#i would like to be alone without the expectation of doing something please | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Test Drive

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You have a late night encounter with The Void

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as there is Bob in this and there is The Void in this as well. This fic is kinda dark, this is The Void we are dealing with here, there are dark themes/elements explored in this story (but I will emphasize that everything is consensual in this), The Void talks kinda badly about Bob, Bob and Reader have an established friendship and both of them have feelings for one another that have been left unspoken, there is smut and angst in this as well, and a lot of Emotional Tension, The Void is kind of Obsessed with you too…

Smut Warnings: To be a bit on the safe side I would say this is Dub Con (it could kind of be looked at like that, I didn’t write it with those intentions but just in case I wanted to put it there), Unprotected P in V Sex (please…If you’re going to have sex with entities like this wrap it up lol), The Void is Dominant as shit in this, There is Biting, Scratching, Markings left on the Reader, Dacryphilia (The Void likes tears…), Hair Pulling, Fingering, A little bit of humiliation? A bit of fem! Oral sex too.

Author’s Note: Howdy y’all…Well…This is my first Void Smut lol and jeez lord I really had to sink into it a bit and dig. This is my interpretation of how The Void would do or handle things, I didn’t want to go too extreme, but I liked the request (made by @miss-whiddlesmort ) and hope that it meets expectations! Enjoy :)

Word Count: 7,759

The night you met The Void officially, you thought you were hallucinating or living out a real-life nightmare.

You had woken in your bed at the compound, drenched in sweat and tangled in your dampened sheets. The clock on the wall blinked 3:17 a.m. in red, hazy numbers.

That alone wasn’t new.

You’d had nights like this before–restless, disturbed, aching for something unnamed but constant. But this night was different.

There was a pressure in the room. A wrongness that seeped in through your pores and clamped around your lungs.

The air was too still, too silent. And the temperature–God, the cold–it wasn’t natural. It sank into your bones like frostbite, numbing your limbs before you’d even sat up. You clutched your chest with a trembling hand, your heart fluttering against your ribs like a bird trapped in glass.

Your nightshirt clung to your damp skin, and as you wiped the sweat from your brow, you realized it wasn’t just perspiration. It was fear. Primal. Instinctive. As if your body recognized something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

The shadows in your room were darker than usual. Not thicker. Not blacker. Just…Deeper. Like they had weight. Like they were watching.

You blinked, trying to let your eyes adjust to the darkness.

And then the corner moved.

Not a trick of light. Not sleep haze. The shadows moved–separating from the darkness like smoke drawn backward through a vent. Tall. Silent. Fluid.

Something seeped forward.

And when it stepped into the faint light slicing through your blinds, your breath caught.

Bob.

No. Not Bob.

The shape was his. The height, the shoulders, the outline of his jaw. The way his mouth curved slightly at the corners like he was seconds away from smiling. You’d seen that shape slouched on the couch during late-night movie marathons. You’d seen it standing barefoot in the kitchen making tea. You’d memorized it without meaning to.

But this…This wasn’t him.

His form was made of shadow, but it held. It wasn’t formless. It wasn’t drifting. It was shaped with purpose–an echo of the man you knew, but built from smoke and malice. His skin, if you could call it that, moved like a storm behind thin glass. Unstable. Eternal. His hair bled into the void around him, lost to darkness.

And his eyes–those weren’t Bob’s eyes. No blue, no softness. Just two white voids of light. Blank and endless. Not glowing with heat, but glowing like distant stars–cold, ancient, unreachable.

His mouth, though–from what you could see– was pale and sharp and curled ever so slightly, like he knew something you didn’t.

Your body was frozen, but not from fear alone. There was something else. Something creeping beneath your skin, worming into the base of your spine.

Then he spoke.

“So this is who he dreams about,” He murmured, voice low and silken–too smooth. The kind of voice that didn’t need to raise itself to command. A voice that made your blood slow.

It curled around your ears like smoke. Like a whisper just for you.

“I wanted to see for myself.” He took a step forward, and the air folded inward, like the room itself recoiled around his form. He didn’t walk–he glided, impossibly smooth, like the world didn’t apply to him in the same way it did to everything else. He made the shadows stretch with him, bend for him.

You couldn’t breathe, but you could feel yourself cowering slightly, afraid of what his next move might be. Being in a room alone with him was like a ticking time bomb, you had witnessed him only once, and that was with Bob present to defend everyone from him…Now was not the case.

“You think he doesn’t know?” The Void asked, tilting his head just slightly, like he was marveling at a secret. “The way you look at him?”

His voice was nearly a whisper now, soft and deliberate. “The way your breath catches when he smiles at someone else. How you light up when he says your name. How your thighs tense when he accidentally brushes your arm in the hallway.”

He was closer now–too close–and every inch of his presence filled your skin with that same biting chill. It sank into your bones, into your lungs, until your shiver wasn’t just fear, but anticipation you didn’t want to name. The scent of ozone, and burnt concrete itched your nose, and there was something earthy beneath it all, like he had been pulled out of the ground.

“I could smell it on you when I woke,” He murmured, lifting one hand. His fingers hovered just beside your cheek, not quite touching, but you could feel it–like static in the air, cold and prickling. “The heat. The ache. You wanted him to come to your door tonight, didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard. “He’s not–he wouldn’t–”

The Void laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t manic. It was soft, and deep–it vibrated into your chest. And that was worse.

“Of course not. He’s Bob,” The Void said with a sneer beneath the velvet of his voice. “Sweet. Gentle. Terrified of his own hunger. He’s dying to touch you–but he won’t. Because he’s weak.”

His hand touched your jaw. Cold. Unrelenting.

“You would’ve given yourself to him,” He whispered, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. “If he asked. You would’ve spread your thighs like a prayer and begged him to take you. And he’d be too afraid to move.” You whimpered, more from the sting of that truth than from his touch. The Void leaned closer, and you could feel his mouth–just hovering above yours, the barest breath of sensation. Not warmth. Nothing about him was warm. Just the presence of absence itself. He wasn’t breathing–at least not the way humans do–but somehow, you could feel it: cold tendrils of air that weren’t air at all, seeping from his lips to yours like he was pouring frost into your lungs.

His hand slid beneath your chin, fingers long, cold and elegant, as if carved from obsidian smoke. They curved under your jaw with inhuman precision–lifting your face toward him with a gentleness that betrayed none of the power coiled in his touch.

“Look at me,” He said, voice low and silken. It didn’t echo in your ears–it vibrated through you. Beneath your ribs. In your spine. Like something whispered through a cathedral built only for nightmares.

And when you did–when your eyes met those twin, glowing voids of light–you felt your thoughts stutter.

He didn’t just look at you. He reached into you with that stare. Unraveling the parts you kept hidden even from yourself.

“I know everything you want,” He cooed, his lips brushing your cheek now, the chill of him raising goosebumps across your entire body. “Every suppressed breath. Every trembling thought. Every filthy little ache that keeps you awake.”

Your throat tightened. Your lips parted–but not to speak. You couldn’t have spoken if you tried.

He hovered there like a vampire from a storybook dream, all sin and shadows, all impossible temptation wrapped in the shape of the man you secretly loved. But colder. Sharper. And infinitely crueler. Your lips trembled. You tried to speak–tried to summon words, a command, a plea, anything–but all that came out was a faint breath:

“B–Bob…”

The Void stilled. Just for a moment.

And then he smiled.

Not sweetly. Not kindly.

The corners of his mouth curled upward with slow, surgical delight. Like he’d been waiting to hear that name spill out of your mouth and now that it had, he could savor it like blood on his tongue.

“No,” He said, his voice even lower now–darker, closer. His thumb pressed more firmly against your chin. “Don’t say his name like that. Not here. Not while I’m the one who has you.”

You tried to look away, to break eye contact, but his hand shifted, guiding your gaze back to him like a puppeteer tugging on strings.

“He wouldn’t know what to do with you,” The Void continued, his breathless voice curling around your spine, holding onto it. “He’d be so afraid to hurt you, he’d never touch you the way you need.”

His other hand moved–ghosting down your shoulder, across your arm–cold, trailing goosebumps in its wake. You shivered beneath the touch, not just from the chill but from the fact that you didn’t pull away.

You should have.

You should be demanding he leave. But you weren’t.

Because your body, traitorous and trembling, was reacting to his every move and hanging on anticipation.

His fingers slid downward with slow, excruciating purpose, skimming over the curve of your chest–your nightshirt thin and damp against your skin. And when the pad of his index finger ghosted across your nipple–already perked beneath the fabric from the cold, you gasped.

You didn’t mean to. But you did.

You felt it–felt how your back arched the tiniest bit, how your hips shifted, how your thighs pressed closer together beneath the sheets. It was instinctual. Automatic.

Mortifying.

Arousal curled through your stomach like steam, hot and confusing.

His voice dropped into something darker. Amused.

“Oh,” The Void breathed, fingertips circling once, lazily, over your breast. “You feel it too.”

“I–” You choked, the sound sticking in your throat.

“You shouldn’t,” He interrupted, drawing his hand downward, trailing over the soft dip of your belly now. “You know that…But you feel it regardless.”

His palm found your thigh–bare where your nightshirt had ridden up–and he let it rest there, cold and heavy. Possessive. The contrast of his icy skin on your overheated flesh made your whole body twitch.

Your heart was slamming in your chest now. Erratic. Desperate. You could hear it in your ears, feel it in your fingertips, in your pulsing core.

His thumb stroked slow, cold circles against the flesh of your thigh–each one burning in reverse. Your skin prickled with goosebumps even as heat started to pool low in your belly. The contact was barely pressure, but it might as well have been chains. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe without taking more of him in.

His mouth hovered above yours, still not kissing. Still denying. Just close enough to own the air between you, to breathe you and all your sensations in.

Every breath you took was through him. And every breath he gave you, he took something with it.

“You’re wet,” He whispered, voice dark and delighted. “You’re shaking and aching–but you’re wet.”

His lips skimmed your cheek again. His nose nuzzled softly beneath your ear, like a lover might, if a lover was made of cold smoke and unspeakable things.

“That’s what scares you most, isn’t it?” He purred, a smile in his voice. “Not me. You. The part of you that wants this.”

Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut again. And of course–of course–that was when he said it:

“You’re pretending it’s him right now.”

Your whole body went still.

“You’re closing your eyes and painting his face over mine. Giving his heat to my hands. Imagining him finally breaking. Finally taking what he wants.”

His hand trailed upward, fingers brushing the crease where your thigh met your aching core.

You moaned–quiet and shameful.

“And that’s fine,” He whispered. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

He exhaled again–his breath sliding straight into your mouth, down your throat, curling around your insides like frost. You trembled beneath it.

“I’m here because you want him so badly,” He teased, “You’ll let anyone who looks like him fuck you.”

His words struck hard, and heat flooded your face–burning your ears, your cheeks. You felt exposed. Humiliated. But your hips still shifted beneath his palm.

“You think it’s wrong,” He continued, as his fingers began drawing slow circles through the thin damp cotton of your underwear. “To be turned on by me.”

His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “But it’s not...”

You gasped, trying to speak. But his hand lifted again–just enough to make your body whimper in protest at the loss.

His lips turned up against your jaw.

“Now,” He said, his voice velvet and bone. “Let’s make a deal.”

Your eyes fluttered open–blurry, dizzy, dazed.

His glowing ones were waiting for you.

“I’ll let you pretend that I’m him,” He whispered, voice like the crackle of burning ice, as his hand slipped up towards the waistband of your underwear, trailing his thumb along the elastic before disappearing beneath it–your thighs separating slightly, feeling his fingers find your clit instantly with cold perscision.

And you moaned–a soft, broken sound that escaped before you could stop it, muffled against his mouth as your lips hovered just shy of his. You weren’t even kissing yet, but it felt like you were inside it–like you were already swallowed whole by the gravity between you.

His breath hitched.

His thumb circled slowly, then again–each pass was more deliberate, more devastating. The heat building inside you was unbearable now, your thighs trembling, your core pulsing, your breath nothing but fractured gasps drawn from his air.

“You feel that?” He breathed, his voice like crushed silk, smooth and vicious. “That ache you’ve been living with for months–how easily it folds under my hand.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

His fingers moved with cruel grace–unrelenting, skilled in a way that made your knees curl up slightly and your hips roll without thought. Like your body was begging him to stay there. To keep going.

“You don’t even need me to finish the offer, do you?” He whispered against your lips. “You already know what I’m giving you. And you want it.”

You trembled. “S-Say it anyway,” The words came out broken from your throat, distracted by the feeling of his fingers, and the thoughts of Bob plaguing your mind already.

His smile was carved ice.

“I’ll let you pretend I’m him. All night. I’ll make you sob for it. Shake. Come until you forget your name,” He purred, fingers still working slow, filthy circles that had your legs twitching. “And when morning comes, he won’t remember a thing. But you will. Every inch. Every sound. Every thrust.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, his breath catching on your next inhale. “You get to pretend he was brave enough to take what you gave him.”

The pad of his middle finger pressed down harder, applying the perfect hint pressure, and your head dropped back with a quiet, whimpering cry.

Then–his voice, low and demanding:

“So say…It’s a deal…”

Your answer wasn’t a whisper. It wasn’t broken.

It was plain. Certain. Cut from your throat like a spell:

“Yes.”

The Void groaned–dark and low, like he felt that word slide into him like lightning.

Then he kissed you.

It pulled you apart at the seams, stealing every breath and sound and shred of hesitation you had left. His lips were cold, brutal, claiming your mouth like it was already his. His tongue swept into you with a force that left no room for thinking, only reacting–tasting every gasp, every soft whimper, like he wanted to learn you from the inside out.

And all the while, his fingers never stopped.

Circling. Stroking. Pressing into that aching bundle of nerves with precision that felt unholy.

It wasn’t fair–how good it felt. Your thighs were trembling, your hands fisting in the sheets as your hips rolled helplessly beneath the weight of his palm. You weren’t guiding any of it anymore. Your body was answering him like a prayer–instinctive, desperate, worshipful.

The heat inside you was like a storm cracking through your core. Your belly tightened, breath stuttering, back arching as he kept his rhythm–slow enough to tease, hard enough to devastate. Your moans were muffled by his kiss, swallowed like secrets. But he heard them. He fed on them.

When he pulled back, a strand of spit still connected your lips to his, glistening between you in the dark.

“Look at you,” He murmured, voice low and reverent. “Already falling apart. And I’ve barely touched you.”

Your chest heaved, your skin burning with fevered need, your hands gripping the fabric beneath you like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

His fingers withdrew from your underwear–not to stop, but to hook into the waistband and pull them down your legs in a single smooth motion. You flinched, breath catching as the cool air hit your slick heat, now fully exposed.

The Void knelt on the edge of the bed, eyes drinking you in. His glowing stare raked over every inch of you–spread out, trembling, glistening with sweat and arousal, your thighs parted for him like an offering.

“Mine,” He said simply, cold fingers curling around your knees to drag you closer to the edge. “Even if he never dares to take you…You’re already mine.”

You gasped as he leaned in–and licked you.

One, slow stroke of his tongue from your core to your clit. Cold and so precise, you thought you might scream.

You let out soft sob–a broken, high sound that ripped from your throat without your permission.

His tongue pressed harder, licking again, again–unrelenting. Each movement of his mouth was calculated to destroy. To burn. He sucked your clit between his lips, not gently, but with purpose. Claiming. Consuming. You cried out, hands flying to his hair–or where his hair should’ve been. It wasn’t soft. It was smoke. Cold, silk-like shadow that rippled through your fingers, impossibly smooth.

And that was when he looked up.

Eyes like galaxies–white, blinding, ancient–locked onto yours, but all you could picture was Bob’s baby blues instead. You realized your face was wet. You were crying.

From the pleasure. From the ache that was finally being dealt with. From the heat and the way your own body was betraying every moral line you’d ever drawn.

He saw it.

And he moaned.

Low. Dark. A sound of pure, vicious delight.

“Oh…” He whispered, voice cracking like ice underfoot. His shadowed lips glistened with your slick as he rose up again, fingers returning to your clit again to keep the friction, stroking with even more purpose. “That’s what I wanted.”

His free hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face so he could see the tears streaming down your skin. His thumb smudged one under your eye, then dragged it to your mouth, pressing it between your parted lips.

“Open,” He commanded, voice honeyed with sin.

You listened to him, and felt the wet pad of his thumb press onto your tongue. You tasted the salt.

He smiled.

“Beautiful,” He breathed. “Fucking beautiful.”

And then he pushed two fingers inside you–slowly, and deliberately so he could watch every reaction come up on your face. His fingers curled just right, and your whole body arched–an electric jolt of pleasure snatching the breath from your lungs. You were spread wide for him now, every nerve ending lit, pulsing, raw. The tears on your cheeks hadn’t even dried, and he was already dragging another cry from your throat.

“You’re picturing him now, aren’t you?” The Void murmured, voice velvet over a blade. His forehead pressed against yours, his body so close you could feel the cold hum of his power licking against your skin. “Every time I move inside you… You pretend it’s him.”

You whimpered–because you were. You couldn’t help it.

You weren’t just picturing Bob’s face–you were reaching for his warmth, his shy hands, the softness in his voice, the revenant way he might have touched you if he weren’t so afraid. But The Void moved like he already knew everything Bob wouldn’t do.

And somehow, that hurt.

“You want it to be him,” The Void whispered, curling his fingers again, harder this time, making your eyes roll back. “Sweet, trembling Bob. Who’d kiss your thighs before he ever put his fingers in you. Who’d ask you twice if it’s okay. Who’d thank you when you came.”

He laughed softly, but not unkindly. The sound was dark–yes–but laced with something deeper. Possession. Hunger.

“Poor thing,” He crooned. “You’ve been dreaming of him for so long, you don’t even care who makes it real, do you? You just need it. You need to feel.”

His fingers began to thrust now–slow, deep, deliberate. Every motion wrung a moan from your mouth. Your hips moved helplessly with his rhythm, chasing friction, chasing something that felt dangerously close to breaking again.

“But I can do it for him,” The Void purred, his lips grazing your jaw, your ear, your temple. “I can fuck you like he never will. Let you feel what it’s like to be wanted without the fear of ruining your little friendship. Touched without hesitation.”

Your breath hitched. Your legs trembled. His thumb returned to your clit and circled–one cruel, precise motion that made your whole body lock up in place.

“You want to hear him say it?” The Void asked. “You want to hear what he’d never dare whisper in your ear?”

You couldn’t even answer. Your mouth opened–but the sound that came out was just a needy little gasp, half-sob, half-beg.

He smiled–so close you could taste it. Then–

“You feel so fucking perfect,” He whispered, but it was Bob’s voice now.

Or at least, it was close. A mimic. A shadow with just enough truth to break you.

“I think about this every night. Your skin under my hands. The sounds you’d make. The way your thighs would tremble when I finally touched you like this–” His fingers thrust harder–deep and brutal and exact “–God, sweetheart. I’d ruin you.”

You moaned–loud and raw, your whole body jolting at the sound of those words in his voice. You weren’t just picturing him now–you were with him. In some twisted way, he was here, folded into the darkness.

“I’d kiss you everywhere,” The Void murmured, still using Bob’s warmth, that breathless awe, as if he knew exactly how Bob would sound if he let go. “Worship you. Fuck you slow until you cried.”

His fingers drove deeper. Your orgasm clawed at your spine–hot, frantic, building fast.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He whispered, back in his own voice now. “You’d let him fall apart inside you.”

You nodded–desperate, whimpering, eyes wet again.

“Then do it,” He hissed. “Come for him, and then let me take you...”

That was it.

The wave crashed.

You shattered.

Your mouth dropped open, a silent cry tearing from your chest as you pulsed hard around his fingers–clenching, sobbing, breaking on the pleasure that stole your name and your breath in one brutal, beautiful stroke.

And as you came, The Void held you–his body pressed against yours like a shroud, his cheek to yours, his fingers still pumping slowly and deep to drag every last aftershock from your spent, and shuddering body.

“There you go,” He cooed, voice a low, tender growl. “Cry for me, pretty thing.”

He kissed your temple softly, before trailing his lips along the set of tears that slipped down your cheeks.

Your chest rose and fell in stuttered waves, limbs limp and trembling beneath him. Every inch of you throbbed, overstimulated, but not satiated. Not completely. Because his fingers were still inside you—slow now, gentler, curling with reverence as he coaxed the last pulses of your orgasm from deep within.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, slick with sweat and tears. And when your lips parted, your voice came out cracked–rasped from the inside out:

“Fuck…” You breathed, “That was–God, that was good…”

The Void stilled for just a moment.

Then his smile returned–sharp and cold and devastatingly pleased. He leaned back to look at you, eyes glowing with that eerie celestial light, drinking in your wrecked form.

“You liked that,” He said softly. Not a question.

Your hips shifted involuntarily, and your breath hitched. His fingers were still inside you, still nestled where you were slick and twitching around him. He pulled them back slightly–just enough to make you whimper.

“I knew you would,” He murmured. “But that?” His eyes darkened. “That was only the beginning.”

Your eyes fluttered open, still glassy, still wet.

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your throat–then another, lower, near your collarbone.

“I think I can make you come a few more times,” He whispered against your skin. “Or make you beg louder. Or shake so bad you forget what planet you’re on.”

You whimpered, the sound caught halfway between arousal and disbelief. He was still moving–slow, hypnotic thrusts of his fingers, shallow and wet, punctuated by the brush of his palm against your clit.

“I could do it again,” He offered, voice molten silk. “Right now. Just like this.”

You moaned, legs twitching under him, your nails digging into his back–into smoke and shadow that somehow felt like flesh.

“Or,” He continued, pulling back just enough to let you see the tilt of his grin–wolfish, dark, almost giddy with the hunt. “We could go deeper.”

His free hand slipped between your bodies, trailing down.

You followed his gaze down to where his other hand was reaching–toward the shadow that made up his lower half, that strange blend of form and nothingness, unreal and solid all at once. His fingers curled into it like mist–like he was parting smoke–and then, impossibly, flesh formed. Real. Heavy. Hard.

You gasped, eyes widening, your thighs tightening reflexively.

Because he wasn’t just teasing anymore.

He was becoming, and your breath caught. You felt his fingers slipping out of you.

“I told you,” He purred, watching your face intently, hand now slowly stroking himself to full form. “I’ll let you pretend.”

His hips pressed closer–just enough that you could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, thick and cold against the sensitive inside of your thigh.

“But this part?” He whispered, mouth brushing yours. “This is ours…”

He rutted slowly once against you, just to make you feel it–slick from your own release, heavy where it nestled against your folds. Not inside. Not yet.

“I can make you see stars,” He said, and this time there was something almost reverent in his voice. “But only if you want it.”

You looked at him–at those impossible eyes, that cruel mouth now softened by the barest trace of awe. You swallowed hard, still trembling from the last orgasm that hadn’t quite left your body–and yet, your breath was already quickening again.

Your lips brushed his as you whispered, “Let’s try.”

The moment the words left your mouth, the world seemed to shift.

The Void moved faster than thought–one moment he was kneeling over you like a storm, the next he was lifting you effortlessly into the air, your body limp and pliant in his cold hands. He cradled you with ease, his strength vast but controlled, like gravity bent to his will. And then he sat.

Pulling you into his lap.

You landed straddling him, thighs trembling as you folded around him, knees bent on either side of his hips, his chest flush against yours. It was an impossible contrast–intimate, meditative, sacred–and yet soaked in power, in shadow, in lust. Your legs wrapped around him, feet tucked behind his back, body completely enveloped in his. His arms cradled your waist, his hands spanning your lower back and hips like they were made to hold you this way. The cool weight of his cock pulsed against your core–thick and solid now, slick from your arousal and his own precum, perfectly aligned with your entrance. But before he moved–he looked at you.

Really looked.

Glowing eyes drank in your flushed cheeks, your sweat-slicked skin, your trembling lips. Then, one hand reached up–slowly, reverently–and gripped the hem of your nightshirt.

“Off,” He murmured.

You raised your arms, and he pulled it over your head with one smooth motion dropping it off the side of the bed.

His breath–if it could be called that–hitched. Visibly. Audibly.

He stared like he hadn’t just undressed you–but like he’d uncovered something holy. His palms rose reverently to your chest, cool thumbs brushing softly over your nipples before flattening his hands to feel the curve and weight of you. You gasped, arching slightly, the contrast of his chill against your overheated skin enough to make your breath falter.

Then–he leaned in.

And sank his teeth into the soft underside of your breast.

Not hard. But deliberate. A nip that sent shockwaves down your spine, followed by the cold, wet drag of his tongue as he licked over the mark he left behind. And then he sucked. Deep. Long. Obsessive. His mouth sealed over your skin with a hunger that made your thighs clench tighter around his hips.

Another kiss. Another bite. Another bruise left behind like a brand.

His voice, muffled against your chest, purred, “You’re mine for tonight…But I want you wearing me for days…”

His hands gripped your hips, adjusting the angle of your body until the head of his cock slid against your folds–slow, teasing friction that sent a tremble rolling through you both.

He rutted upward once–just enough to make your breath catch and your slick spread over him in a glossy smear. He groaned softly, dragging the thick head of himself over your clit and down again, never breaching–just letting the sensation throb between you.

“Feel that?” He asked, his lips brushing your nipple before he kissed it again–wet and possessive. “You’re making me this hard… Just by looking like this. Crying like that. And you still haven’t taken me inside.”

You whimpered, shivering against him, your forehead pressed to his shoulder.

He pulled back–his hands trailing along your sides until one gripped your ass, fingers spreading the flesh like he owned it, while the other slid up your spine and settled flat against your back. Cold. Claiming.

Then, his mouth curved into something wicked at your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” He whispered, voice dark silk, low and promising. “Nice and slow. Let you feel every inch sink in while I hold you like this–while I make you forget who you were before I touched you.”Your body responded before your words could. Your hips rolled forward–seeking. Inviting.

He smiled.

And helped you lower yourself.

You gasped–both of you did–as the head of him breached your entrance. You felt him twitch against your fluttering walls as he pushed in, inch by inch, thick and ice-slick and infinite. The stretch was sharp, hot despite his coldness, and your fingernails bit into his shoulders as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck—” he choked, his voice breaking for the first time. His hand on your back raked downward–fingertips dragging along your spine like he was trying to anchor himself to your heat. “You’re so—tight. So wet. It’s like—fuck, it’s like drowning in fire…”

He sank in deeper, inch by inch, until your thighs trembled and your moan broke open against his skin.

His mouth pressed to your temple, to your jaw, to your shoulder–his lips and teeth grazing every part of you he could reach as he bottomed out, his cock fully sheathed inside you.

One hand held you at the base of your spine, the other gripping your ass tight, grounding you as you both breathed through it.

“I’ve waited eons to feel this,” He whispered, kissing the tear-tracks on your cheeks as your bodies finally stilled–locked together, shaking, throbbing, full. He just held you there–trembling, locked around him like your body had been sculpted for this exact moment. You could feel every inch of him inside you, feel how he throbbed cold and thick against the fluttering pulse of your inner walls. Your forehead was pressed against his shoulder, your breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as your body adjusted to the invasion, to the way he filled every aching space inside you.

Then his hand slid higher–up your spine, over your shoulder, until it gripped the back of your neck.

“Lift your head,” He commanded, voice dark silk wrapped around barbed wire.

You obeyed without thinking, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.

“More,” He growled. “I want that pretty throat bared for me.”

You arched your neck–slow, trembling, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat to him. The movement made your body shift around him, made your inner muscles clench, and he groaned like it took effort not to slam into you.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, reverent now–hungry. “So obedient. So fucking beautiful like this…”

Then he leaned in–and dragged his teeth down your exposed neck, going to the little space right where your jugular notch is, the soft dip where the mark would be hidden beneath a shirt.

His bite sent lightning down your spine–sharp, claiming, undeniable. You cried out, arching into it, your hips shifting involuntarily around the thick stretch of him still buried inside you. And then his mouth lifted from your skin, and his voice rasped against your throat—ragged now, edged with something more dangerous than control.

“I’m going to leave a mark there,” he growled. “Where only I will know. Where he will never dare to look.”

And then his hand–still braced at the back of your neck–scraped down your spine.

His nails weren’t blunt. Not human. They dragged like talons, cold and precise, raking over your skin in slow, deliberate lines. You gasped–half in pain, half in stunned, coiling pleasure–as red-hot welts bloomed in their wake. Your back arched, offering more, shivering for more, even as your throat formed a soundless whimper.

“You feel that?” The Void purred, voice low and taunting. “That’s not his touch. Bob could never do this to you.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into the slick cold of his not-skin.

And then, you said it.

“Bob…”

You felt the growl before you heard it. A deep, guttural noise vibrated from his chest and into yours. His hands snapped to your hips, fingers digging hard into your flesh as he slammed up into you–one hard, vicious thrust that ripped a sob from your lips.

“Say it again,” He hissed. “Say it while I fuck you like he never will.”

“Bob—” You moaned, desperate, wrecked.

He thrust again. Harder. Sharper. The sound of your bodies colliding echoed off the walls.

“Say it like you mean it,” He snarled, thrusting so deep your breath left your lungs.

“Fuck—Bob, yes—”

His rhythm turned brutal–deliberate and punishing, like he wanted to carve himself into your memory one thrust at a time. His grip on your hips tightened until it bordered on bruising, dragging you down to meet every savage snap of his hips.

But you weren’t passive.

You moved with him.

Clawing at his back. Grinding down. Letting your lips ghost over his neck, whispering, “You’d never touch me like this if you were really him.”

He froze. Just for a second.

And you took it.

You rolled your hips, grinding down, deep and slow—until he moaned.

His grip faltered. Just a touch.

And you smiled—broken, breathless, wild.

“You hate it, don’t you?” You gasped into his ear. “That I’m still thinking of him. That even while you’re inside me, I want his hands.”

The Void snapped.

He flipped you again, this time with no gentleness, slamming you down onto your back and dragging your legs wide around his waist. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, and he drove into you with a snarl.

“Say his name again, and I’ll make sure you never stop shaking,” He growled, hips rutting into yours with devastating force.

“Bob—” You cried out, defiant and desperate.

And he fucked you harder.

Flesh and smoke. Fire and ice. The rhythm of him was relentless now–like he wanted to break you open and live inside the pieces.

His hand released your wrists only to grab your throat, tilting your face toward his as he hovered above you, his glowing eyes wild and endless.

“I could make you forget who he even is,” He rasped. “I could fuck you so deep you only remember me.”

You moaned beneath him, arching up, mouth open and shaking.

But your whisper cut sharper than any scream.

“Then why do you still wear his face?”

He froze.

The Void’s eyes flared–bright and blinding, rage and lust and something else fracturing through them.

Then he slammed into you.

And again.

No words. Just motion. Just force.

You cried out–louder now–legs wrapped around his waist, arms clawing at his back as he fucked you like he wanted to erase you.

And all you could do was sob his name–

“Bob—Bob—Bob—”

Until the only thing left between you was ruin. You couldn’t tell where the line was anymore–between pain and pleasure, between him and Bob, between your own cries and the desperate slap of skin against skin as he drove himself into you, unrelenting, and grinding. The bed rocked beneath you, headboard thudding rhythmically against the wall, and your fingers gripped the sheets like they were your last tether to this world.

His body–cold and massive and utterly inhuman–pinned you to the mattress, his cock grinding against your cervix with merciless precision. You were gasping. Choking. Drowning in the force of him, and still, you begged.

“More—please, more—”

His hand released your throat only to slide up, gripping your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. You couldn’t look away–not from those twin galaxies of void-light, those pale endless pits that saw everything.

And still, you moaned, “Bob—”

Something inside him snapped.

His mouth crashed into yours–devouring. Teeth and tongue and cold, silken fury. He kissed you like he wanted to brand you from the inside. Like he wanted to replace every soft memory of the man you loved with something brutal and monstrous.

And you let him.

You felt his hand slide between your bodies, slick with sweat and your own release, and then his thumb was on your clit again–pressing, circling, wrecking. It was too much. Too much.

“Come again,” He growled, breath ragged now. “Come while I’m inside you. Come while you scream his name.”

You tried to fight it. Tried to last.

But your body betrayed you.

Your back arched, a broken sound clawing out of your throat as your walls seized around him–tight, wet, desperate. The world fractured. Your vision went white. Your soul splintered.

And you screamed.

“BOB—!”

The Void shuddered–his whole body jerking above you like he felt that cry inside him. He snarled against your mouth, hips snapping once, twice—and then he came with a sound like a god falling.

He didn’t moan.

He groaned, deep and guttural, his cock twitching violently as he spilled inside you–cold and endless, filling you with something that didn’t feel like seed, but like starlight and sorrow and shadow. You felt it in your bones, like he was pouring the universe into you, and you were too full to hold it all.

You lay there–limp, splayed, twitching beneath him. Your thighs trembling, your chest heaving, your voice cracked to nothing. His body slumped over yours–heavy despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely real. His mouth pressed against your temple, breathless and cold.

For a moment, there was no sound.

Only the echo of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then–

He kissed you.

Soft this time. A brush of lips over sweat-damp skin. Reverent. Almost… mournful.

“I felt it,” He whispered, voice raw, his hand smoothing up your ribs, cradling your side. “When you said his name.”

You swallowed–barely able to lift your head.

“I know you wanted it to be him,” He murmured. “But I made you come like that.”

Your chest rose and fell beneath him, still trying to catch your breath. He shifted–still inside you–grinding just once more, like he wanted to remind you of who had taken you.

“I made you cry. I filled you up. And when you’re lying awake tomorrow, remembering how your body shook around me, how your thighs wouldn’t stop trembling–I want you to remember that it was me. Not him.”

Your eyes fluttered–dazed. But you didn’t fight him.

You didn’t correct him.

His body finally softened, pulling back slightly. His hands cupped your face again–his fingers gentle now, brushing hair from your damp forehead. His glow was dimmer. Quieter. Like a storm that had passed.

“You’ll wake up in a few hours,” He said softly. “And this will feel like a dream.”

You blinked.

He leaned in–kissed the corner of your mouth.

“But your body will remember.”

Then he was gone.

Just like that.

Vanished into the shadow he’d emerged from, the cold lifting from the room like a ghost fleeing dawn.

And you lay there alone–aching, shaking, legs still parted, chest still rising in broken little gasps.

Your bed was wet with sweat. Your throat burned.

Your lips still tingled.

And between your thighs–you could feel him. The stretch. The soreness. The echo of every thrust, every word, every impossible truth.

And worse–

The only name in your mouth…

Was Bob.

——————————

The room stayed cold even after he was gone. The shadows thinned, but they didn’t leave—not entirely. Not the way you needed them to. Not the way your body needed to pretend they hadn’t coiled around you and taken.

You stayed in the bed for a while–numb, ruined, staring at the ceiling while your breath evened out in small, ragged hiccups. The sheets were tangled around your thighs, soaked with sweat and something colder. Your legs ached. Your throat was raw. Your lips still felt the press of his.

Eventually, you sat up. Slow. Careful. Your body protested with every movement. Your thighs trembled when they parted. The ache between your legs was still sharp. Deep. Your skin pulled tight across your spine where the claw marks lay–raised and hot, stinging in the silence.

You didn’t bother covering yourself. There was no one in the room. No one to hide from. No one but yourself.

So you stood.

Naked.

Shaking.

And walked toward the bathroom.

The ensuite light was harsh when it flickered on. Your eyes burned as they adjusted. You blinked a few times, reached out with a trembling hand, and braced yourself against the edge of the sink.

Then you looked up.

The mirror didn’t lie.

Your neck was littered with marks–some small, like whispers of bruises blooming beneath your skin. Others were deeper. More deliberate. A bite just above your collarbone, swollen and red, already darkening. Scratches raked across your shoulder blades. Finger-shaped bruises on your hips.

And lower…

You pressed your thighs together. A slow throb pulsed between them. Not just soreness. Memory.

You stared at yourself for a long time. Chest rising and falling. Eyes wide and hollow. A stranger’s reflection wrapped in the echo of your own desire.

And then you turned the water on.

You didn’t wash like someone scrubbing sin away. You didn’t cry beneath the stream. There were no cinematic gasps or moments of clarity.

You just showered.

Quietly.

Efficiently.

Water warm. Hands gentle. You cleaned yourself like someone who knew there was no washing him out. Not really. His fingerprints were inside you now. Beneath the surface. Carved into your bones like frost.

You stepped out twenty minutes later. Toweled off. Dressed in the softest pair of sweatpants you owned and an oversized sweater that used to belong to Bucky–you wore it on days where you were feeling down. You weren’t sure if today qualified.

Your hair was damp. Your neck stung. Your thighs still trembled when you walked.

But you opened the door anyway.

You stepped out into the hallway.

The early morning compound light was a pale gold, spilling through the windows like it always did. You could hear coffee brewing in the common kitchen. The low murmur of Ava and Walker arguing over cereal. The sound of normal.

You walked forward, bare feet silent against the cool floor, your breath caught in your throat–

And then you saw him.

Bob.

Standing a few feet away. Slouched against the hallway wall in flannel pajama pants and a black hoodie, a mug in one hand, the other rubbing at his tired eyes. His hair was messy, cowlicked from sleep. His expression soft and bleary, like he’d just woken up.

He looked up at you.

And smiled.

Gentle.

Warm.

Untouched.

“Morning,” he said softly, nodding at you.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t been inside you just hours ago. Like he hadn’t made you scream his name until your voice gave out. Like he didn’t still live inside the stretch of your aching body.

Your mouth opened.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just nodded back.

“Morning.”

He walked past you with another sleepy smile, mumbling something about getting more coffee, and disappeared around the corner.

And you stood there, alone in the hallway, wrapped in a sweater two sizes too big, your thighs still sticky from the night before–

Wondering how long it would be before you stopped pretending it had been a dream.

Or if you even wanted to.

3K notes · View notes

saatorus · 4 months ago

Text

golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right.

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop.

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

—

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk satoru x reader #jjk satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo smut #satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo #satoru x you #gojo x you

2K notes · View notes

bitteriekitten · 3 months ago

Text

regular things that get them horny.

synopsis — what the title says <3

warnings — implied nsfw content mdni please or i will steal ur kneecaps, afab!reader, teasing... i might've missed smt lmk if i did !

featuring — xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, & caleb (separate fics)

notes — i was not expecting the flurry of notes i received in my first ever written post ... thank u sm for the likes and reblogs they're much appreciated ily all sm <3333 this is still unedited because i'm tired :p - feedback is much appreciated btw !

Xavier gets incredibly turned on whenever he sees you stretch. Thanks to all the reports you need to fulfill after missions, he often spots you at your desk with your arms up and your back arched. You would let out a little groan after stretching, which doesn’t help his running imagination. Your uniform, which you often unbutton while doing paperwork, lifts up with your arms, giving Xavier a peek of the skin underneath your clothes. He could barely look away, let alone tell himself to calm down before he embarrasses himself. Your eyes would meet his, and Xavier gulps when he sees you smirk. “Enjoying yourself, partner?” you teased. Xavier doesn’t respond, instead deciding to adjust how he sits at his desk, hoping his bulge would calm down eventually.

Zayne can never control himself when he sees you wearing his clothes. Whether it’s a t-shirt, a button-up, a jacket, it never fails to drive him up a wall with how intimate it is for him to be sharing something that's his. The material is always too big on you, hanging a few inches above your knees - and you know that he knows you rarely ever wear anything underneath either. He loves seeing you walk around the house, to which he pulls you onto his lap with a deep kiss. “I had been looking for this shirt for a while now.” he said against your lips, his tongue darting out to lick at your neck. You shivered, “Well, it’s mine now. Unless you try to get it back.” Zayne smirked, taking on your little challenge as his hands slid under your (his) shirt.

Rafayel gets excited whenever you wear glasses. While you looked pretty much the same with your wire-framed glasses, he swears up and down that you looked like a completely transformed person. “I’ve never seen you this serious, cutie.” he said, staring at you from across the table with his cheek resting against his palm. You ignored his comment, probably because you were too engrossed in your work and you didn’t hear him, or you were purposely ignoring him to stay focused at your work. Either way, he bit his bottom lip to prevent a moan from erupting out of his mouth - the concentrated look on your face was like the cherry on top.

Sylus can’t help himself whenever you touch him casually. Your relationship had come a long way, and it clearly took great effort on your part to finally be able to feel him without flinching. It could be as simple as holding hands under the table, or your head resting on his shoulder, it would be more than enough to have him breathing in heavy sighs. “Keep doing that, sweetie.” he gently demands you as you trail your hands over his shoulders and over the expanse of his wide chest. You bit your lip as you settled more comfortably on his lap, allowing your hands to travel more over his body. “You like that?” you asked, your fingers grazing over his cheek. Sylus takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it firmly; that was his answer.

Caleb can’t help but get turned on when you cook. It’s something about the domesticity of it all, and the intimacy of you making a meal with him in mind. You rarely ever get the chance to cook something for him, because he loves being the chef in the relationship. Caleb wraps his arms around you from behind, breathing in the scent of your hair as well as the scent of the braised beef you were preparing on the stove. “Smells pretty good, Pipsqueak.” he murmured against your head. His hands slowly travel south, and he can’t help the grin on his lips when he feels you squirming under his touch. “C-Caleb, you have to eat…” you sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. Caleb hummed and began placing kisses over your exposed neck, “Mmm, I think I want to taste something else first…” he whispered.

1K notes · View notes

bambisnc · 2 months ago

Text

( ➴ ) 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬, 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖬𝖤! ♡

୨ৎ. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

### . STARRING ⌢ p.sh ⋆ oneshot + 1.2k // kissing + reader has an ex + i need you guys to j trust me on this please ˖ ✧

[ 陰 🤍 ] ─── i have nawt read the manga before anyone asks; i found the name super funny & then a little lightbulb in my head went "!!" ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor.

he’s heard people around him say this; multiple remarks of how his moral conduct seems totally unshakable. a pillar whose boundaries not one single temptation could consider breaking, they'd say.

but, he finds himself thinking, if all that were really true, he wouldn’t really be in this position—with heeseung's girlfriend all pretty in front of him, pinned up against a wall—would he?

not that he's complaining about the sight in front of him, of course.

you are nothing less of a divine vision with slightly swollen and spit slicked lips, your delicately applied gloss now smudged from the earlier … activities.

his eyes take in the loose strands of hair framing your features, the way your eyes are delectably glazed over and the lightest sheen of sweat highlighting it all. it’s a wonder he’s able to resist diving right back in and claiming your lips in another kiss, really.

heeseung should've known better.

he should've known that leaving you alone with sunghoon could not possibly lead to any good outcomes.

one doesn't harbour unrequited feelings for months and leave scott-free, with zero after effects. there’s bound to be some catches.

sunghoon blamed many other things too.

firstly, the sun. for subjecting him to its sweltering heat and for rendering him into a half-dazed stupor. for being the reason you were wearing that gorgeous sundress, casual but enough to catch the attention of all the others lazily roaming around the open shopping complex.

secondly, he blamed ni-ki. like, did the boy really have to drag heeseung away because he saw a michael jackson DVD (limited versions only) on display?

granted, that particular compilation was seemingly not available anywhere else without having to pay a price so scandalous that it hurt to think about. and the singer did happen to be ni-ki's favorite.

but gosh, how selfish could people be?

most importantly, though, he blamed your ex.

for? his mere existence.

it had been going just fine, peachy even, right until that person showed up, he recalls, absentmindedly tracing your lower lip—doing his best to ignore the expectant gaze you were directing towards him lest he end up doing something he'd regret.

well. regret more than he does already, that is.

when your previously cheery smile had suddenly been replaced by a pall of worry, he couldn’t help but immediately mirror your concern. you had anxiously clutched the edge of his sleeve, murmuring that you had just happened to see song eunseok. also known as your ex.

“i just… i really don’t want to face him right now.”

that was understandable. sunghoon wouldn’t want to see the face of the man who had been such a horrible boyfriend to you (your words, not his; circa last july, pre-heeseung era) either, lest he end up lobbing a punch his way.

“do you think you could hide me?” he could practically see the unease wrapped in a sheath around you from the way you chewed on your lip, “please?...”

what was sunghoon supposed to reply to that? say no to your plea? as if he could ever.

so he did what any dutiful friend would do. he let you use him.

an arm braced against the wall and another awkwardly fidgeting by his side—he wasn’t sure where it was considered appropriate to keep one’s hand while helping their friend’s girlfriend hide from an ex—he stood leaning towards you.

his broader, taller frame could cover yours with laughable ease. should the ex boyfriend happen to glance your way, he wouldn’t even realize there was another person there.

it was fine even up until that point. it wasn’t like sunghoon couldn’t control himself and immediately took advantage of the situation. no matter how much he really, really wanted to.

he would never do that to heeseung or you.

all he needed to do, he thought determinedly, was to not make eye contact and hope that this was over soon.

but suddenly, you were tugging him closer, saying the position seemed way too odd, too awkward. and now he was closer to you than ever, and quite aware of the fact that he was sweating bullets.

“hoon?... are you okay?” you had piped up, voice slightly muffled due to quite literally being pressed up against him, “you seem so flushed… is it because of the sun?”

no, it was most definitely not because of the sun.

he vaguely recalls replying back with some offhanded agreement to your words. you, bless your heart, had immediately brushed the back of your hand against his forehead, checking if he was truly okay.

sunghoon swore his breath hitched at the contact. noticeably.

only then did it sink in. the reduced proximity, the charged air brewing between your bodies. he really shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

"?..."

“i’m fine.” his voice was low, cautious. he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them—a nervous tick of his. “you need to stop this.. a guy can get the wrong idea, you know?”

you had only giggled at that airily, “no wrong ideas here, i promise.”

then, as if it was the most natural thing to do—it might as well have been, with how perfect it was—you had tipped your head upwards, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth.

“am i still being unclear?” your head was tilted at a 45° angle, playing off a cute innocence.

... there was no way he could say no to that, rationality and morals be damned.

and so instead of gracing your teasing remark with a dignified comeback, he simply let you close the distance between your lips once again.

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor, sure. but right now? right now, the only thing he’s sure of is that he’s fucked up. big time.

heeseung… one can only imagine how his friend would react to this information. none of the possible scenarios that run through his head are any good.

with a jolt, he jerks away; the hurt look on your face doing nothing to break his resolve. (mostly.)

“this isn’t—this isn’t right. you have a boyfriend, heeseung… he—he’ll be devastated.”

“what?” confusion spreads across your face, genuine enough if he stopped to take it in. “sunghoon, no that’s not it—”

“we—it’s best we forget this happened. i, um,.. i won’t say anything to him.”

a blink. and you’re laughing. wait what?

“ah…” the way your head is thrown back as you struggle to keep a straight face almost distracts him. “heeseung is actually going to burst out laughing, oh my god.”

before he can even comprehend what that could mean, you show him your phone screen opened to a chat between you and your boyfriend (?).

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : dude if you’re planning on making out w/ hoon rn do NOT do it in front of me and niki i beg.

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : cause like it’s one thing having to hear ab how u bad u want him 24/7 (it gets to a point oh my god?)

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : go get ur man by all means but i do nawt need to be seeing allat !!!!!

“see? i only made him pretend we were together because eunseok was being a little bitch. it was super funny seeing his reaction, if that helps!”

sunghoon’s not sure if he wants to now laugh himself or instead cry. maybe both at the same time? he would rather not scare you off already though. hence, he does the next best thing.

he kisses you once again. softer this time, as if he’s taking the time to savor the moment.

you part for air only when it becomes an absolute necessity. “what was that about?”

“i need to make up for lost time. all this while, i really thought i had no chance. and…” a pause that indicates he’s struggling to find the right words.

his tone is sheepish when he finally says what’s on his mind.

“and... i could’ve been a better fake boyfriend, by the way. for the record.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

788 notes · View notes

sparklingblu · 13 days ago

Note

Your sister Eunchae recently became and adult and lost her virginity but it wasn't as satisfying as she thought, so she talks to mommy sakura to see if she could give her advice from her experience on to properly please and be pleased. Sakura gives plenty of advice but she knows it's useless without practice so she asks for your help for some practical lessons.

Midnight Schooling

Ft. Sakura and Eunchae

(I got a lot of great ideas from you all but this one catches my eyes, so here it is. P.S Sorry this took like a month to write. Life has been busy lately)

“It’s just not like what I imagine…you know.”

Eunchae’s face was already red as a tomato as she recounted her experience. She doubted if anyone else would discuss their loss of virginity with their moms, but it’s not like she has anyone else. And bottling it up would make it even worse.

“And how do you imagine it would be?” Sakura asked as she flopped down next to Eunchae on her bed. Much to Eunchae’s surprise, her mom didn’t seem much surprised. Or maybe she’s doing it on purpose not to make her feel embarrassed.

“I…I don’t know. It was not horrible but….I just felt weird and uncomfortable. Like, was that really it?”

Sakura sighs, gently rubbing her back. “Sweetie, losing your virginity can be awkward and confusing at first. But it takes time to figure out what feels good.”

“I guess….” Eunchae mumbled, her voice descending to whisper.

A brief silence passed between them. Then Sakura's eyes widened slightly, like she just remembered something. “You did use protection right?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Eunchae stammered, cheeks burning. “I made sure he wore a condom.”

Sakura nodded approvingly. “Good girl. It’s important to always protect yourself, no matter what.” She paused for a moment. “So, what’s the problem here? Was he too small? Too rough?”

“Mom, come on!” Eunchae protested, already feeling her face burning with shame. Did she really need to ask?

“Hey. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.” Sakura insisted, squeezing her arm gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Eunchae sighed. “No, it’s not that. He just….he lasted like two minutes before finishing. And the position we did felt kind of…pointless?”

Sakura suppressed a smile at her daughter’s honesty. “Well, sweetheart, that's perfectly normal for a boy his age. They tend to be…eager.”

Eunchae groaned again. “Great, so I have to put up with that for a while?”

“Not necessarily,” Sakura said gently. “Communication is key in any relationship. You need to talk to him about your needs and expectations.”

“But I’m so embarrassed!” Eunchae wailed. “I can’t just come out and say ‘Hey, can you last longer next time?’”

“Why not?” Sakura shrugged. “If you’re not comfortable with something, you have every right to speak up. Your boyfriend should respect your boundaries and preferences.”

Eunchae considered, gnawing on her lip. “I guess you are right….but it’s still so awkward to talk about.”

“Well, how about this - when you’re alone together next time, start slow,” Sakura suggested. “Maybe just make out and explore each other’s bodies a bit. Let him work you up first before jumping straight to penetration.”

Eunchae blushed. She had never imagined that kind of stuff coming out from her mother’s mouth. Sakura always seems so composed. But she nodded anyway. “Okay, that could work…thanks Mom.”

“You’re welcome sweetheart,” Sakura smiled, standing up. “I’m always here for you, ok?”

Eunchae returned the smile, feeling a bit better. “I know Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, Eunchae. Now get some rest.” With that, Sakura left the room, closing the door behind her.

When she was far enough from the room, Sakura let out a breath she had been holding for too long. She’s not an expert at this kind of stuff but she really hoped she had helped her daughter in some way. She wouldn’t say she’s a mother of the year but she has always tried her best and made sure that Eunchae grew up well and happy. But sometimes, even she feels like she’s not doing enough for her. The doubt that she’s going to fail at some point is constantly gnawing at her heart. Whether she’s going to finally fail this time, she wondered.

Then an idea glimmered in her head. One so obvious she wondered how she had forgotten. Of course, you could help.

You are not sure if you have heard Sakura right. In fact, it sounds so ridiculous you won’t be surprised if someone tells you you are dreaming right now.

“Mom, you want me to what?”

And of course, there’s also the fact that your mom, of all people, is the one asking you the very question. Well, she’s not really your mother, not a real one anyway. But you have lived with her for so long, the term “stepmom” sounds harsh and unfamiliar.

Despite all this, Sakura’s face shows no sign of embarrassment or hesitation.

“Look, I know it may come out weird but you are the only one I could think of. And it’s not like you are a virgin, are you? There’s no way.”

If you could grow wings and fly away, now is the time. But unfortunately, you are stuck here, struggling to think of the most appropriate reply.

“And how do you expect me to help? It’s not like I could just-”

Sakura settles her hand on your thigh, as if already sensing your denial. You hate how she can easily see through you.

“Sweetie, I know I’m asking for a lot here. And I’m sorry if this whole idea makes you uncomfortable. But I don’t want Eunchae to live out her whole life with an idea that she will never have a fulfilling experience,” she pauses a while to take a breath. “And you know how she is. She would be too shy to do it again with anyone if she doesn’t get proper practice. It’s either you or no one else.”

You are silent for a moment. It’s true that Eunchae has always kept to herself, rarely opening up about her feelings. She’s always been the quiet one in the family and somehow, this moment of vulnerability makes her seem even more fragile.

“So….will you?”

Sakura’s eyes, bright and curious, are fixed on yours, awaiting an answer. And you know there’s only one correct reply to her question if you don’t want to break her heart.

“Alright,” you finally say. “I will do it.”

Sakura’s lips curve up with the slightest hint of a smile. She nods, patting your thigh.

“Thanks. This really means a lot to us.”

And as she stands up to leave, you can’t help but feel like you are going to commit a crime.

You are starting to regret your decision.

But the awkwardness is even worse. Seriously, who even is stupid enough to perform this kind of ridiculous act. A pervert, maybe. Does that make you one too?

It’s the dead of the night, and you are in Eunchae’s bedroom. This already sounds fucked up enough but it’s nothing compared to the fact that Sakura, your stepmon, is also a pat of this secret little meeting. A secret to no one except your dad, of course. That makes it sound even more fucked up.

Your eyes dart between the two women - Eunchae seems equally nervous as you, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her eyes downcast. But Sakura, of course, ever the cool and composed one, doesn’t look any different from the day she asked for your help. She looks giddy, even.

“Relax, sweetie,” Sakura purrs, running a hand down your chest. “This is going to be fun. I promise.”

You swallow hard, trying not to stare at the ample cleavage spilling out of her low-cut dress. You don’t wanna look like a pervert. Not now, at least. There will be plenty of time for it later.

“I…I don’t know about this…”

Sakura just smiles, her hand trailing lower to cup your erection through your pants. “See? Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is being stubborn.”

She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers. “Just go with it. Let me teach you both how to enjoy each other.”

With that, she turns to Eunchae, who’s watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. “The first thing you need to know, Eunchae, is how to get him worked up. A turned on man is a pliable man.”

She demonstrates by kissing you deeply, her tongue tangling with yours as she rubs you through your pants. You moan into her mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more of this delicious friction.

Sakura breaks the kiss, smiling smugly at your dazed expression. “See? Easy.”

She guides Eunchae to stand in front of you, positioning her so your erection is pressed against her belly. “Your turn, sweetie. Kiss him. Touch him. Get him riled up.”

Eunchae blushes, but follows Sakura’s instruction, pressing her lips shyly to yours. Obviously, she’s not as good a kisser as Sakura and it feels more like she’s trying to shove her tongue into your mouth. But who are you to complain?

While all this is happening, Sakura is already setting the next plan in motion. Her hands fumble with the waistband of your pants, sliding it down to release your mamba.

You groan as your cock springs free, hard and leaking. Sakura reaches out, gathering the beads of precum with her finger and holding it up for Eunchae to see.

“Taste it,” she encourages, bringing her finger to Eunchae’s lips.

Eunchae hesitates for only a moment before sucking Sakura’s finger into her mouth, her eyes unblinking as she savours your taste. Sakura smiles approvingly, then gestures for her to kneel in front of you.

“Start by licking the tip,” she instructs, her hand stroking your shaft. “Get it nice and wet before taking it into your mouth.”

Eunchae nods, leaning forward to tentatively lick the head of your cock. You shudder as her tongue teases your slit, your hands clenching at your sides.

Sakura guides Eunchae’s head, showing her how to take you into her mouth. “That’s it. Nice and slow. Use your tongue.”

You moan as Eunchae starts to suck you off, her inexperienced but eager mouth, working you over and over. Sakura watches with a smile, her hand rubbing herself through her dress.

As time passes, Eunchae’s movements become more frantic, her head bobbing with an aggressive pace. If you don’t know any better, you would have thought she’s trying to suck the soul out of you.

But Sakura, watching intently, frowns slightly after a movement. “Wait, Eunchae, you are not using your tongue enough. Here, let me show you.”

She kneels down beside Eunchae, taking your cock into her own mouth. You gasp as

she swirls her tongue around the head, lapping at your slit before sliding down your shaft.

Sakura pulls back with a pop, stroking you lazily as she looks at Eunchae. “See how I’m using my tongue? You want to lick and tease as you suck, not just bob your head.”

Eunchae nods, blushing, and leans in to try again. This time, you can feel the difference as she takes you into her mouth, her tongue working you over as she sucks.

You moan louder, your hand coming up to tangle in her hair. Sakura watches approvingly, a smirk on her face as she sees Eunchae’s improvement.

But after a few minutes, she taps Eunchae’s shoulders, signalling for her to stop. “That’s good, sweetie. But you don’t want to let him finish too early. There are still more lessons to get through.”

Eunchae pulls back, your cock slipping from her mouth with a lewd pop, a string of saliva hung between your tip and her lips.

Sakura smiles, standing up and walking over to the bed. “Now it’s time to learn how to have sex,” she says, her voice low and sultry. “As soon as he’s nice and hard, that’s the next step.”

She bends over the bed, presenting her pale ass to you. Her dress is hiked up around her waist, revealing her wet, glistening pussy. “Come on, sweetie,” she purrs, wriggling her hips invitingly. “Fuck me with that big cock.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You step up behind her, gripping your cock and lining it up with her entrance. Sakura moans as you push inside, her tight heat engulfing you.

You start thrusting, your hips slapping against her ass. Sakura lets out the sweetest moans, pushing back against you to meet your movements.

“See how I’m moving with him?” she pants, looking over at Eunchae. “You want to work with his rhythm, not just lay there.”

Eunchae nods, watching intently as you fuck Sakura. Her hands grip the sheets, taking your relentless pounding as you ravage her like a madman.

“Fuck! Yes! Just like that. Oh god-”

For a moment, you forget all about the fact that this is supposed to be a lesson. All you that occupy your mind is how perfectly Sakura walls grip your shaft, how wet and messy this whole thing is.

But just as you start to lose control, Sakura pulls away, your cock slipping out of her dripping slit. You feel a pang of disappointment as your shaft is left unattended.

“Now you try, Eunchae.” she says, lying back on the bed and spreading her legs. “But I don’t want you to do the same position. Ride him. Let him see that you feel every thrust.”

Eunchae blushes, but climbs onto the bed, positioning herself over you and lifting up her skirt. You hold your cock steady as she slowly lowers herself down, her pussy engulfing you. For someone who just lost her virginity, she’s still unbearably tight.

It takes some work but Eunchae lets out the first moan once you are fully sheathed in her pussy. You soon moan along with her as she starts to move, rocking her hips. Sakura watches from the side, her hand snaking down to finger herself as she gives instructions.

“Use your hips, Eunchae. Grind against him,” she pants, her fingers working her clit. “Make yourself feel good too.”

Eunchae follows Sakura’s guidance, her movements becoming more confident. She bounces on your cock, her wet heat gripping you like a vice.

You watch as your stepsister’s innocence got reduced to nothing by none other than yourself. The shy, quiet girl is nowhere to be seen, replaced by the depraved, cock hungry slut riding your cock.

“Just like that, sweetie. You are doing so good. Show him how much you love his cock.” Sakura praises, her digits deep in her slit as she fingers herself to her daughter getting thoroughly ruined.

You can feel your orgasm approaching, your balls tightening as Eunchae continues to ride you vigorously. And by the way she’s getting unbearably tight, she’s not so far behind either.

But once again, your pleasure is denied by Sakura.

“Okay, good job. But we don’t want this to end too quickly, do we?”

Eunchae whimpers, her hips still moving reflexively, but obeys Sakura and lifts herself off you. Your cock slips out of her with an obscene sound, still hard and glistening with her juices.

“Now it’s time to learn how to eat pussy,” Sakura announces, lying back on the bed and spreading her legs. “Come here, sweetie. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You crawl over to Sakura, settling between her thighs. Her pussy is pink and swollen, dripping with arousal. “Start by licking my clit,” she instructs. “Use the flat of your tongue and apply pressure.”

You do as she say, leaning in and lapping at her clit. Sakura moans, her hips bucking up to meet your mouth. “Yes, just like that. Now, suck on it gently.”

You obey, closing your lips around her clit and sucking lightly. Sakura’s moans grow louder and more desperate, her thighs clamping around your head as she nears her peak.

“Fuck, yes!” She cries out, her back arching off the bed. “Don’t stop, baby. Make me cum on that pretty little mouth of yours.”

You double your efforts, sucking harder on her clit as you slip a finger inside her tight channel. Sakura screams, her pussy clamping around your digits as she comes hard, gushing all over your face.

You lap up her juice, relishing the sweet taste of her arousal. Sakura goes limp, panting heavily as she comes down from her high.

“Very good, sweetie. Now it’s Eunchae’s turn. Make her cum just like you did with me.”

Eunchae gets into position, laying down on the bed and spreading her legs. You crawl over to her, settling between her thighs just like you did with Sakura.

You start licking Eunchae’s pussy, mimicking the movement Sakura taught you. Eunchae moans, her hips twitching as she tries to stay still.

Sakura watches, her hand idly stroking her pussy as she recovers from her orgasm. “That’s it, sweetie. Lick her nice and slow. Tease her a little.”

Eunchae’s moans fill the room as you work her over, alternating between licks and sucks. You can feel her getting closer and closer to the edge, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

“That’s it,” Sakura purrs, watching with hungry eyes. “Make her cum all over that sweet mouth of yours. Show her how good it feels to be eaten out by her brother”

Sakura’s filthy words urge you on and you redouble your efforts, fucking Eunchae with your tongue as you suck hard on her slit. She cries out, her pussy spasming as she comes undone, flooding your mouth with her essence.

You lap up her juice greedily, savouring her taste. Eunchae turns boneless, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“Now, now, you can’t get tired yet,” Sakura tells Eunchae. “We still have to make him cum. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair. Afterall, he works so hard.”

Eunchae slowly gets up, her hair a mess as she climbs off the bed. You watch the two gorgeous women kneel in front of you, their eyes alight with desire.

“Now, Eunchae. This is the finishing touch. You can’t do any wrong here,” Sakura instructs. “Soft strokes, teasing touches…you want to drive him crazy before you empty his balls.”

Sakura begins stroking you,and soon, Eunchae follows. You groan as their delicate fingers work along your shaft, tending to every throbbing vein. They work perfectly in harmony, one pumping what the other can’t, so that no part of your cock is denied from pleasure.

“You like that baby?” Sakura asks, her voice breathy. “You like us touching your big, hard cock?”

“Fuck, yes,” you growl, your head swimming with the filthiest thoughts. At this point, you are not sure you even remember your name. Because it feels that good.

Sakura smirks up at you. “Mm, such a polite boy. But I think you deserve a special treat.”

She leans in, her hot breath ghosting over the head of your cock. “Don’t you think?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond before taking your tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head. Eunchae is quick to join her, her lips gliding along your shaft.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, your head falling back as they blow you with enthusiasm. Sakura takes you deep, her lips stretched around your girth as she bobs up and down. Eunchae focuses on your balls, sucking and licking until they are tight and aching.

Just as it becomes too much to bear, Sakura pulls her mouth off your throbbing cock with a pop. She grins wickedly, her hand coming up to pump your shaft.

“That’s it, baby,” she purrs. “You’re close, aren’t you? I want you to cum all over our faces. Paint us nice and pretty.”

Eunchae joins in, stroking you in tandem with her mother. Their hands move in perfect sync, twisting and squeezing in just the right way to drive you wild.

“Please, big brother,” Eunchae begs, her voice high and needy. “Paint me with your hot, sticky seed. I want to feel it dripping down my face.”

Hearing your stepsister talks drity for the first time finally pushes you over the edge. You explode, your cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shoot out and splatter across Sakura and Eunchae’s faces.

They moan in delight, their tongues darting out to catch the drops that land on their lips. Their faces are a perverted facial mask, adorned with pearly streaks of your seed.

When you are finally spent, they sit back on their haunches, grinning up at you with cum-streaked faces. “So messy,” Sakura giggles. “But so very satisfying. You did so well, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.”

Eunchae nods in agreement, licking a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. “Mmm, I didn’t think it would be that fun. Maybe we should do it again.”

You sigh, slumping onto the bed.

“Yeah. Yeah we should.”

#kpop smut #girl group smut #asks #lesserafim smut #sakura smut #eunchae smut #izone smut #male reader

725 notes · View notes

muqingslover · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! If you're open to requests, what would you think the lads men (or just one guy of your choice!!) would do in the following scenario?

They are out with mc when they run into mc's ex, and mc's ex says, "Damn, your taste in men changed a lot" in like a condescending manner. (Or something along those lines)

I hope you have a great time!! I love reading your stories!!

[ Thank you for the request! <3 I did a little of everyone so enjoy! ]

"Your tastes sure have changed since the last time I saw you." is the first thing that actually catches his attention during the otherwise boring conversation.

Sylus is not an overly jealous person simply because he is very secure of his love for you and how good he is to you. The only thing your ex does is greatly amuse him because the difference is too great to even be considered fair.

"Naturally. You surely don't expect someone to eat trash forever, do you?" He would answer for you in a smooth voice while he towers over the both of you with that confident expression of his on his face.

He feels almost sorry for you, who had to make do with such men, but, not to worry, he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

Taunting his jealous side is the same as playing with fire while knowing you're going to get burn.

"Is that the type of guy you prefer?" He'd ask the second the two of you are alone again. His hands pin you to the closest surface so you're unable to run from the conversation and he keeps his face very close to yours to watch for even the smallest reactions "Do you like him more than me?"

My advice? Say no as quickly as possible and give him a kiss to shush him otherwise you're in for the long, loooooong haul. Xavier is not easily soothed once he's worked up and he WILL hold grudges.

The next time your ex shows up he is quick to cut the conversation before they can even get a good morning in and makes it clear you belong to him now.

"What did you just say?" His head never whipped back faster mans almost twisted his own neck.

Arguably the most aggressive per se because he's SO obvious. To him it's just staggering you ever went out with anyone else, especially a thing like that, and that it's here, again, approaching you. Does it not see him? He's right there for god's sake!

"She's on duty so she can't talk to you right now. Or ever." He'd grab you by the shoulder as he sized the guy up and down with the most condescending and judgmental look on his face before scoffing. what a diva

He'll nag at you later for being "distracted while on the job" and say you're supposed to pay attention to him at all times otherwise how will his dear bodyguard protect him? Please be more mindful!

It was a school reunion party when your old high school sweetheart came up to the both of you.

"Oh hey, I remember you! Weren't you the guy who got kicked out for cheating on his graduation exam?" He says with an innocent grin on his face knowing full well the guy is a deadbeat and making sure others heard it too.

It's canon he kept track of all crushes MC had while growing up and I'm sure he goes out of his way to show you their bad points so you won't even consider looking their way.

In some cases, Caleb had to get rid of them by manipulating things behind the scenes if they didn't take the hint and this one was one of those cases.

The guy was struggling with his grades and who is he to deny a helping hand? All he did was slip the sheet of answers to the test without anyone knowing, it's not his fault if the idiot accepted it knowing it was against the rules. Such an angel, isn't he.

This interaction will lead to him being even more territorial around you and he wants you to just stay home with him where it's safe. Pretty please?

He will step in if they are bothering you by pretending he needs your immediate help in the office but otherwise Zayne merely listening in the background.

Once they're gone the silence is so loud.

You can basically feel that he's bothered by something, but he won't open his mouth even if you ask him about it because it's 'petty and childish'.

"Are you happy with me?" He'd eventually ask you after stewing in his own thoughts for the day. What if your tastes hadn't changed and you were just too nice to tell him he's not doing enough? That he is not enough.

Please reassure this sweet man that you're happy in the relationship. Especially so if your ex is the type that is super extroverted and easy to get along with since that's one of the points he struggles with the most.

The problem goes away on its own after some good quality time together and affectionate words.

821 notes · View notes

luveline · 14 days ago

Note

Hii jade idk if this is something you would be into but ive been reading all of ur hotch fics that include a relationship with jack and reader and i was wondering if you would be interested in writing for a hotch and ex!reader fic, where reader and jack have a really really close relationship and hotch even depends on her to look after him at times if necessary. I was thinking she comes to pick up jack at the office and everyone is like we didnt know you were seeing someone???? And hes like im not but theres very obvious tension and heart eyes being shared between the two.

thank you for requesting ❤︎ fem, 2k words

You don’t see any of the BAU agents that you’d recognise in the office today, but it's alright, ‘cos you’ve spotted your boy. Jack Hotchner sits at a crowded desk that could only be Spencer’s with a glass of water held in both hands. He tips it up, drinking feverishly, a stream of it dripping down his front to wet his raglan t-shirt.

You haven’t come by the office in a long time. Not since you and Aaron were dating, it must’ve been a year ago or more the last time you made it up for a rare lunch date. It had been quiet, then, his new agent Emily sent with Spencer to do some work with their tech girl. You’d smiled at Derek on the way in, you remember. Laughed at his joke about your ring finger looking a little light.

You hide your hands behind your back. “Oh, hey, sweet boy,” you say, your voice carrying. You’ve no need for false cheer —it’s been too long since you saw Jack. You have no excuses.

His head comes up at the sound of your voice. When he finds you making your way to the desks, he slides his cup down over the table and slips from his chair, unspeaking as he crosses the room to fling himself at your thighs.

You bend down to kiss his hair. “Hi,” you say, kissing it again. Two quick ones. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hi,” he says, matching your quiet tone. He feels trembly and strange in your arms, like he’s shaking.

“Hi.” You loop your arms around his shoulders. He’s slender as a bird, but taller than the last time you’d hugged him. The silence drags, Jack’s hands screwed into fists in your jeans. “Sorry it’s been so long since I last saw you,” you whisper, for his ears alone, “I didn’t mean to get so busy.”

“Everyone is busy.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Pleased with this, Jack pulls away from you, and when he speaks he’s regained some of his volume, “Dad said I can stay with you for a sleepover only if you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

He beams. Offering a hand for the taking, Jack pulls you to Spencer’s desk and retrieves his blue backpack from the chair, its front a bright plastic print of SpongeBob and Patrick. He makes you take it, and you swing it over your shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“Wait a second, you gotta go up and say bye to your dad.” You wish you could send him up alone, dread a solid rock in your tummy that shifts to hurt with every breath. “Come on, lead the way.”

As you’re going, Emily and Rossi catch sight of you on their way back from the kitchen. “Who’s that?” Emily asks, to which Rossi says, “How should I know?”

“You know who she looks like? Hotch has that photo on his lock screen…”

You miss the conversation that begins between them, a step behind Jack as he enters Aaron’s office without knocking. His dad quickly looks up from his laptop and gives the phone by his ear a readjustment. “I’ll call you back,” he promises, putting it down.

Something cruel twists around in your gut wondering who it is. Could be anybody. Just as easily a colleague as a friend as a new girl.

“Dad, we’re going.”

Aaron stands from his chair. “Thank you,” he says to you, so obviously stuck as to what to say next that anger pricks the back of your neck. You swallow every last bit of it down.

“I told you whenever you need me to, didn’t I?” You get a look at him. Eyebags darker than ever, he’s skinny, tired, everything you hate to see. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

Where you’d expected to see anger, regret colours Aaron’s stance. He holds the back of his chair and sighs. “Of course I am.”

You cross an arm over your stomach. That morning, getting dressed, you’d decided to wear something that might make him want you back, even though you know he wants you back. Something that might make him braver, then. Or kinder, more agreeable to what you need. You’re wearing the silver chain he bought you, just so he knows you still have it, over a leather-type jacket and his favourite pair of jeans. It felt good at the time and childish now, because he’s not doing any better without you, and you miss him so much you might fold first.

“He asked to stay the night. What time do you want me to bring him back?” you ask.

“What time were you thinking?”

You let Jack drift into your hip. His small nose is surprisingly pointy. “I’d keep him forever if I could.”

The stumble in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. He smiles weakly. “Yeah, I know. You’re good that way.”

Jack tips his head back to force your gaze on him, “Yeah, ‘cos dad says you’re good as gold.”

Your smile wavers. “Does he?” you ask carefully.

Aaron used to tell you that sort of stuff all the time. He had a way of picking a turn of phrase that you miss. He loved that one especially in his softest moments, tear stained and sniffling against him or smiling at something he’d said, he’d declare it, like everybody should’ve known it too. You’re good, he’d say, caressing your cheek, you’re as good as gold, honey.

“Why don’t we say midday, honey?”

“Okay.” You try not to give your own sermon on the way he uses the pet name, but it’s no use. He says honey like it’s yours, doesn’t matter that the last time you saw him you told him he doesn’t get to say he loves you, what use was that, any of it, when he wouldn’t step up to the plate.

Listen, it’s not that you need to get married. There’s a part of you that thinks marriage is special, and there’s a part of you that knows it’s a license rather than any solid proof of things, but what you needed most from Aaron was commitment. Even if he promised it once out loud that you were permanent, and that he was going to be careful. But you’d asked and he’d hesitated and your reconciliation is about as near as a lily flower is to the arctic circle.

“Jack, can you give us two minutes?” you ask, holding up two fingers.

Jack looks out the door. “Can I go see JJ?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Aaron says, “come and give me a hug, okay? We’ll say bye now.”

Jack does his flinging thing and ends up pulled to Aaron’s stomach. Rough hands spread over a short back, dulcet murmuring of love yous and miss yous lost in blonde hair.

Jack leaves. Aaron is glad you’ve asked for time alone, it couldn’t be more obvious, with or without his training in psychic evaluation. You decide tiredly to take a seat in front of his desk, waiting for him to sit himself before you offer any more to him.

He grips the edge of his desk between his finger and thumb.

“I didn’t mean to ignore your call,” you confess. Calls.

He nods.

“I was sleeping. Then…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to be with you, Aaron,” you say, careful again. “I want it a lot. And I’m angry with you because you don’t want it like I do.”

“You know I want that, too.”

“You don’t, though. I told you, either you start to look after yourself, or I go. And you aren’t looking any better.”

“Well, missing you does this to me.”

He says it with a sincerity that has you wincing.

“Don’t say it like that, like I’m making it worse,” you say, nearly glaring, “I’m trying to fix it. You work all the time and I thought I could understand it, but it’s not about missing you, it’s literally that you expect me to sit at home watching you work yourself to death, while Jack–” You cut yourself off short. Take a deep breath. “Sorry. I know you aren’t hurting Jack. Aren’t trying to hurt Jack, but...”

Your murmuring sets off his own, “You can be angry with me, I deserve it.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You own up to your mistakes but you don’t change. I can’t– I don’t even know what this is, but I can’t do it forever. I need you to…” You stare down at your lap. “Need you to fix this.”

“I’m–” He bites his tongue. Then opens his mouth, speechless for a time. “I will. I’ll fix it.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll fix it.”

You feel like you could fall to pieces in his arms, but you need him to do what he’s promising you, and crying while he rubs your back won’t help. “I’m so angry at you,” you say.

“I know.”

You want him to say he loves you. He braces his hand on the desk.

In the bullpen, JJ holds Jack on her hip and tries to direct his attention to her, while the rest of the team turn their ears to the open door, listening.

“Not his girlfriend, then?” Emily asks.

Aaron moves toward you. Through the window, they watch as he chucks you gently under the chin. You move your face from his touch, speaking too quietly to hear from down here.

“Are they fighting?” Jack mumbles.

“No, honey, they’re not fighting, just talking.”

“I’m going with her to sleep there,” he says. “For a sleepover. Dad said so.”

“Wow! What are you gonna do at the sleepover?”

(It’s brave of Aaron to try and touch you when you’re divided. You’re both being brave. You’re honest with him. Anyone looking at you both can see how badly you want to give in, which makes it tough to watch as you stand and gather yourself away from him.)

Your smile is shaky as you descend the steps from the landing, but it strengthens when Jack perks up.

“Hi,” you say, greeting the agents that have circled around him with some renewed timidity. “Ready to go, baby?”

“Can I say bye to dad again?” he asks.

JJ sets him down. “As many times as you want,” you promise.

Jack rushes back to his dads office. You watch as he trips over himself, and as Aaron comes to meet him by the door for a hug that turns meandering.

“Be good, okay? And remember what we talked about, yeah?” He strokes his hair back to meet Jack’s eye.

“What did we talk about?”

“That she’s not mad at you, Jack. Only me. Okay?”

You wish you could hate him, but all you have is love and the urge to block his number. At least you get a night with your boy, sweet as he is.

Aaron catches your eye from above. His wan face fills with a determination that has your heart in a tumble —it feels like a promise, like the next time Jack comes to stay, he could come with him. All Aaron has to do is take a break.

(You take Jack’s hand again and lead him out of the offices, and Aaron dials Strauss’ number. He’s not stupid enough to think that a month of vacation days can fix the things that are hurting you, nor could the simple promise ring with the pear-drop diamond that sits hiding in his desk, but he has to start somewhere, and he has to start now.)

(In the car, Jack asks if you’ll be coming home soon. You’re brave enough to tell him any day now.)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

642 notes · View notes

cosmictheo · 1 year ago

Text

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material.

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.

#dune 2 #dune #dune part two #dune imagine #dune movie #dune one shot #dune x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #cosmictheo #feyd x reader #dune part 2 #feyd x you #feyd oneshot

6K notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 16 days ago

Text

birthday afterglow 🚿 joshua hong × fem!reader.

✩ ! includes :: smut-adjacent | MDNI!. husband!joshua x dead-tired!wife!reader. established relationship. heavy post-coital fluff, consensual use kink (??), one-sided physical effort (consensual ofc), implied 4+ rounds, sleepy dialogue, mildly cracky. soft birthday sex aftermath. 629 words. notes :: ig my first actual drabble? indulgent, sleepy, feral domesticity. unproofed, but powered by delulu strength. I think I was very sleepy too when this prompt popped up in my head.

You were boneless, and not in the sexy, flexible way, but in the, if you ask me to lift a single toe, I’ll pass out and see God, kind of way.

Four rounds. Four.

Joshua lies beside you, chest still heaving. Skin slick with sweat, his warmth pressed along the length of your spine, trying to sink back inside you by proximity alone. The room smells like vanilla-sweet infused by sweat and skin; remnants of what you both have done to each other. He’s been all smiles earlier when you surprised him with a low-lit dinner and a ribbon-tied ‘gift’ only he can unwrap.

But now? Now, he was hovering above you, eyes dark and still so goddamn hungry.

“Babe,” you mumble, face half-buried in the pillow. “Please. I can’t feel my legs.”

Joshua chuckles low in his throat, sound stitched from both affection and pride. “I know,” finger brushes sweaty strands of hair from your cheek. “You did so good for me.”

You let out a half-pained, half-mocking groan, wriggling slightly where you lie, skin sticking to the sheets. “You’re still hard, aren’t you?” He doesn't answer, but the press of his cock against your thigh gives him away. You can feel it. A beat of silence passes before you sigh, voice hoarse and completely serious, “Use me if you still need to. I’m not moving again.”

There is a literal pause for a good five seconds before the reaction you expect from him finally comes. He moans—like actually, moans. Soft and almost whiny, “God,” he breathes out, nuzzling against your shoulder like he is trying to restrain himself from trying to crawl inside you without actually doing it. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” you mutter sleepily. “Just... don’t expect eye contact. Or movement. Or words.”

You feel his lips ghost over the top of your spine. “You sure?”

“I’m your wife. This is part of the job,” you deadpan as if that is the entire argument in itself. Dry delivery, with no frills, the tone makes it impossible to tell if you are serious or just playing for the effect. “Happy birthday.”

Joshua lets out a fond breathless laugh that rumbles from deep in his chest but doesn't bother making a show of itself. His lips brush your shoulder again like a muscle memory he doesn't have to think about anymore. “I love you,” he says into your skin, not because he expects an answer, but because it is true in that moment and every other one too.

You hum, not even a full word but just enough to say, heard you. Say, me too. “Love you too,” already half-melted into the pillow. “Now go ahead. I’m just gonna nap while you commit a felony on my body.”

He groans, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

He dives in, and when he moves, it is slow. Every shift of his hips, every inch of contact, carries an edge of desperation; like he knows the moment will end and can't stop chasing it anyway. He whispers your name into your skin, clutches you like it matters, like letting go would split something wide open.

You don't move even when he breathes hard against your back. Not even when he says things that aren't full sentences but still get the meaning across. You just stay there, your body heavy and warm and unmoving, since you have poured every last drop of energy into him already—as your husband makes love to you one last time for the night.

Later, he lifts you gently, arms looping under you like it isn't the first time he’s carried you this way [it wasn't the first time]. Your legs don't argue; they’ve already given up.

⌦ 🚿 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

498 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request headcanons for Vergil, and Dante reacting to his petite gn s/o wearing his coat please?

Dante

he had come home from a mission, thankfully a quick one and the sight he saw you wearing his trademark red coat, it was more then he could ever thought would be waiting for him back home.

it was even better in his opinion.

his first words when he come back home are; 'wear my coat more often sweetheart, seriously don't stop wearing it i nedd to see you in it more often to make sure i'm not dreaming... for undisclosed purposes.'

seriously this man will try to find any and every way to get you to wear his coat, he needs it like his lungs need air.

he's got a taste of the image of you in his coat and now it's something he wants to see as often as he possinly can, even if it wasn't weather apropriate, he didn't care.

the first time he sees you in his coat he couldn't try to hide his excitment even if he could try, it's so aparent but he doesn't really care at all.

all that mattered was that you were wearing his coat and you looked perfectly sexy in the ruby red attire.

and if you were to try and take it off, he's right before your eyes and keeping his coat over your shoulders.

'keep it on, there's no need to take it off now im here, it just means we can match now.' he jokes as he takes in just how nicely his coat looked up close and his mind was decided, his coat was yours without question.

'so what's the specially ocassion?' he would ask, seeing as you never had done this before, and he was gone for quite a bit, so he was just curious if there was more to you just simply wearing his coat.

you shrug 'i missed you and wanted somwthing that reminded me of you while you were gone, reminding me that you were safe and come home to me sooner or later. i'd just have to be paitient.'

dante smiles softly as he kisses your forehead, his hands rubbing up and down your arms through his coat.

he was not expected that to be your awnser, however he couldn't blame you as he would often find himslef missing you while on missions, so he was secretly thankful that the feeling of missing one another when apart wasn't something only he felt.

especially if missing him would lead to more times like these where you wear his coat just to feel him near you for comfort. he wasn't going to stop you, not like he wanted to anyways becuase it only gives him an excuse to oggle you shamelessly for hours on end.

what can he say?! his baby looks good in his coat, it'd be a crime on his behalf to do such a thing and not admire his sweetheart wearing his clothes. he runs hot enough for the both of you so he doesn't really need his coat as much as he needs, it was only to add to his coolness.

'well then my coat is yours to uses to your hearts content sweetheart but make sure you wear it even if im here, i'm liking what i'm seeing and i never want to forget such an gorgeous sight.' he winks as you lightly slap his shoulder as he kisses your forehead again, holding you against him tightly as he could.

Vergil

he's frozen for a minute upon seeing you in his blue coat, but need i say that it brings a posessiveness out of him.

more specifically his demon side that's happy to see you wearing something of his so cassually, hopefully it should make it know to others that you were happily taken.

so his inner demon wants to see you in his coat more often, even if it didn't exactly make sense for you to be wearing it.

it also didn't help that the deep blue coat suited you perfectly in his eyes before averting them upon feeling the surge of pride and possessivness overcome him.

especially if anyone thriving for your attention was present, it would be the biggest fuck you ever in letting them know you were unatainable, you weren't for their prying eyes only his and his alone.

he's not use to such a thing happening to him, so he's not going to be aware on how to bring it up to you other then; 'you're wearing my coat, why is that?'

hes a curious one and genuinly means nothing by it other then to understand that there was someone who could easily love him and want to be adorned in his clothes.

god forbid you tell him you missed him, that concept is lost on him for as far as he is aware you'd be the only one willing to miss him.

especially when he leaves for long periods of time, never telling you where he was off to only the fact that he would come back to you before using Yamato to open a portal and leaving through it.

a forhead kiss might be given or a kiss to your hand, but even that is used sparingly by the man who treated you as his equal. he's romantic but don't expect him to show it all of the time like his brother.

'i missed you and i found it lying in your study and wanted to feel closer to you' you'd tell him before moving in taking it off, only for Vergil to put a hand on your shoulder.

'there is no need to remove it, keep it if it grants you that much...comfort and consols your soul to a quiet.' he tells you as he allows to admire you in his clothes, feeling a deep purr threatning to spill from the back of his throat.

needless to say from that moment onwards vergil will start to leave his coat more often at your place, signalling that he wants you to wear it and gets a look within his eyes when you do greet him in his coat.

dante has probably seen you in his brother's coat once, only once because Vergil stabbed him repeatedly and chucked his body throat a portal made by Yamato, his eyes glowing and a tad demonic as he growled. 'mine.'

vergil doesn't fuck with what's his and his alone, and even if he may not voice how much he likes you in his coat, his actions sure will.

656 notes · View notes

temis-de-leon · 1 year ago

Text

Pick me girls and Dateables - Part 3

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Part 1 - Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)

Part 2 - Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

CW: pick me girl behavior, suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of violence and threats, mentions of concubines (no concubines, tho), implied marriage (??), jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, the most ooc out of every part of the series, Barbatos's part is based on one of his chats (A patissier's suffering?)

A/N at the end.

Diavolo

So the Devildom had concubines, what about it? It's not like Diavolo had any concubines. You were his only partner and, apparently, the first one in a long while. You had nothing to worry about.

Still, it was impossible not to feel so dejected when every single one of the demons in his court buttered him up so blatantly, not caring that you were next to him, arms linked and fingers intertwined.

And he smiled. Of course, what else could he do but smile? He had a duty to fulfill and that probably meant keeping certain people happy, right?

At least, that was the mantra in your head. Your heart kept hurting itself, but having a reason made it manageable.

"Well? Have you thought about it?"

You turned to your side and stared at the demoness beside you. She was mesmerizing and looking at her directly made you lose focus.

Have I thought about it? I haven't stop thinking about it.

"Remember that I'm acting on behalf of his wellbeing" she said sweetly, caressing your wrist like she wanted to flirt with you "And I guess I could make you happy too"

That made you laugh without an ounce of humor. Both of you knew she wasn't being serious about that one and you wondered why she said it in the first place. Making her Diavolo's concubine would make her his wife in everything but paper. Did she expect giving you orgasms would make you happier about it?

"Leave me alone" you whispered against your drink, not trusting your voice to act decently.

"How can you be so selfish?" she spat, leaving you speechless "This is for his own good. How long will you live, human? Do you expect him to be alone after your death? My only wish is to keep him company once you're gone and starting now would make the transition easier. He'll still love you, sure, but this way he could be happier. How can you not understand something so simple?"

A demon she was, you remembered. Had you been a regular human, you would've believed her concerned face, but to you it was obvious how impatient she was and how much she wanted to leave you there, alone and breaking, so she could finally speak to Diavolo.

"MC"

Both of you jumped, turning around just to see Barbatos's unfazed smile.

"Lord Diavolo asks for you" he informed when you didn't answer, too surprised to react. "Follow me if you please"

"If I may" intervened your companion, close to giving you a heart attack "I must speak to Prince Diavolo. It's an urgent matter"

The butler looked at you, asking for your permission, but you didn't know how to react. It seemed your throat decided to stop working at that exact moment.

"Very well, then"

The demoness eagerly jumped at his words, not wasting a second in leaving the corner you were occupying to look for the prince, who had finally stopped talking to his subjects and was sitting alone in his throne.

Barbatos stared at her before offering you his arm.

"You have nothing to worry about"

He seemed confident, so you believed him. However, the distance you walked towards the throne felt longer than ever.

Your boyfriend looked unnaturally serious at your arrival, an expression his face was not made for. It softened when he saw you, but, still, he didn't fully smile.

"My love, come here" he palmed his thigh and not in a million years would you reject that offer.

Diavolo smiled at the speed you moved, barely restraining himself from kissing you. Instead, he turned to the demoness and presented her to you.

"I believe you've met her already, MC. Did you know about her offer? Did you know she wishes to serve me?"

He patiently waited for your answer, holding you against his chest and caressing your hip bones with the pad of his fingers and the tip of his nails, making you shiver.

Serve? That's the word she decided to use? She wasn't lying, sure, but it was far from the intention she actually had.

"We talked about it" you said in the end.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the sounds of people still drinking and dancing. Diavolo and Barbatos looked at each other, having a conversation no one else could hear.

"I take it you rejected her proposition?"

Obviously.

You nodded and he cupped your face with a sad frown. Your heart skipped a beat.

"That's a pity, my love"

For a moment you moved away from him, too lost in your incredulity to answer or even acknowledge the crazy smile on the demoness's face, but, not even a second later, Diavolo brought you back to him and continued.

"She would've make a wonderful lady in waiting"

Huh?

"Wait, what?"

Both of you ignored the woman, who looked like she'd been slapped in the face with something rotten, which, in her mind, was probably accurate.

"I asked to serve you, my Lord, not the human..."

"Beware your words" interrupted Barbatos, his tail swishing behind him like a whip.

She stopped talking then, very obviously swallowing her opinions. Diavolo speaked again.

"By serving you, she'll serve me. Give her an opportunity to make you happy and, if she fails, we'll get rid of her"

What did he mean, get rid of her? You opened your mouth to ask, but he jerked his leg, making you jump. His smile was wide, but his eyes held a warning.

You decided to let it go.

"Okay"

Diavolo laughed as loud as he usually did, finally hugging you and ignoring both Barbatos's reprimanding glance and the demoness's sour expression.

But wait.

Wait.

He said 'lady in waiting'. Like... Uh...

Were you getting married?

Barbatos

'I'll be waiting in the classroom'

That's what his last message said.

And you'd never be dumb enough to reject that invitation. ¿Spending time with your boyfriend and eating his homemade cookies? Hell yeah!

You just had to be careful not to catch Beel's attention, avoiding the main hallways and hiding between the taller students, which were almost everyone.

By the time you finally arrived to the classroom (you got lost, but you'd never admit that to anyone), you were fairly sure all of your classmates had already gone home.

Alas, you were wrong.

Barbatos's figure was as composed as ever, but you knew him just enough to know how irritated he actually was. Were you this late? It was never your intention!

But no, no, that wasn't the root of the problem.

You knew her, kinda. Not personally, but you'd seen her a lot of times in the castle, cleaning plates in the kitchen or clearing up the table after one of Diavolo's dinner parties. She looked weird in the school's uniform instead of the one the maids used, but you guessed they too had to go to RAD, just like the brothers did.

So why did Barbatos look so uncomfortable?

Both of them stared at you when you entered, walking towards him while staring at her in search of an explanation.

"MC! You're finally here"

He smiled at you with candid eyes, discreetly holding your hand and restraining himself from kissing you in front of the girl, who cleared her throat to break the moment and grinned at Barbatos like you weren't there at all.

Foolish mistake if you'd ever seen one.

Your boyfriend frowned before turning in her direction, clearly giving her one last oportunity before kicking her out of there and reclaiming his alone time with you.

The girl purposely made herself meek, lowering her gaze as if making visual contact with him was too much, something you could totally understand.

"Master Barbatos, please, I'm begging you. I just wish to learn"

You raised your eyebrows and waited for his answer. Instead, she kept talking.

"I'll follow every one of your orders, sir, I promise" arms behind her back and body slightly swaying, you now understood why he was in the edge of snapping "The others don't appreciate you as much as I do. I'll be your best student"

He stared at her, you stared at her, she stared at him, batting her lashes with a weirdly fake innocent smile.

Her demeanor vanished when the Royal Butler spoke.

"I recomend you stop this nonsense at once" he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence "You're embarrassing yourself and Lord Diavolo's service's good reputation"

The poor maid gaped like a fish, although you weren't feeling bad for her.

You stayed behind him, closing the distance as much as possible while staring at her over his shoulder. If you ate a cookie now, would it be too much? He'd probably forgive you, but you'd rather not risk your chances.

"You will stay on cleaning duty as long as I say and you will stop the rumors that I know have been traveling all around the castle"

She lowered her gaze again, this time in submission and humiliation. His voice sounded venomous and you could swear the room's temperature dropped a few degrees. The air was still and smelled damped and rottening.

"If the gossip hasn't disappear by midnight, rest assured, I will make sure you keep your mouth fully shut"

The threat was clear in his words, something that shouldn't, but still surprised you. The maid trembled in response before bowing and running out the classroom.

You stared at the door in surprise, not turning around until he talked again.

"Do forgive me, my dear, but you know how much I dispise rats"

He sounded scarier than ever, letting his forked tongue slip between his teeth before he searched around the room, like he was trying to find more pests.

Then, he turned to you and smiled like nothing happened, holding a cookie to your mouth as the tips of his gloved fingers caressed your jaw.

"Let's forget about this ordeal, MC. After all, I saved these just for you"

Solomon

If there was something worse than feeling jealous, it was Solomon knowing you were jealous.

You thought you could catch a break, uh? Well, you couldn't be more wrong: your boyfriend knew the moment he saw you staring at that witch.

She was cute, you guessed? Nothing exceptional, but not hideous either. You wouldn't mind at all if not for the fact that she used her appearance like a nuclear weapon.

"Oh, you're so cute!" she'd told you once "I wish I was as cute as you!"

And at first you thought nothing of it. She was just being nice! A little weird about it, sure, but who wasn't weird in RAD?

Except, she wasn't looking at you when she said that, but, instead, at your boyfriend.

Of course, Solomon, unbothered as ever, was too engrossed in the cooking book he'd borrowed from the library to pay attention.

(Later that night you had to order takeout, but you were already counting on that).

The point was: she was trying too hard. You couldn't blame her, really, you dated Solomon for a reason; but still. She was getting on your nerves.

"I'm so dumb... I'll never get it! Solomon, can you help me with this?"

Opening a door with magic? Difficult? Yeah, right.

"I've never dated a human before... How is it, MC? I bet Solomon is a great boyfriend"

He has his moments.

"Solomon! Sit with me, I saved you a seat! Why? Oh, I concentrate better when you're here!"

Shit, could she concentrate at all?

"You're so powerful! You'll have to let me have him for a night, MC! He could teach me a couple of things..."

You closed your fist, staring at her with a frown while talking yourself out of mauling her across the table. You didn't need Lucifer's rants about impropriety and self restraint on top of all of this.

"MC and I have a lesson tonight" the sorcerer said with a polite smile, unusually kind eyes and an unreadable expression "Would you like to tag along?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, lowering her gaze in embarrassment, although you weren't sure if she was really embarrassed.

"Could we hang out alone, tho? I don't want MC to see how dumb I am. They're so much better than me! I bet I need you more than they do!"

Well, you didn't need to study with her to know she was dumb as bricks.

You looked at Solomon, opening your eyes so much in bewilderment that even the insides of your cornea were getting dry. Not a second later he turned to you, smiling with mischief, and then you remembered who were you actually dating.

"It's either this or nothing. Be in Purgatory Hall at 6, we won't be waiting for you"

The witch quickly looked at you, frustrated at his words. It wasn't ideal, you knew, thirdwheeling your crush and his partner in a study date, but what else did she expect? Every other option was plain stupid.

"Okay"

She snorted, trying to hide the disgust and disappoinment without much success. Once she left you alone, swaying her hips and her ponytail, you punched Solomon in the arm and reveled in his pain.

"MC!! Relax!"

"Don't tell me to relax!"

You tried to choke him, but he hid his neck under his shoulders before you could lift yourself to reach him better. He knew you too well.

"MC, I have an idea! You'll like it, believe me!"

"Oh, really?"

"I swear!"

Once free from your attacks, Solomon avoided your eyes and stared at his hands. It took him a couple of seconds before he could look at you again, cheeks red, while he spoke from his heart.

"I couldn't care less about her attempts, MC, but she's obviously making you uncomfortable. I won't let this keep going if I can do something about it"

"But why did you invite her to our lesson, then?"

He laughed in a carefree manner, still blushing while he took your hands in his, looking at you like he was about to uncover a precious secret.

"As your teacher, I want you to explore your potential to the maximum"

His voice lowered to a whisper and you got closer to him, letting your body shiver when his breath caressed the skin of your neck.

"Say, MC, wouldn't you like to have your very own training dummy?"

Simeon

Oh, the privileges of being friends with the most powerful demons in the Devildom.

All you had to do was pout a little and act like you were miserable, missing the warmth of the sun and the familiar scenery of the human world. Of course, all of them knew you were exaggerating, but none would take the risk of actually making you sad.

So there you were, waiting for your drinks while Simeon sunbathed outside, sitting in one of those ornate metal chairs and writing some loose ideas for his next book in a napkin. After all, you'd be crazy if you ever went to the human realm without using the opportunity to have a date with your sweetheart of a boyfriend.

If not for the brightness of his suit, he would look like a college student from an old movie, all dreamy and focused in his own world.

And, apparently, you weren't the only one thinking that.

There were a group of girls outside the cafe, all of them young, maybe even fresh out of high school, staring at Simeon like he was some kind of celebrity. Maybe it was his angelic charisma? Maybe it was just his good looks? Whatever the reason, the girls seemed ready enough to conquer the world and they wanted to start with your boyfriend.

You studied your surroundings, realizing with an uncomfortable weigh in your chest just how busy the place was. There was no way you were getting your order in less than five minutes, even being the first in line, so the only thing you could do was wait and hope the girls wouldn't bother Simeon too much.

They stayed in a closed circle for a few moments until one of them finally dared to go and talk to him. She tried to sit in the second chair, but Simeon stopped her with a quick movement of his hand, probably saying he was saving it for you.

That made you laugh, but you were starting to get second hand embarrassment. You could tell she was trying hard to catch his attention, twirling her hair around her finger and hugging her waist to make her breasts look bigger.

You couldn't see Simeon's face, but, by the way he was scratching the paper, it was obvious he was losing focus on whatever he was previously writing, which would only make him irritated.

Fortunately, and rather rudely, the waitress finally gave you the styrofoam cups and immediately ignored you again, but you couldn't care less. The girl returned to her friends just as you stepped out of the cafe, letting you know part of what happened.

"He said he didn't know what part of him made him look interested in me" she snarled with a hint of hurt in her voice, trying to hide it with offense "That I should find someone that actually finds me entertaining"

Her friends gasped and you had to stop yourself from laughing. He wasn't usually that snappy, but she did interrupt his daydreaming.

"I don't even care what he thinks, he's just some dude! I can catch anyone I want, you know?"

Anyone but him, apparently, but the only thing her friends could do was agree.

Shaking your head and holding one drink in each hand, you stopped the eavesdropping and hurried towards him, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek and smiling softly when he raised his hands to stroke your hair. He was warm from the sun, but he still curled close to you even after letting you sit next to him.

The girls audibly gasped at your actions, clearly offended by your presence as if Simeon would change his mind if they waited enough.

You couldn't bring yourself to pay them attention. Not when he was caressing your knuckles with such love in his touch and a feeling so deep in his eyes that it made your heart violently stop.

"So what were you writing?"

He smiled and eagerly showed you the napkin. By the time you turned around, the girls were already gone.

Tagging the party: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav

Author's note:

Simeon's part sucked the soul out of me (not in the good way), but at least it's well-written. Also, this will be the last part for now: I don't know Mephisto, Raphael or Thirteen enough, so they won't be in any of my posts (for now)

4K notes · View notes