body while you turn your face so the water hits it, washing away his cum. You reach for your face wash you left and start massaging it into your face as he gets on his knees.

You shiver as he gently washes your sore and abused pussy. He press’s kisses against your belly as you grab his rag and pour body wash on it. He stands up and you start scrubbing him, at least the places you can reach till he has to take over.

Once you’re done and he’s dressed you in his clothes, you climb on top of him in bed, resting your head on his chest.

“My little spider monkey,” he calls you, the way you cling to him. You look up and smile before kissing his jaw as he scrolls through Netflix.

You all but squeal at the smell of fried food, the flickering multicolored lights and the sound of screaming. You fucking love the fair.

Sukuna fucking hates it, he hates the screaming and the guaranteed vomiting. He still hasn’t forgiven you for throwing up on him in the Gravitron once the ride ended when you were twelve and him fourteen.

In your defense you housed about six funnel cakes, a super size coke slushee and eight fried Oreos that day before you got on the ride. You learned your lesson that day.

Even though he hates it, it’s the smile on your face that makes it worth it as you lace your fingers together and walk around.

You immediately guide him toward the flying swings, the tendant scans your wristbands and you take the seat infront of Sukuna as more people get on.

Sukuna waits for what he knows is coming, he listens to you burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. You laugh manically when you ride rollercoasters and etc, people look at you like you’re deranged while you laugh like the Joker.

It’s fucking hilarious as you look back at him. He can’t help but laugh at the way his girlfriend sounds like a fucking maniac. Even when the rides over you’re clutching your sides laughing. It’s the adrenaline no doubt.

You spend the night riding almost every ride, nearly breaking your neck on the bumper cars when some kid drove straight into you until you were slammed into the wall. Sukuna threatened to kick his “little ass” out the car and he broke down crying which ended in you both banned from the bumper cars.

“He was a pussy,” Sukuna huffs as you lick at your Icecream cone.

“Baby, he couldn’t have been older than eight,” you say and he shrugs leaning down to lick your Icecream. He watches you take a bite with your front teeth and stops walking.

“Only psychos eat Icecream like that,” he says making you laugh.

“Congrats, you’re dating a psycho,” you say taking another bite until your eyes land on something.

Sukuna clutches his ears as you threaten to burst his eardrum with your screaming.

“Fuck!” He says loudly with his finger in his ear. You ignore it as you finish your icecream and tug him toward the booth full of Sanrio plushies. “I want them all,” you say to the worker and she hands you a basketball.

You look down at it with a frown as she points to the hoops behind her. Sukuna hands her money as you toss the ball, watching it bounce off the rim.

You have two more shots and she hands you a ball, you throw it and miss. Sukuna can tell you’re getting frustrated with the way your hands form into fists.

He walks who behind you as you take the last basketball. He presses his hand flat against your stomach and the other one stretches out behind your hand that holds the basketball.

He pulls your joined hands back and lifts you up with one hand so you can throw it and it makes it through the hoop.

“I did it! I did it!” You jump up and down, technically you both did but he doesn’t care to correct you.

“That’s cheating,” the worker says arms crossed.

“Give her the fucking toy,” Sukuna says making the girl get up and walk to the wall of plushies.

“Which one baby?” He asks and you point to a giant My Melody one dressed up as a watermelon, she hands it to you. The things nearly the size of you as you hug it, you beam up at him as he holds your hand.

He brings your joined hands up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand as you walk around. There’s two rides you haven’t gone on yet, the Ferris wheel and the Gravitron.

Sukuna absolutely refuses when you walk him toward the Gravitron. You actually feel bad that you gave him childhood trauma because he plants his feet to the ground and doesn’t budge no matter how hard you pull.

“Please Kuna, we can stand on opposite ends of the ride. I promise I won’t throw up on you,” you beg but he doesn’t budge. You sigh and look down at the ground, like a kicked and dejected puppy.

“You’re fucking annoying” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple and grabbing your hand. You smile, leaving your plushie with the machine operator as you both step inside. You giggle as he leans against the wall two mats over.

Everyone gets in and the ride starts, you feel the pressure of the zero gravity at work as your body’s stuck against the wall. The machine ride spins, Sukunas watching you and the expression your face makes. You’re not laughing, not even close.

You feel sick, absolutely sick and dizzy. Your eyes squeeze shut until the ride ends and you’re running out. You lean over the railing, prepared to vomit as you take several deep breaths. Sukuna rubs your back and holds your hair but luckily nothing comes up.

“You’re never going on that ride again,” he says and you nod, you can’t help but laugh once the queasiness leaves you. “You should’ve seen your face, you thought I was going to throw up on you,” you say, pretending to puke on him and he glares, carrying your plushie.

“You’d be walking home if you did,” he says and you roll your eyes knowing damn well he would never let that happen.

You stop him and stand on your tippie toes, pulling him down for a kiss. You smile against his lips, you’ll never get tired of this.

You rest against his chest as you both stare at the tv.

“So he calls her baby girl and she calls him chocolate thunder but they’re strictly platonic?” He asks and you nod laughing as you watch criminal minds.

“You’re into some freaky shit,” he says making you sit up so you’re straddling him. You push your ass against his dick and smile.

“Very,” you say before you lift your shirt up, revealing your bare chests. He sits up and starts kissing you, oblivious to the feet running up the stairs until his doors being slammed open. You scream and climb off of him, clutching your chest.

Your face reddens, the urge to cover it but your hands are hiding your tits. He moves to block your body and hands you back his shirt. Yuji and Choso’s faces are burned into your brain as you slip the shirt on. You don’t lean over Sukuna, terrified.

“What the fuck!” You hear Choso say and you slightly peak over Sukunas shoulder.

Choso storms out of the room and you jump out of the bed.

“Choso wait!” You say as he jogs down the stairs and out the front door.

You walk back to the room to see Yuji sitting next to Sukuna giving him a fist bump.

“No way you bagged y/n, She’s pretty bad,” Yuji says and you slap the back of both their heads.

You sigh pushing your food around. It’s been a week and Choso doesn’t answer your texts, he doesn’t sit with you at lunch and he switched seats in the classes you share so now you’re forced to sit next to Mahito who you hate.

“Has he said anything to you?” You ask Sukuna as he steals one of your fries.

“Nah, he’s been staying over at Yuki’s. Who cares anyways” he says eating another fry until you’re pushing your tray towards him.

“I do and you should too, he’s your brother,” you say and he sighs.

“So what do you want me to do, I can beat him until he talks to you,” he offers genuinely, you try not to laugh at his violent and insane behavior.

“No, but I told you this would happen,” you say and he shrugs, holding a fry up to your lips until you eat it.

“Good girl,” he says as Yuki sits infront if you making you sit up. You’re prepared for her to yell at you but she doesn’t.

“I know Choso’s being stubborn, he told me everything. It’s really not his business on what you two do with eachother which I expressed so now he’s not talking to me,” she says taking a fry.

“He’s being a fucking diva,” Sukuna says making you laugh at him using such a word. “Break up with him and see how fast he comes running,” Sukuna concludes. The idea sounds absurd but Yuki’s pulling her phone out and tapping away at the screen.

“Oh you guys are cruel,” you say and she hits send.

“So what exactly is this?” She asks, pointing between you two.

“We’re dating, three months now,” you smile, being able to say it so openly feels nice.

“Oh that’s pathetic,” Sukuna says as Choso enters the cafeteria and walks towards your table. He holds his phone up at Yuki.

“Are you serious?”.

“What use is a boyfriend that won’t speak to you?” She asks and you take notes. She’s so nonchalant about it, serves him right.

“Fine, you want to talk let’s talk,” Choso says taking the seat between you and Yuki.

“You’re fucking a guy that told you the only jobs you’d get were either on a pole or your back and you’re fucking a girl that prayed to God for three weeks that you would catch Syphilis,” he says, Yuki covers her mouth to conceal a laugh.

“Well, she only does one of those jobs and I’m syphilis free,” Sukuna says and you pinch his ass through the opening in his chair making him squirm.

“He fucking hates you and you just…spread your legs for him?” Choso asks making your breathing hitch.

“Shut the fuck up, and choose your nexts word wisely,” Sukuna warns.

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t get it, you’ve been lying and fucking my brother. It’s weird, and what’s suppose to happen when it’s over?” He asks.

“Nothing, because it never will be,” Sukuna answers, seemingly bored of this conversation.

“Choso, you’re my bestfriend and you always will be but what I do and who I do it with is my choice. I’m not sorry that it’s Sukuna or that I love him. But I am sorry that you feel the need to be mean and avoid me. When you got with Yuki, I accepted it. It’s caused us to make adjustments to our friendship that I’ve happily complied with, there’s no reason you can’t do the same,” you say with a level head and he nods.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he sighs and you smile.

“I promise you, your brother takes good care of me,” you assure.

“In every aspect,” Sukuna adds making Choso cringe and Yuki laugh.

“This conversations boring me, come home and stop being a bitch” Sukuna says.

“Fine but no more sex jokes, and please lock your fucking door” Choso says.

“Fine, now beat it. I need a word with my girlfriend “ Sukuna says making Yuki and Choso dip. He pulls your chair toward him and leans in till your forehead is pressed against his.

“You love me?” He asks and you nod.

“I love you more than I ever hated you, so much fucking more,”.

I know some of you wanted Choso’s reaction, I rewrote it so many times but I honestly don’t think he cares that much. He has no romantic feelings for her. But I do think the idea of her and his brother who is an absolute ass would seem quite disturbing.

Also she’s not pregnant! Thank y’all for the endless support on this. Gojo Tinder piece coming up next!

@whosmarjj @getoxmahito @xra1 @swoozleee @lillycore

@carefree-flowerchild

[kisses4reid]

convenient | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - studying while working at a convenience store is easier that thought when a regular happens to be a genius.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

warnings - school work, that always scares me. they’re the same age!!! early 20s. mention of condoms.

edit - bc this is getting so much love, i’m opening a taglist for part 2!!! just comment or put in a req to join the ‘convenient’ taglist 🫶

the chime of the door didn’t phase you, the creaks and squeaks of the store slowly becoming one with you. flipping onto the next page of your biology textbook, something that was unnecessarily expensive, you shake your hand to get rid of the cramp you slowly became aware of.

it was only when a wave of man’s cologne and a plastic bag stood in front of you that you ripped your eyes off of your books.

he was tall, skinny, had long(ish) hair and looked amazing. there wasn’t really anything else to say, other than that the thin smile he displayed toward you made you smile back.

“just these for today?” you ask, fixing your posture and pushing some loose strands back to their place behind your ears.

“yes, thank you.” he says, voice as timid as his appearance. it was a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him as his long fingers slip through his wallet to find a debit card. “have a good night.”

your eyes return to your textbook as you go to erase an answer you had previous written, obviously wrong.

“the heads of the phospholipid bilayer are hydrophilic, not phobic.” he says. it surprised you, making you return to his gaze slowly before realising you should probably reply instead of staring at the man.

“oh- yeah, thanks. i caught that it’s just, i guess i’ve been staring at the same words for so long i can’t differentiate them.” you give a small fake laugh as he nods, giving you a long look before coughing and leaving promptly. he leaves with his bag, and his hands fiddling with each other.

you can barely focus after that. customers come and go, and although you’ve only been doing the late shift for a week, this encounter with the unknown man couldn’t leave your mind. the way he dressed, his smell, his voice and how he corrected you (which would totally annoy you usually). you hoped he would return.

and he did. three days later, this time even later than the last.

you were stuck in a dark purple sweater, the aircon in the store blasting cold air that you were too lazy to fix. and although the air flipped pages of notes and questions, you were still stuck in a trance.

the blasting aircon blew a wind of mens cologne this time, it smelt like wood. your eyes glanced up from your books and trailed the familiar man, noticing how he was reusing the plastic bag from days before.

he returned to the checkout with apples, a 3 minute cannelloni, and a bag of coffee. he was now the one trailing you, “where did Latrice go?” you look up, chuckling a bit,

“Latrice is getting paid by her daughter-in-law to babysit the twins,” you reply, surprised you were willing to tell him so much information. he could be a stalker for all you know. or just a regular, obviously that’s way more likely. “trust me, i miss her as much as you do. $14.98.”

he nodded with a small smile and sliced his card down the side of the card reader.

you searched for him now, only after two encounters you were already craving some sort of human interaction at work. usually you avoided it since the only other ‘regulars’ were old men and mean teenagers. you had switched to writing a biology report on your computer, the sound of the keyboard almost covering the sound of the door bell.

a bag of apples, a 2 minute lasagne, a bag of coffee, and a banana muffin.

“big night?”

“uh- what?”

“you got a banana muffin. i thought you were starting to become predictable.” you bagged his things as he chuckled, looking over you and your laptop. you noticed only because you were also looking at him, “biology report. wanna read it?” you joked, but he didn’t catch that part.

now he was behind the register, sat on your wheelie stool reading and editing your report while walking you through everything he was changing. you didn’t understand most, but you were just happy to stay around him. you weren’t even scared of Old Alan, the guy who only buys cucumbers and condoms. nobodies ever asked him, don’t think anyone wants to know.

“what’s your word limit?”

“3500.”

“only 3500?” he gave you a raised eyebrow, voice getting slightly higher. he coughed, “sorry, that’s nearly impossible.”

you sigh, “i know… i’m y/n by the way. thought you should know who your helping cheat.”

“i’m not helping you cheat, i’m just… editing,” he hit backspace a few times with a lowered bottom lip, “my names spencer.”

you smiled and crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. spencer. yeah, that sounded nerdy enough.

pt. 2

[too-deviant]

The incessant ringing of loneliness (or three weeks part two).

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke is back, officially. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy about it.

Content: angst, loser!luke makes an appearance, a lil fluff, this one is probably happier than part one

Word Count: 4k

Notes: i can’t thank you guys enough for the love on three weeks :( it really means the world, and i hope you enjoy this one too! i don’t think there’s gonna be a part 3 just because i want the rest of luke and r’s story to be up to your own interpretation - especially since his path to healing is such an important factor and it could go in any way. hope that’s ok with you guys :)

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

You weren’t very popular at camp.

Despite the fact that you’d been there for longer than most of its occupants, and that you’d bandaged up some of their gnarlier injuries, you just didn’t have what it took to have people know your name upon first glance.

Clarisse had her unbridled aggression — she scared people into knowing who she was. Charles Beckendorf was the guy you went to when you broke a sword and didn’t want Chiron finding out about it, plus he was six foot six and kinda hard to miss. The Stoll Twins were behind pretty much every crazy scheme that ended up in Hermes losing desert privileges. Luke was…well, he was Luke. Need I say more?

Point is, while everyone knew everyone, not everyone really knew you. They knew your face, your parentage, and your overall skill set. But they didn’t know your name, or what made you tick.

Which was fine, really. You liked the alone time you got in the infirmary when your sister would run out to gossip with her friends in Aphrodite whenever she saw them walk by. You didn’t mind that, when your cabin got their hour of free time each day, your siblings would rush off to their friends and you would simply settle down with a good book.

It’s not as if you were entirely lonely — you had your fellow Apollo kids. You, Alina and Lee bonded especially, being the older kids of the group. So you had them — the only difference was that they had other people, too.

Which, again, was fine.

Except when you started to take care of Luke, you finally felt like you had a person. You looked forward to seeing him after meals each day, and you found excuses to linger in his room whenever possible. Call it odd, but you grew to enjoy the fact that nobody else knew he was back. Because that way, you had him, he had you, and that was that.

But then Luke got better.

You didn’t even have time to worry about it — one minute you were scarfing down your breakfast, eager to bring that second plate up to the Big House, and ignoring the strange looks your siblings sent you. Then in a split moment, everyone was cheering, people were standing and suddenly you didn’t feel so crowded anymore.

You heard murmurs of excitement, but people were practically standing on the table around you — unhygienic, much? People are eating here — and you couldn’t see what they were looking at. You tugged on your brother’s leg and he glanced down at your raised brow, then he said, “Luke’s back!”

It was like you were sucked back in time. No — it was like you were sitting in a waiting room, shivering from the cold breeze that whisked in through the automatic doors. And then the doors closed, and you could release the tension in your body because the warmth was already reaching your fingers — only for someone to walk past and make the doors open again, sending the sharp sting of the cold right back to where it was before.

Yes. That’s what it was — the warmth Luke’s eyes on you had provided was suddenly ripped completely from you the second your brother's words reached your ears. Replaced with the blistering cold of nobody ever knowing your name.

So it was back to normal for you. The normal you had grown accustomed to — the normal you liked. The normal you thought you liked, anyway. 

You didn’t even catch a glimpse of Luke’s face as you stood and left the Pavilion, focusing on the floor beneath your feet rather than the crowd forming around him. Oh, but you couldn’t forget that he was back, it was all anybody could talk about. Once they’d done the math and realised he was the patient you’d been taking care of for three weeks, you locked yourself in your cabin to avoid all the questions, and didn’t see him until the very next day. 

The chatter of Luke’s return had died down when you woke up the next morning — a little later than you usually did, Lee having to shake you so you wouldn’t miss breakfast. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pulled a clean camp shirt over your head, stumbling a little due to the fact that you hadn’t fully woken up yet. 

When you were ready, Lee was waiting by the door. A few of your siblings were still getting themselves into a line after his loud Fall in! had woken them up, so you had time to stretch your arms and let out a sigh once you had taken your place beside him. You and Alina always walked with him to mealtimes, even though neither of you were counsellors, and you greeted her with a smile. 

The air was stuffy again — so much so that even Lee let out a wince when the shining glow of the front door hit his eyes. Then he stepped out of the cabin — his usual routine of checking the garden and cabin for pranks before letting them out coming into play. But he stopped. 

“What?”

He swung his head back at you, brows raised and smile growing, “Luke’s back.”

Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes, “Pretty sure we all know that, already.”

“Yeah, but —“ He turned fully then, hands on the doorframe and grin shining, “He’s back, which means the Hermes kids are finally under control again, which means we don’t have to worry about being pranked first thing in the morning!”

“Holy crap.” Alina was grinning now, both of your siblings looking at you and each-other with this excited expression that made you sort of angry – why are they perceiving Luke? They’re not allowed. 

You huffed a sigh as Lee started to lead the line outside, “He got back yesterday, there’s no way he’s already –”

But he was. As you stepped into the sun, the skin on your thighs already forming an uncomfortable layer of sweat, you looked to where the Hermes cabin was filing out of their door, led by the one and only Luke Castellan. You paused. 

He’d been back a day. Sure, his scar had healed nicely, but it was only three days ago that he was struggling to hold his own in a sword fight – if he was back to his counsellor duties, was he going back to teaching sword fighting? You were unsure he should even be in charge of all those Hermes and unclaimed kids so soon, but going back to teaching only days after coming back to camp? There was no way he was ready for that.

Should you say something? Or would he dismiss you, now that he was done with you?

You watched as he walked with Chris, chatting idly as if nothing was wrong. But you saw Chris glance occasionally at the jagged line through his brother’s eye, and you saw Luke attempt to ignore it. 

Should you say something?

You tripped. You were so busy staring creepily at Luke that you tripped over your own feet and tumbled into Lee’s back. He stumbled slightly but righted himself with a huff and a chuckle, turning and asking if you were alright. 

But you had looked straight back in Luke’s direction – he was still talking to Chris. He wasn’t looking at you. 

He wasn’t your person anymore.

Luke was unsure. 

Which didn’t happen often — as one of the oldest campers, and the one everyone else looked to in times of peril, it was sort of essential for him to be sure. He needed to know what to do, to have a solution for every situation, and to be completely calm about it. Otherwise, camp would go to shit. 

That much was obvious — he didn’t know why you hadn’t told him this in the three weeks you spent together, but camp had turned itself upside down in his absence. Apparently nobody was prepared for him to be gone for so long, and they kind of all lost their shit. 

He was happy to be back, don’t get him wrong. He lit up when he saw his brother’s faces again, when he felt their arms wrap around him. He laughed when Travis joked about thinking he was dead, and when Connor quipped that the camp was seconds away from starting a revolution. He nodded at Chiron, smiled amusedly when Mr D rolled his eyes, he scooped Annabeth into his arms, whispered to her that yes, he was alive, and he let himself be whisked to his table, the crowd following like moths to a flame. 

It was slightly overwhelming, but he was well-equipped to deal with it. He liked the feeling — if he ignored the throbbing on the side of his face, it could be like he’d never even left. The quest never happened, the dragon never happened, and people are just happy to see him because he’s their counsellor. Of course they would be. Everything was fine. 

Everything was fine — so he ignored the urge to scan his eyes across the crowd in search of a familiar head of hair. He stopped himself from glancing at the Apollo table, from looking in Lee’s direction, just in case he wasn’t standing alone. 

Because he didn’t need you anymore. Not that he didn’t appreciate all you did for him, but the healing was done. He was better, he was back at camp — he was Luke Castellan again. If he looked for you, if he met those eyes and returned that smile, it would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he wasn’t better, that he still needed his doctor. 

But he didn’t. Because he was back, baby! And he didn’t need to think about that stupid quest, his stupid dad, or his stupid scar ever again. 

He had a short chat with Chiron, who looked a little uneasy when he expressed his readiness to get back to camp duties. He told him that it was fine if he needed time to settle in, but Luke was firm. He didn’t need to settle, he didn’t need to wait. So Chiron sighed, and told him to escort his cabin to the climbing walls for their morning session. 

And that’s how the rest of the day went — climbing wall, arts and crafts cabin, strawberry fields, archery practice. Luke did it all, just like he used to before he left. If people would just stop looking at his damn scar, maybe he could pretend he never left at all. If they stopped murmuring about him being the secret camper, hidden from them this whole time, he could avoid thinking about you and the sweet touch of your fingers on his face. 

The fact that he hadn’t seen you at all since his return helped him on that front — you weren’t around at breakfast, lunch or dinner. You weren’t in the infirmary whenever he peeked through the windows. You weren’t with the rest of your cabin when they were paired with Hermes for hand-to-hand defence practice. 

Not that he was looking for you, or anything.  

“Hey, man.” Chris clapped him on the shoulder as they walked up to breakfast. It had officially been twenty-four hours since Luke’s return, and the chatter had died down significantly. That was good for him, helped him ignore the fact that he was ever not there. 

All he had to do was keep his eyes off you — who had magically reappeared in camp — as you also walked up to breakfast, the Apollo kids trailing behind you, Lee and Alina. 

“Listen, you did great yesterday.” His brother was saying, and he zoned in on it. “It was like you never left.”

Cool, that was the plan. 

“But it’s sword fighting today.” 

Luke raised a brow, “So?”

“So…” Chris sang, awkwardly waving a hand, “You don’t have to jump right back into training us, is what I’m saying.”

He scoffed, running a hand through us curls, “Nah, bro, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Because —“

“Y’know, Chris,” Luke sent his brother a cheeky look as they took their seats around the Hermes table, “if you’re scared to get back to my gruelling training sessions, just say that.”

Chris’ face fell, appalled, and he put a hand on his chest, “Scared? Dude, you’re the one who should be scared. I’ve gotten good since you’ve been gone.”

And there it was — a reminder that it wasn’t the same. That he couldn’t pretend he had never left, because nobody else was. Whatever, it’d be fine. A couple of weeks and this would all blow over and he would never have to think about it again. 

The Amphitheatre, unlike the rest of the camp amenities, was familiar to him. He didn’t need to stand and take it all in like he did with everywhere else, because he’d been here not even a week ago with —

No. Stop. You aren’t in his life anymore. He never went on his quest. Everything is how it should be. 

The kids gathered around him were letting off a range of emotions as Luke stood before them, sword in hand. The younger ones were giddy, eager to get back to training with their favourite teacher. Some of the older ones, however, were only slightly confused that he’d bounced back so quickly. If he had to spend three weeks in the Big House before even going outside, was he ready to jump right back into sword training? Maybe he’d go easier on them today, take it slow. 

“Alright — if there’s anything I've learnt over the years, it’s that sword fighting is all about reflexes. So, today, we will be working on y’all’s dodging skills. Oliver, get up here!”

Luke was back on Mount Tamalpais. The fiery breath Ladon was shooting at him seared his skin and burnt holes into his shirt. He was ducking out of the way, but there was no room to breathe when another one of his hundred heads came at him with a fierce snarl. His sword felt useless in his hands, every swing being deflected and every jab proving useless compared to the dragon's swift movements. 

He blinked, and he was back at camp. Sparring with an unclaimed kid who’s name was lost on him. Sweat dripped down his brows but he wiped it away with shaky fingers. He gave an off-handed comment on the kids form before calling a water break. 

“Yo— woah, man!” 

Chris looked wide-eyed at Luke. He had tapped him gently on the shoulder and he had responded with an aggressive swing towards him. He stepped out of the arc just in time, but Luke still dropped the sword like it had burnt him. He stepped back, hands shaking, and stared at the ground. 

It was odd — being at Archery in the mornings. You’d spent three weeks skipping the hour in favour of taking food to Luke and ensuring his dressings were changed. Which for most cabins, was what? Three classes a week? 

Not for the Apollo kids — who have always and will always have their first hour spent on the Archery fields. Mainly because it’s when the sun is rising, shining on them in the early mornings and giving them their power to hit the bullseye. You included, even if healing was more your purview. 

So you’d missed probably around twenty classes, give or take a few. Your form was, well, subpar at best. Lee had to spend the entire hour making sure you didn’t accidentally hit one of your siblings — and that was after he had to re-teach you the basics. 

You probably would’ve been better had you not been so distracted — your mind whirring with thoughts of Luke. You wished your brain would just leave it alone, but apparently you weren’t done mulling over the situation. You wanted to slap yourself across the face and say hey, idiot. The three weeks is up, he’s healed. It’s over. But your siblings would probably look at you weird, so you decided against it. 

Instead, you threw yourself into your duties. Archery was a bump in the road, but now you were smooth sailing. You didn’t focus on anything else but what you had to do that day — not taking a moment to breathe because if you did that, you’d start thinking about Castellan again. You didn’t want that, you really didn’t want that. 

It was going really well, too. But then Chiron just had to interrupt your canoeing session, asking you to clear out any medical supplies you left over in the spare room of the Big House since nobody was staying there anymore.

Oh, great. You were thinking about him again. 

And then all the thoughts you’d been suppressing since ten in the morning were overflowing your head, and you thought you might have had to ask Mr D if you were going mad because when you cracked open the door and peeked your head in, Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed like usual and you had to blink to make the hallucination go away. 

Except it didn’t go away. Instead it looked at you and smiled, “Hi.”

Your lips parted, and you stepped in. Your eyebrows curved in on themselves, “Uh, hey. What are you…”

You were still about seventy percent sure that he wasn’t real, but nobody was there to listen to you talk to air, so you replied anyway. Luke clicked his tongue, let out a chuckle, then sighed, “I don’t think I can do it.”

Okay, fifty percent sure. 

“Do what?”

“Go back out there.” He gestured a hand to the window that pointed outside, although it was still covered with the curtain. “I thought…I dunno, I guess I got too excited yesterday. Thought I was ready to jump back into it.”

You stepped fully through the threshold, and he followed you with his eyes as you walked over to the desk. Nothing but a few spare bandages that you scooped into your arms before looking back at him. You tilted your head, “Healing isn’t linear. It’s perfectly normal to feel like you’re on top of the world one day and then like it’s crumbling around you the next.”

He stood, walked over to you. Thirty percent. 

“I don’t want to disappoint them.” 

“You won't.” You shook your head, “You made a big step, coming back to camp. That's it for now, you don’t need to take any more big steps for a while.”

He nodded, “No more big steps.”

“Not until you’re ready.”

Luke’s hands reached out, taking the bandages from where you cradled them to your chest. He put them back onto the desk behind you. Ten percent. 

His eyes bore into yours, “I don’t think I’m done healing.”

You shook your head surely, “I don’t think you are, either. And that’s okay.” 

He nodded, lips clicking when he parted them, “Which means you’re not allowed to leave me yet. You have to stay with me until I’m fully better.”

You shook your head then, stammering, “It’s — that’s not how it works. What you went through, it — you might not ever be fully better.” 

But Luke just nodded like he knew that already, taking a step closer, “I think I’m okay with that.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. What the hell do you say to that? “Okay.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, “So you’re not gonna leave me.”

Five percent.

A shake of your head, “Not until you ask me to.”

“Good.”

He wrapped his arms around you, and you froze. Okay, he was real. He was really there. You were sure. You hugged him back — he buried his face into your neck and whispered something about you never leaving him again and you whispered something in return about how you wouldn’t dream of it.

So, apparently, you severely underestimated what it was like to be friends with Luke.

You’d thought about it — of course you had. You would imagine what perfect golden boy Luke Castellan was like when he didn’t have to be a perfect golden boy. When he could just be a boy, hanging out with his friends like a normal person would. What jokes did he tell? Did he still keep up that Luke Castellan Grin or did he relax into an easy smirk? Did he make his friends follow the rules even when they were alone? Did he follow the rules when he was alone?

You wondered, although you never thought you’d actually find out. But he’d made it clear you were never leaving his side so long as he still needed you — and he was sticking to that. Firmly.

The summer sun was hot on your back — only this time your dad seemed to be going easy on you, as you weren’t completely uncomfortable under the warm cotton of your camp shirt. You still wafted it every now and then, proving some cool air to your chest, but overall you were feeling good.

You walked into the Amphitheatre with the rest of your siblings — who were less than amused that, despite Luke’s return to camp, Tyler P from the Hephaestus cabin was still running sword fighting practice. They heaved themselves onto the tiered seats with dramatic groans, but he simply grinned at them.

You paused from where you were about to sit down next to Alina when a waving hand caught your peripheral. It was Luke, tucked into the very top corner of the steps, smiling at you from the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked when you reached him, raising your brow in amusement. He patted the spot next to him and you sat down, just as Tyler began to talk. Luke leaned in.

“I’m watching.” He muttered into your ear, then he smirked at you, “You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“I wasn’t going to.” You murmured, leaning back on your elbows and watching as your siblings paired up reluctantly. “Thanks for pulling me away, though. Gives me an excuse not to take part.”

Luke huffed a laugh, “He can’t be that bad, right?”

“Just you wait.” You smirked.

Turns out, Tyler was that bad. Every ‘new skill’ he tried to teach them either (a) they already knew, something Luke liked to whisper at you with a shake of his head, or (b) he couldn’t even do it himself, let alone teach others how to. Another thing Luke commented on from where he sat beside you, hands aching to get in there and show him what was what.

“Just one tip, and then I’ll go.” He begged under his breath as Tyler dropped his sword for the umpteenth time. “Please.”

“No.” You didn’t even look at him, “Because one tip turns into a demonstration. And a —“

“— a demonstration turns into a class, yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes, but you just grinned at him. He smiled, “You’re mean.”

“I know.” You said in a faux-sympathetic tone. You pouted at him, “I’m just so cruel, aren’t I?”

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin, “Damn, doc. What happened to you?”

You scoffed amusedly, “You did.”

His mouth dropped open and you smiled, looking away. He poked your side and you shuffled away with a giggle, attempting to ignore his riled up smile. He didn’t relent, for every inch you moved away from him, he scooted right back towards you. You looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “I miss when you were too miserable to talk to me.”

“No you don’t.” He shook his head. He was right, you didn’t.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, and you felt it on your face. That was when you realised how close your faces were — mere centimetres apart. You swallowed thickly, but you didn’t move away. Luke’s smile stretched, and his hand began to inch up your arm.

You squinted, “What are you doing?”

It was his turn to feign confusion, pulling his lips into the same pout you did only moments earlier, “What are you talking about?”

His hand was at your elbow now, sliding higher. You shook your head, a minute movement, “Doctor Patient Fraternising isn’t allowed.”

He gasped, pulling his hand back in favour of placing it dramatically against his chest, “It’s not?”

“Nope.” You grinned amusedly, “Sorry.”

“Damn.” He leaned back, glancing at you for a second before looking back towards Tyler’s shitshow of a sword lesson, “Guess I’ll have to get another doctor.”

You snorted, “You’re a loser.”

You stood up and went to rejoin your siblings, and Luke shouted after you, “I’m your loser!”

“What was that?” Lee asked when you stopped beside him.

“What? Oh,” You glanced back at where Luke was sat, and he averted his gaze from where he had been looking at you. You looked up at your brother, “He’s just happy to be back, is all.”

He chuckled, “Sure.”

Whatever. He was your person again and Lee could suck your dick if he had anything to say about it.

🏷️ @aceofswordsandarrows @cowsandcomics @number-onekidqueen @kestisvrse @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons @how2besalty @iinlovewithfictionalppl @lilacspider @l0ve-dov3 @coffi-cake @ironmanbaldes @onecojg @hiraethavis @freaking0utficrecs @delphifarms @wildlyfreemoon @candylandy8173 @sinnercry @featherofthecrow @babellucci @telliette @totallynotnic

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian's sister!reader - part 2 of 3

summary: Rhysand sends you on the mission to Windhaven alone, and things do not go as planned.

warnings: mentions of violence/blood, poison, mentions of previous assault and past trauma, Azriel being oblivious and upset again

word count: 5.5k

Windhaven, the place you once called home.

Now the place you avoided at all costs, the place where you lived through your worst nightmares and recollected them every single night while trying to sleep in the hell hole of a cabin you were going to be staying in for the night. 

You tried your hardest to forget about the night that would haunt you for the rest of eternity, tried to will it from your memory, tried to put up an obsidian wall around it to lock it in. 

But there was no forgetting what happened to you, not now, not ever. There was no trusting a male fully ever again, all thanks to the Illyrian customs.

Cillian was the first and last male you ever trusted. He gained your trust, made you fall in love with him, then ripped you to shreds, mentally and physically. The only male you ever trusted was the same one who lured you into that wretched cabin alone and held you down with a knife. 

I love you, he had whispered in your ear all those years ago while pinning you to the floor, your wings spread as the knife pressed against one of the central tendons, I just have to do this so everyone knows you’re mine. So you can be a normal Illyrian female. 

He was mere centimeters from clipping your wings when Rhysand heard your silent cries, busting into the cabin, making the wicked male scramble away in fear of what might happen to him. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all during your stay in the camp, but it was probably better that way. That way you could stay on guard all night, that way you could watch your own back. You had to prove to Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle that you could be treated like a grown female, that you were willing to do anything for the Night court. 

There wasn’t much time when you arrived at the cabin, you had to set your bag inside and leave almost immediately, heading towards Lord Devlon’s hall for dinner. 

As much as Devlon hated your brother, he had nothing but respect for you. That might be partially due to the threats you’d set into his mind a few hundred years ago, or the fact that you’d beat him during training multiple times, but the reason didn’t matter. It was more beneficial for you to be the one to show your face in Windhaven this time around and you knew that, regardless of how much it made your stomach turn. It was important that someone from the Inner Circle came to Windhaven every once in a while under the guise of making sure the camp was still in order, so this was the perfect opportunity to gain important insight as well. 

So you sat at the long table for dinner, chatting with those around you in the most civil tone that you could. You couldn’t bear to eat in all honesty, just the thought of having to stay in the cursed cabin for even eight hours for sleep was enough to make you lose all appetite. So, you opted for pushing around some potatoes and meat on your plate all while chugging down four glasses of faerie wine throughout the two hours you were there.

You coincidentally sat to the right of Cormac during the meal, who had Balvard sitting on the left of him, making it almost too easy for you to infiltrate their minds and figure out their foolish plan. The two of them were under the impression that they would be able to take out Devlon with a faebane dagger and control the camps with ease. It made you scoff to yourself when you discovered that neither of them had a backup plan, as if that was going to work out so smoothly for them. 

The remainder of dinner after finding out the information you needed consisted of you bantering with some of the Illyrians you had grown up next to, ones who had turned into great warriors through training at Windhaven. The sun had been set for hours by the time you made your way back to the cabin, setting up some wards as you stepped over the threshold. 

Exhaustion hit you almost immediately upon changing into your sleep clothes, eyelids heavy as you relaxed onto your side in the large bed next to the fire you’d just lit. You’d assumed you would be wired at this point, you’d planned on not sleeping at all due to the fear instilled deep in your bones. 

You cuddled into the blankets, the familiar scent of your old home giving you an eerily comforted feeling passing through your gut. Solace filled you once you threw up a final shield around the small cabin, setting you at ease to know nobody could come in unless you let them in.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep on the bed.

You awoke a few hours later, disturbed by the noise of the front door swinging open. Your body felt paralyzed in the moment, lethargy taking you over as you slowly turned your head towards the noise. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you watched the two males stalk through the door, unable to react in any way as your eyes trailed up to see Cormac and Balvard stepping over the threshold. The smirks on their faces told you everything you needed to know about what was about to happen. 

You wracked your brain for how this could’ve happened, how you were immobilized by these two lowly, evil men in front of you, how you fell into their trap so easily, and how the hell you were completely unable to use any power or energy in this moment. 

Faebane.

How could you be so foolish? You should’ve known better than to drink the wine so freely at a table of men you barely knew, especially after infiltrating Cormac and Balvard’s minds and discovering they wanted to use the same fucking poison on Devlon.

“Stupid female.” Balvard spat at you as Cormac inched closer to you, hand reaching out for your ankle. “You really thought you could come here, infiltrate our fucking minds to find out our plans, and just get away with it?”

You couldn’t speak, it was like someone was pressing down on your throat as you tried to breathe, there had been some gloriella in your wine, too, you were sure of it. Your body was pulled from the bed and flipped over in one swift tug, you were thrown onto the floor in an instant.

Images of Cillian flashed through your mind as your helpless form was pushed onto the floor, images of his wicked grin that matched the ones both of the males in front of you were wearing currently. 

A silent tear slid down your cheek as Balvard spoke, but you couldn’t hear his words. He was still rambling on about how stupid of a female you were, and how you deserved nothing but pain after what you were planning to do to them, but you tried your hardest to drown them out. 

There was nothing you could do at this point, as Balvard held your legs down, as Cormac pinned your wings with one large hand while the other pulled a sizable knife from its sheath. There was nothing you could do but close your eyes and hope that it would be over soon. 

You had never felt this helpless before, not even when Cillian had pinned you down. At least then you were able to fight back, at least then you had a shred of dignity and pride left, at least then you hadn’t been so foolish as to let someone fucking poison you. 

You cursed yourself internally as you squeezed your eyes shut, pain rippling through your body at the first slash of the knife against your wing. The first cut was against the base of your right wing, a long slash that would take months to heal, if it ever did. 

A prayer to the Gods repeated itself in your mind as you felt the blood trickle from your wing and onto your back. Your heart ached as the silent tears flowed, wandering to the furthest corners of your mind as you tried to think of anything aside from the pain that was being inflicted upon you. It took everything in you to realize that you had a sliver of power still running through your veins, just enough to call out to your daemati brother, Rhys.

As you shot a quick thought down the bridge of Rhysand’s mind, you were met with a welcoming talon of power. You could feel his concern as you pushed one-worded thoughts to him to get his attention.

Everything alright, sister? He questioned through your mind, urging you to let him see what you’d experienced in the last twelve hours with a kind caress of his power in your mind. 

You only had enough power to cry out silently to him, Send help, please. Your mind was closed to him as quickly as it had opened, everything went dark on your end as your energy ran out and you were blinded with even more pain, throwing you quickly into unconsciousness. 

The next thing you remembered was waking up to the sound of wailing and begging from behind you, the two men who had you pinned down minutes before were thrown against the wall as their High Lord took pleasure in tearing them to shreds in a slow and painful death. The cries came to a sudden halt moments later, Rhys growing tired of their begging as he decided to shatter their minds and put you out of your misery as quickly as possible. 

“R–Rhys–” you sob once their cries stopped, unable to do anything aside from lift a weak finger to point towards the man in the doorframe. 

The High Lord’s gaze turns from one of pure rage to one of a worried friend once his violet eyes flick toward where you lay in the middle of the cabin. He takes in the sight in front of him slowly, your pained expression and tear-stained cheeks There’s blood pooled around your midsection, drenching your sleep shirt as you pant in pain on the dusty wooden floor. One of your wings looks fractured in multiple spots, while the other one is mangled from the beginnings of a mutilation.

The sight made Rhysand shudder with anger, fists tight at his sides as he slipped into your mind in order to understand the extent of the situation you found yourself in. You let him in without resistance, unable to hold any kind of mental shield up anymore. 

They were going to clip your wings, take away the one thing you had to remind you of your mother, take away the one thing you held so dearly, take away your ability to fly. They were going to make you into the ideal complicit Illyrian female before wiping your memory of the entire night, which he assumed from the extremely prohibited memory tonic rolling on the floor next to you. 

Rhys was glad he’d shattered the two traitors inside and out once your memories were collected, realizing how ruthless they had been with you moments before he stormed in. 

“D–Don’t tell Cassian.” you plead, eyes focused on Rhys as he took another step into the cabin. 

Your pleas took Rhys back to that fateful night all those years ago, the night he found you in this same room, sobbing in the middle of the room after being defiled by another Illyrian male who he nearly ripped to ribbons in the same exact spot where Cormac and Balvard laid in the corner, the male who fled from Windhaven the next morning, likely from threats from Rhysand himself.  

Four hundred and fifty years ago was when he vowed to protect you like his own sister. You had begged him that night not to tell Cassian about what he’d seen, the vulnerable state the situation had left you in. The two of you had even made a bargain that night, that he would never be able to reveal the truth about what happened, so long as you remained loyal to him and his family, which he knew you would do regardless.

Four hundred and fifty years ago he promised to be the one to look out for you and make sure you were protected in situations you knew your brother’s unadulterated rage couldn’t handle.

And now, four hundred and fifty years after that fateful day, he’d failed you. 

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look, opening his mouth to speak in response to your request, but was interrupted by your brother pushing through the doorway past him. Cassian nearly tripped over his own two feet at the sight of you, stomach churning when he saw your mangled wings slumped on the wood over your limp body. 

“Don’t look, Cass.” you beg your brother as he stares at you with wide eyes, knowing the sight will spin him into a fit of rage. In your dazed state, you could see him beginning to seethe at the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, his breaths quickening at the thought. 

Before Cassian can reply, Rhys slips into his mind. She needs her brother right now, not the Lord of Bloodshed ready to avenge her. Let’s get her back to the house before you make any rash decisions, we can come back and rip whoever else deserves it to shreds once she’s safe. 

Cassian chokes on a breath as Rhysand tries to reassure him that you’ll be alright. It takes everything in him to compose himself, but he does it for you, his twin, his fiery sister who he’d take an ash arrow to the heart for. 

“I can’t—can’t feel—“ you choke out, squirming and groaning in pain as Cassian picks you up from the floor. “My w—wings. I can’t feel them. Did they—they take them away?”

Your pained words strike Cassian like a dagger to the heart, tears welling up as he thinks about how much pain you had to be in. 

“No, I promise. They didn’t take them away. They’re–they’re still there, Y/N. It—It’ll be okay,” your brother says in a stern tone as he chokes back his own tears, eyes wide as he watches you struggle in his arms while walking through the cabin’s front door. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself that it would all be okay as he shot into the sky with you curled up in his arms. 

You were in and out of consciousness the entirety of the flight back to the House of Wind, babbling nonsense as Cassian tried to keep you stable in his arms. 

The entire Inner Circle was already at the house when Cassian landed, an air of worry carrying through the group as they saw the state of you, more specifically the state of your wings. 

Rhysand immediately called for Madja upon seeing the extent of your injuries, and ordered Cassian to take you to your room and to keep you awake until she arrived. 

Cassian was up the stairs in a flash, Feyre and Mor on his heels as he rushed to your room, with Azriel quietly following behind them. He laid you on your side, your bloodied wings spread across the bed as you curled up near the edge of the large bed. Your eyes landed on Feyre as he stepped away, a dazed smile spreading across your lips as you reached out a hand for her. 

The High Lady gives you a small smile in return, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which were filled with worry. She grabs your hand, squeezing it gently as she begins to tell you something that you really can’t comprehend over the ringing in your ears.

After a while of her speaking to you and you babbling nonsense in return, you try to sit up abruptly. Both Cassian and Feyre are on you in an instant, pushing you gently back onto your side, quickly telling you that you need to lay down and stay there. 

“What is it?” Feyre asks quickly, gripping your hand as you easily give up and fall onto the bed, “Is something wrong, do you need something?”

“Az…” you whimper, fighting the urge to fall asleep right then and there, “W—Where’s Azriel?”

The shadowsinger had been outside the door keeping watch, but his shadows had been listening in on the conversation within as well. The shadows curled around his ear, whispering your name to him, telling him that you requested him, so he silently strode in when he heard. Your tired eyes lit up at the sight of him in the doorway, hand slipping from Feyre’s to weakly beckon him over to you. 

Something about seeing you in this state tugged on his heart, tugged on it so much it felt like it was going to rip from his chest. He couldn’t deny your request for him to come closer, not when you looked so desperate and in so much pain, not when his absence in Windhaven was part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

He made a mental note to ask Rhys who did this to you as he made his way over to the chair Feyre left for him to sit in, wanting nothing more than to show them what Truth Teller could do. 

Azriel’s hand fell next to you on the bed and you immediately rested your own atop his, grinning widely as what felt like delusion set into your bones. Shadows twined around your fingers while the others skittered across your wings as if to soothe them.

“They may—may not be able to save my wings, Az.” you choked out, a bitter giggle coming out as you spoke.

“I’m sure Madja will be able to heal you right up, Y/N. You’ll be better in no time.” Azriel assured you, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “She’ll be here any minute.”

“I—I don’t even care. I just—just need my mate.” you say abruptly while shaking your head, voice barely above a whisper now as you stare at the male, glassy eyes meeting his sharp yet confused gaze.

“Mate?” he replies with a furrowed brow, lips drawing into a frown at your words. He was wondering if you even knew what you were saying at this point, if you were just saying whatever came to your disoriented mind.

“Mate.” you say a little louder this time and the whole room is silent as you reach out for Azriel, your shaky and blood-crusted hand coming up to stroke his cheek. “My mate.”

Your eyes fluttered close with those words, a smile on your lips as you’re overtaken by sleep in the moment. Your hand falls from Azriel’s cheek and onto his lap, and that’s when he feels it. That’s when he feels the shadows of his mind clearing, bringing that band of golden thread to the forefront. A band of golden thread that was tying his soul to yours. 

Before Azriel could process the situation unfolding in front of him, Cassian was pulling him from the chair so Feyre could tend to you once more. The High Lady tried to wake you, but nothing worked. Thankfully, Rhysand and Madja rushed into the room mere minutes after you became unconscious, immediately going to work on getting you back to consciousness and ready to be healed.

Cassian tugged at Azriel’s shoulders as the whirlwind began, trying to drag him into the hallway. The shadowsinger resisted, standing behind Feyre as he watched you closely. You awoke immediately when Madja began to tend to your bloodied wings, the sensitive membrane torn to shreds. A cry escaped your lips as she gently worked on them, as Feyre tried her best to keep you in one spot while Madja worked her magic. 

Azriel watched with wide eyes, rage rippling through his body as he watched you writhe in pain. He wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to make sure nobody ever hurt you again, to keep you safe with him forever. 

Your brother continued to try to move Azriel from the room, knowing it wouldn’t end well if he continued to watch you writhe in pain as Madja made quick work of healing you. He continued to resist, shoving Cassian multiple times before Rhysand breached his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

I’ll make sure she’s okay. He spoke to Azriel in his mind, staring him down as he squeezed your hand, beginning to take away your pain. She’s safe with me and I’ll take away whatever pain I can, but we need you to leave before you do anything stupid. The bond is too new and who knows what you’ll do if you continue to see her like this.  

Azriel straightened against Cassian’s grip, nodding at Rhys as he silently assured him that you would be okay. Eventually, he let your brother guide him into the hallway, noting the glamour Rhysand had added to the bedroom to drown out your cries as Cassian closed the door. 

It isn’t until he steps into the hallway that he’s finally able to fully comprehend what just happened. That’s when guilt and fear and pain wash over his body, stinging his chest all at once, right down the bond. 

“This–It’s my fault.” he says, falling back against the wall opposite to your bedroom in the hall, his legs unable to hold him up anymore. “I–I could’ve fucking stopped this, I should’ve been there, I should’ve known that this would happen–”

“Woah, Az.” Cassian interjects, reaching for Azriel’s shoulders once again. “You and I both know how stubborn she is. She would’ve refused to go if you were going, and you know it. She thought she had to prove herself to Rhys, just like she always does.” 

“I should’ve just–Fuck!” Azriel yelled, shoving his hands into his hair to tug on it roughly out of frustration, “I should’ve fucking sent my shadows, I could’ve seen their plan, I–”

“Azriel.” Cassian interrupted once again, grabbing the shadowsinger to get his attention. “Would you shut up for one second? She would’ve torn those shadows–and you–to shreds if you did that. She’s still under the impression that you fucking hate her, Az.”

Azriel let out a shuddering breath at the thought, a whirlwind of emotions taking over. His mind was racing as he thought of you in the next room, how his shadows couldn’t even infiltrate Rhysand’s glamour to see if you were alright. None of it made sense, you deserved more than him, you should be with someone who actually could keep you safe.

“How long have you known?” Azriel pressed, stern gaze on Cassian as he finally let go of his shoulders.

“Az–”

“How. Fucking. Long.” he insisted, blue siphons flaring with power at his wrists as he reached for your brother. 

Cassian sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat as he looks to the helpless man in front of him. “Two–Two years.” he’s quiet as he speaks, voice wavering in fear of what anger the fresh mating bond could bring out of his brother. 

“You’ve known for two fucking years?” Azriel seethes, gripping Cassian’s leathers tighter as he growls, “how fucking dare you–”

“I couldn’t tell you and you know it, Az.” Cassian says, releasing himself from Azriel’s grip. 

“You’re my brother–”

“And she’s my twin, my real fucking blood sister. I couldn’t betray her like that.” he interjected, shaking his head at the shadowsinger. “She would’ve torn me to shreds, then came for you next. You should know that nobody should interfere with a mating bond, you had to find out from her.”

Azriel took a deep and shaky breath at his words, knowing that Cassian was right in every sense of the word to not tell him for all this time. Eventually he nods at Cassian, deciding that words probably aren’t his strong suit at this moment, he didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret later. 

“C’mon, we should go somewhere else to get your mind–”

“No.” Azriel snarled, shaking his head firmly as his shadows swirled at his shoulders, siphons flaring with that ultramarine power once again. “I need to stay here, to see that she’s safe.” 

There was something damn near animalistic in Azriel’s eyes as Cassian gazed at him. In that moment, he knew there would be no getting through to the shadowsinger, not when his mate was on the brink of death on the other side of the door. 

Cassian nodded slowly at him, watching carefully as Azriel finally let go of his shoulders. The shadowsinger’s own shoulders sagged and he leaned to rest on the wall behind him, while trying to calm himself. He needed to be in that room, needed to see you, needed to hold you, but he knew there was no use in trying. Not even his shadows could slip under the door to check on you, Rhysand had glamoured the whole room to high hell in order to keep him out and to keep your healing as uninterrupted as possible. 

He knew it would take hours, maybe even days before that door opened again, but he didn’t care. He’d stay right there waiting for that lock to click and that glamour to fall just so he could see you again. 

And so wait he did. 

He waited one hour, which turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into eight. 

The wait was so long that Cassian eventually pulled two chairs out of his bedroom so they could sit, and the House nearly forced them to eat some stew that was placed upon the empty chair Azriel refused to occupy. 

He only paced, mind racing with thoughts of you, of how he couldn’t feel you any time he tried to tug on the bond. He wasn’t sure how the mating bond worked, how much a glamour could mask it or how your unconsciousness would affect it. Every time he tugged on that golden strand in his chest, he felt nothing on the other end, just resistance that he could only assume was from the inability to fully reach you.

Each unsuccessful tug only drove him closer to insanity, closer to clawing down the door between the two of you to see if Rhysand was truly the reason he wasn’t able to reach you or not. 

Just as Azriel was on the verge of another outrage, after waiting for nearly ten godsdamned hours, your bedroom door’s lock clicked. Both Cassian and Azriel’s attention whirled to the door, only to see Feyre standing at the door frame. The door was barely cracked, just enough to see her face, hiding the commotion behind her, hiding the sight of you behind her. 

The moment the door opened, a wave of nausea flowed through Azriel’s stomach, the smell of you, the smell of your blood reaching his nose immediately. 

The High Lady held out a hand as Azriel took a step towards the door, ready to push her over to finally see his mate. 

“She’s waking up now,” Feyre interjects, giving the shadowsinger a stern look that tells him to behave, “she might be really confused right now, she’s been in and out of consciousness for a while so who knows what she really remembers. Be gentle with her, she may not remember what she said before you left.”

Azriel stands up straighter at the High Lady’s words, nodding sternly at her command as Cassian stands at his side finally. Both take a moment to compose themselves while she pulls the door open, revealing the room behind her at last. 

The room is in much less of a disarray than they’d expected, likely thanks to a simple snap of Rhysand’s fingers. The only blood to be seen in the room is on your wings, which is currently being wiped away by Madja as you stir slowly. 

It takes everything in Azriel not to run up to your side right then, to push Mor from the chair next to you, to take your head into his hands and kiss you and never let you go. But he holds back, waiting for you to finally wake from your sleep. 

Your eyes flutter open a few moments later, a wave of confusion washing over you as you do. The last thing you really remember is being picked up by Cassian, off the floor of that Gods forsaken cabin. You really don’t remember how or when you made it back to the House of Wind, or what actually happened to you. At this point, judging by the shooting pain in your back, you weren’t sure if you wanted to remember what happened to you. 

Your brother’s name was the first thing to fall from your lips, your weak hand reaching out for him with a watery smile. Tears filled your eyes as he took a step toward you.

“You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?” Cassian said with a bittersweet smile, eyes flickering between your bruised face and your tattered wings. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes all the time,” you rasp out, a small laugh from you finally filling the tense air. 

Cassian sat next to you, talking to you lowly as he tried to keep things light, tried to keep your spirits up after he caught a glance of how mangled your wings were, how ruined they might be. 

You barely noticed the shadowsinger standing behind him until a shadow skittered across your stomach, trailing to your bandaged wings to survey the damage. It wasn’t until then that you stopped to look at him, to see how stoic he looked while staring at you. His face paled, his jaw clenched as he stood silently at the foot of the bed.

“Are you here to mock me, shadowsinger?” your voice interrupted his thoughts, finally making him look up to meet your eyes.

Azriel’s brow furrowed at your words and Cassian tensed at your side. He only shook his head, an apologetic look crossing his face as he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by you. 

“If you’re here to tell me how I should’ve just sucked it up and gone with you, how I’m only a weak female and I can’t handle missions like this, I don’t want to hear it.”

Oh. Oh, no. 

Realization struck Azriel in an instant, you didn’t remember anything about what you’d said to him. He tried to tug on the bond, a sympathetic look in his eyes as his heart lurched for you, but felt nothing. 

The pain tonics, they mess with the bond. She cannot feel you, brother, Rhysand said to him wordlessly, watching quietly from the other side of the room, she does not know that you’re reaching out to her, she doesn’t know that you know.

Azriel felt like he was going to vomit, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t go another minute without you knowing that he knew. But he knew better, he knew better than to throw this on you while healing from something so severe. So he looked at you once more with a calm and stoic expression, into your fiery eyes, knowing you were putting on a show of hatred just for him. 

“I wasn’t going to mock you, Y/N.” Azriel said matter-of-factly, shaking his head at the thought, “I was only going to tell you that I hope you feel better soon, and that I am sorry, for everything.”

Your stern gaze wavers for a moment, confusion crossing your once stern face at his last words. Before you could retort, he was rushing out the door, leaving one shadow behind to keep watch over you.

He thought you needed space, that you needed this time away from him to heal fully before he threw his heart at you, before he confessed how in love he’d been with you for so damn long. 

So he left. Left the House of Wind immediately, deciding that you were better off without him for now. 

But he missed the tear that slipped from your eye once he fled the room. He missed the way you were tugging against the bond as well, the golden strand too clouded by the tonics and poisons running through your veins to reach either side.

He missed the way you let out a small sob at his absence, fully recoiling into yourself as you thought that the only male you wanted couldn’t stand to be with you for more than two seconds. 

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[temiizpalace]

☆┆TEND TO MY WOUNDS !

SUMMARY: red alert! he’s injured! it’s alright, for the prefect of ramshackle is here to save the day.

CHARACTERS: leona, jade, jamil, rook, idia

(i spun a wheel to try and write other characters.. jamil and leona just love me teehee)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: the boys get injured, but nothing is life threatening. — cursing — MENTIONS OF BLEEDING (not fatal)

ROMANTIC, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🦁┆LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“shit! ow—“

leona groans, feeling the stinging pain of alcohol rubbed onto his forehead. spelldrive didn’t go as it usually did.

everything was normal. practice was going well, and everybody was doing the proper training regiments. it was all fun watching leona and everybody practice by a nearby tree. except leona wasn’t practicing this afternoon.

today, he felt like napping right beside you. he laid his head in your lap, sound asleep. this all goes south when some freshmen decide to mess around, sending the disc flying in your direction.

typically leona would’ve been able to divert it with magic, but feeling a little hazy from barely awakening, it hit him straight on the forehead.

now here you both are, present in the infirmary, leona sitting on the cot, and you being his own personal doctor. “i can’t believe the great leona kingscholar got hit by a spelldrive disc. it is truly an honor to witness it first hand.” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes.

“tch.. whatever— FUCK.” it’s funny to see leona in such a state. one where his tough guy act isn’t all the way up. you thought he’d brush off the pain like a man, but surprise! we learn something new everyday.

“haha.. wait here. i need to find bandages.” you walk over to the cabinet, only to find all the boxes of bandages empty. except for one. a bandaid box. you snicker at the sight of them and take a couple out of the box. leona raises a brow as he heard your giggling in the back til you made your way back towards him.

you stood in front of him and placed the bandaids on his forehead. he liked the close proximity. he likes being by your side. you caring for him like this is actually one of his deepest desires. he won’t ever say it aloud of course, but he hopes you take the hints.

“you are now officially cured.” you grin, finally applying the last bandaid. he stood up, looking you in the eyes. he wanted to thank you. wanted to thank you for helping him. wanted to thank you for caring enough about him to do this. to help him.

but leona being leona cannot say thank you. “..I don’t wanna owe you any favors so,” he pulls out his wallet from his pocket and throws it to you. you catch it, nearly dropping all the thaumarks inside on the floor. “go buy somethin’ while you’re at it.”

he ruffles your hair, walking out of the infirmary. you flip through the wallet, it barely closing due to the amount of cards and thaumarks inside. rich boy privileges go crazy. ruggie wasn’t kidding when he said leona was stinkin rich. all you could do was stand there, shocked.

leona walks back out to the field, hearing the team laugh as he approaches. he looks at them with a puzzled look, the laughing becoming unbearable. “oi, what’s so funny? mind tellin’?”

“cute bandaids ya got there, boss. shishishishi..” ruggie chuckles, looking at leona’s super cute and silly unicorn bandaids on his forehead. at first, he’s confused. then he rips a bandaid off and looks at the patterns.

start running <3

🐬┆JADE LEECH

“jade, stop moving!”

you sigh, trying to place a bandaid on jade’s cut. you wanted to help him cook today since mostro lounge has been extremely busy lately. azul had been working him to the bone, so he used his time off as a way to spend time with you.

only to end up back in the kitchen, but whatever. since you’re there, it’s all good. while chopping a mysterious vegetable, (it’s a mushroom..) he accidentally cut his finger. he wasn’t paying attention to where he was cutting. cause he was looking at you.

normally somebody would wince in pain, but jade is jade. so. “oh my, this is unexpected.” he says, as his blood gets on his gloves and contaminates the mushrooms. “oh my what— OH MY GOSH, JADE.” you yell, as he’s abnormally calm about the fact blood was all over the mushrooms.

so now he’s sitting at one of the barstools in mostro lounge as you try to patch up his finger. anytime the bandaid gets remotely close to the cut, he squirms and jerks his hand away. you can’t tell if he’s messing with you or if he’s just sensitive to touch because he still has his dumb polite smile.

“jade. stop. moving.” you grunt, trying to grab his wrist to hold his hand still. “fufu..” his stupid chuckle is usually very nice but it’s just growing irritating.

for some reason he still has the impulse to tease you. even when injured. all you want to do is care for him, so why is he making this so difficult?! is he waiting for something?

oh. that’s an idea.

“jade, may i see your hand?” you ask, putting the bandaid on the counter. he raises a brow, but complies nonetheless. “of course. do be gentle though, im wounded.” well no shit.

you held his hand gently, raising a finger up to your lips. you place a gentle kiss on his finger. not on the wound exactly, but near it. his eyes slightly widened and his cheeks tinted slightly red. he loses his composure for just a moment, giving you time to apply the bandaid onto his cut.

you smile in victory, standing up from your seat. “there, all better!” you winked at him before making your way back to the kitchen. he sat there, dumbfounded. how curious.. if that’s a way to get free kisses..

“oh dear, it appears i had just cut my lower lip. what a shame. it appears i am in need of some assistance.” this wasn’t even five minutes later.

🐍┆JAMIL VIPER

“you scream like a girl.”

you laugh as jamil looks away from you. he couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes. a little earlier, the both of you were sitting in the lounge of ramshackle as comfortable silence filled the air.

he was flipping through pages of a book while you leaned onto his shoulder, playing a game of some sort on your phone.

“..AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

that silence was interrupted as you heard a high pitched scream next to you, turning your head to see jamil absolutely mortified and panicked.

“JAMIL?! WHAT IS—“ then you spotted it. the wretched cockroach crawling on the table. he shut his book and threw it at the table, missing. now he’s grabbing all nearby objects to kill the insect.

“JAMIL PLEASE CALM DOWN, PLEASE! FUCK, JAMIL—” he ended up using his magic, but used a lil too much. as you held him back, his leg bumped against the table, causing him to scurry back to the couch.

confirming that the roach had cleared the premises, you sat next to him and checked the bump on his leg. his breaths were heavy and a sweat was across his brow. you would’ve thought he looked insanely attractive if it weren’t for the incident just before.

now he’s embarrassed, his hood is pulled over, and he’s pouting as he looks away from you. “i think you got a small cut, but it should be fine. i’ll go get some bandaids!” you hum, getting up from the cushions to find the box of bandages.

he completely humiliated himself in front of you. he was weak in front of you. and he hates that. “im back and here to repair your boo-boo.” you came back with the box, sitting back down and opening it. you remove a bandaid and slowly apply it til you hear him mutter something.

“sorry.”

“hm? sorry, couldn’t hear ya. mind speaking up for me?” you heard him perfectly fine. he irks before speaking up, his tone hinted with annoyance. “sorry.”

“all is forgiven, my love.” you smile, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hug. he sighs, reciprocating the hug and leaning onto you. “please forget you saw that..” he mumbles, his face practically burning.

you chuckle, playing with loose strands of his hair as the both of you now lied on the couch. “no promises..” he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, but placed a quick kiss on your cheek. he shuts his eyes, needing to recharge.

“mhm. love you too, jamil.” you whisper, allowing him to rest on your chest. he fell asleep in no time flat. let him rest. or even better yet, join him!

🏹┆ROOK HUNT

“how’d you fall?”

you ask, seeing as rook lied on the ground. i don’t know how to explain his pose, he’s just a theatre kid.

“never mind the details, ma chère. all that matters is that you had rushed to my rescue!” he smiles as you stood there. the most deadpan expression on your face. “i’ll just go get you bandages and not question it.” “merci!”

you rush to the infirmary, grabbing the bandages and rushing out. if nobody knew better, they’d all have assumed that rook was dead. he hasn’t moved an inch.

“where’d you injure yourself?” you ask, crouching down and inspecting his arms. “non, non. you must guess!” he laughs, sitting up right away. you groan as he initiated such an idea. “rook. im not going to guess—“

“if that is the case, ill be stuck in everlasting pain! it’d be unbearable.” he sighs dramatically, causing you to furrow your brow. “fine. did you injure your leg?” you grumble, checking each limb.

he shook his head, smiling like an absolute idiot. “here, allow me to give you a hint.” he grabs your hand guiding it to the place of the wound. of course he can’t do it without teasing you a little.

he places your hand on his shoulder, his hand, his neck, til eventually he stopped on his cheek. “my injury can be found around here.”

you look at his cheek, but there is no cut, scratch, or bruise to be seen. you raise a brow at him, but he has no shift in reaction. “rook, are you lying to me?” rook shook his head, looking you in the eyes. “I wouldn’t lie to you, mon amour. perhaps you need a closer look.”

before he could even explain what that meant, he pulled you towards him. causing you to fall onto him. “can you see it now?” he asks, staring at you lovingly.

you sigh, pulling a bandage out and placing it onto his lips. his eyes widened, but he wasn’t mad. not in the slightest! he wrapped his arms around you. taking this opportunity for a cuddle session.

despite your “annoyance,” you smiled and laughed slightly. “you’re impossible, rook.”

he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, humming happily as you spoke. his fingers intertwined with yours as the sun hit both of your figures. creating a scene resembling one of a fairytale.

💀┆IDIA SHROUD

“you can’t lock yourself into your room because of this.”

you slightly chuckle as you patch up idia’s knee. moments before, his PE class had to do the sprints. looks like he went to class on the wrong day.

while he was running, he tripped on a conveniently placed rock and fell on his knee. ortho quickly went to find you and bring you to idia so that you can comfort him.

he had tears coming from his eyes, which caused ortho to panic. you both carried him to the infirmary since he had an inability to walk. you situated him onto the cot and grabbed some bandages from the cabinets. “don’t worry niisan! the prefect will take good care of you!”

ortho chimed, trying his best to comfort his brother. idia felt his stress lessen, but that doesn’t change the immense pain he was in. “thank you, ortho. but i don’t im ever gonna to go outside again.”

he mumbles, causing ortho to pout. you come back with the bandages, smiling as you sat to the side of the cot. “im gonna have to go explain to coach vargas why you’re not here! hang tight, niisan!”

you waved to ortho, leaving just you and idia in the infirmary. “idia, you’re not going to die because of this.” you smile, placing the bandage onto his knee. idia groans, picking at his fingers. “i looked so cringe just now. definitely not my moment.”

“you didn’t look cringe, idia. you got hurt.” you grabbed his hand and held it in yours. he smiles slightly as you tried to reassure him. it was endearing to him. “thanks.. but i want to lock myself in my room for like ever after this..” he quickly mutters, hoping you wouldn’t hear that. surprise! you heard him.

“no idia, you can’t lock yourself in your room forever after this.” you sigh, realizing this was the man you fell in love with. “what? you can come too. you’d be free from all the normies surrounding you.” he stated bluntly.

“..no.” you hesitantly said, squeezing his hand slightly. you both sat in the infirmary for a few more moments before you sat up and let go of his hand. “can you stand?”

“no.” he quickly replies, not even bothering to try. you stare at him before exhaling deeply. “i’ll bring your switch then. wait here.” he smiled as he watched you exit the room. he appreciated how understanding you were. how you knew what he wanted before he even had to ask. ..well, most of the time anyway.

when you came back, you sat next to him on the cot. you both played smash bros together, playing until the console runs out of batteries. lucky for him, his console lasts for almost an entire week before it runs out of power.

let me just say, he beat your ass in smash bros.

A/N: this sat in my drafts for a very long time. i had to brainstorm A LOT to see how idia could get injured.

date published: 1/27/24

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

[ultravioletrayz]

This idea has been rotting in my head, and I have to let you know!

Giving Miguel a handjob in his office but even when he cums you still continue, his cum pooling over your hand and his dick, making Miguel a moaning mess, eyes rolling back saying “no more, can’t—too much!” basically overstimulating miguel with a handjob :3

Poor Miggy :(

ANYWAYS-

Pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, subby!miguel, handjob, overstimulation (m. receiving), praise kink

Summary: overstimulating miguel!!

A/N: sorry this is so short, I kinda focused in on the point of action. I might make a longer fic in future and incorporate something similar tho

Word Count: 530 (unedited)

“Mmph- fuck! Cariño, por favor. No puedo.” Miguel whimpers, his voice muffled by the hand you have lazily held over his pretty lips. His hips jolt and buck in his desk chair, signalling that he’s approaching yet another orgasm.

Your hand is coated with thick, creamy ropes of his cum, his chair stained with his release causing his thighs to twitch at the feeling of his seed dripping onto the floor of his office. The office he had begged you to follow him into so that you could help him release some stress. It was supposed to be just a quickie, a handjob from his pretty girl, a few passionate kisses, and then the two of you returning to work. But two orgasms in, Miguel knew that he wasn’t escaping your grasp.

“Shh, Miguel,” You coo, licking at the side of Miguel’s throat, forcing another string of adorable little whines out of him. “You’re being such a good boy f’me, just one more, yeah? One more time, baby.”

Miguel shakes his head, his sharp red eyes rolling back as a few tears roll down his flushed cheeks due to just how overwhelmed he is, how sensitive his stupidly fat cock is now that your skilful hands have ripped four orgasms from his tense body and your words of praise travel straight to his balls.

“Mami, I can’t- hah! I can’t come anymore!” Miguel whimpers, eyes locked on the way your glistening hand strokes his aching cock, the veins on either side bulging as the wet, gushy sounds of you pumping his creamy dick fill his otherwise silent office.

“Yes you can, honey. You’re doing so well, it’d be a shame to stop now.” You whisper, nibbling on Miguel’s ear just to take advantage of his vulnerability in this heated moment.

Miguel yelps and whimpers as his back arches against the headrest of the chair, the sweat on his tall, tan, muscular body catching the light and making his skin shimmer in a way that has you weak in the knees, opting to jerk him off at an even faster pace that has him crying and digging his claws into the seat underneath him.

His hips spasm as he whimpers against your hand, drool being smeared all over your palm as his sharp red eyes look up into your own, his gaze tired yet loving as your pretty hands send him to his peak once again.

Miguel screams your name as his throbbing cock spurts thick, sticky ropes of cum into the air, the excess trickling down his shaft and saturating his heavy, trembling balls. He closes his eyes and pants, giving your hand a few quick pecks before you pull it away.

“Mi alma,” He whispers, letting his head fall back against your chest as you stand behind him with a box of tissues (because it was going to take the whole box to clean up the absolute mess of cum covering his quivering body).

“I’m here, Migs, I’m here,” You whisper, kissing the top of his head as you bring a tissue to the tip of his cock, earning a whiny moan from Miguel.

Well, he certainly didn’t feel stressed anymore.

On an unrelated note, happy new year!! 💜