#if you have him do this youre proving that right

[januaryembrs]

hot chocolate!

what about reader who hates people being anywhere near her except when it comes to spencer

i’m talking is lost whenever he’s not next to her or in the middle of looking at victimology realizes he’s not there and readers brain literally short circuits cuz she can’t feel his body next to her

BIRTHDAY GIRL | Spencer Reid x reader

description: The BAU knew not to be offended by your aversion to touch, just as well as they knew Spencer was special.

length: 0.9k

warnings: aversion to touch? fluff? Derek picks you up for like a second

“Where is she?” 

“Where do you think?” Morgan sighed as Emily pointed over her shoulder with a lazy thumb, not so much as looking up from her paperwork to check if you were still there. Because she knew Reid was sitting at his desk reading, which told her all she needed to know. 

Morgan’s eyes trailed up where her finger pointed out, striding over to where the two of you all but shared a swivelly seat as he positioned on the floor in between your legs, your fingertips brushing through his hair without much thought.

“Birthday girl!” Derek called, and you had only a few moments to snap your eyes from where they were focused on his scalp, before two strong hands swivelled you around in your seat and yanked you away from Spencer. 

Derek hooked his hands around your waist, pulling you up into a giant hug that damn near squeezed the life out of you, and you accepted it with a tight grin, the discomfort clear on your face.

“You get a hall pass, today only, Morgan,”  You said in between a forced smile, giving him a pat on the back gently, and he set you down to the ground, and the agent went yet another step further to ruffle your hair affectionately. 

“Best hope that Penelope didn’t hear that, baby girl has got a tonne of cuddles with your name written all over them,” He said, a cheeky grin carrying his words as you straightened your shirt out, taking a seat back in your desk chair, trying not to look too afraid of the blonde bombshell that had been waited years to get her loving hands on you.

Derek chuckled at your expression, dropping a small, expensive looking bag onto your desk, the top looped with a blush pink bow that screamed something fancy. 

“Until next year, dollface.” Derek shot you a wink, and you smiled at him, truly grateful despite your aversion to touch, and another hand sneaked up to the arm of your chair, whirling you back around to the man waiting patiently on the floor.

“You okay?” Spencer murmured, reading the flustered expression on your face easier than the words on the page, and you nodded silently, not wanting to seem almost rude by showing just how ruffled Derek’s closeness had made you feel, “They know you love them still,” He reassured with saccharine sweetness, because he knew what thoughts banged and clanked around in that brain of yours without even having to say it. 

You nodded again with a sigh, trying to tell yourself that Spencer was right and you weren’t bad for not liking being mauled like a cute puppy at a kid’s party, and as if to prove you right, Spencer got to his feet, laying his book face down beside the present, and tucked your hair behind your ear, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. You preened under his touch, the only exception to your made up rule, your hand flying out to grab his wrist when he made an attempt to move away, not wanting him to let go for even a second. 

“Do you want to go get coffee, birthday girl?” Spencer asked, sticking his hand out, prime for the taking which worked like a charm as you hopped out of your wheely chair, entwining your fingers through his and falling into step with him, judging the apple of your cheeks into his arm affectionately. 

Touching Spencer was different, but then, he always had been special to you. 

–

“Hey, angel, do you know where Spencer is?” Your voice was worried as you crept into Penelope’s lair, your eyes darting to every crevice of the room like he was waiting to jump out and scare you. Her pigtails swished as she shot a look at you, her cheeks rosy and sweet when she smiled knowingly. 

“Hotch sent him upstairs to get more paper, fax machine ran out,” She explained, watching the way you wrung your fingers, “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be right back.” 

You nodded, feeling almost dumb for being thrown so far out the loop knowing he was an entire floor away, but then that was, what, one little elevator button up? You needed to get a hold of yourself. You were an FBI agent for christ sakes, you’d faced murders and kidnappers and psychopaths, being a few measly steps away from Spencer Reid shouldn’t be so-

You felt your whole body deflate when he strolled through the door to ‘the bat cave’ Garcia had forced everyone to officially name it, and your hands released one another to weave your fingers through the belt loop on his jeans. 

“Sorry, Hotch really needed something sending over from LAPD,” He apologised, seeing the crease in your brow smoothing out almost immediately, and he kissed it just for good measure. 

“It’s fine, no biggy,” You brushed off, even though your face painted and entirely different picture as you seemed to have relaxed entirely into mush, the cogs in your brain all but switching off now that he was back glued to your side. “You wanna go get lunch?”

Anything to win even an hour back with him, where you could kiss his face and lips and hands and there would be no consequence in the form of HR meetings and Hotch’s disapproving yet knowing glares. 

He smiled, kissing your hairline again, because he knew Penelope didn’t mind loving gestures in the cover of her office, taking your hand in his and heading for the door, “There’s that new burger place on the corner, do you wanna try there?” 

Hotch hid his smile as he watched his two youngest agents leave the precinct for food, your usually aloof touch all but smothering Reid as you walked as close to him as physically possible. He pretended not to see the small peck you graced Spencer’s lips, telling himself he simply couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork, and stuck his nose back into his report. It was your birthday, afterall.

[reidrum]

two millimeters | s.r

a/n: this was literally born bc i saw reid lying on the couch in the jet at the end of demons and thought ‘i would literally sit against that wall to watch over him on the way back’ so i wrote it

summary: spencer gets hurt and you’re not leaving his side

cw: season 9 finale spoilers for angels & demons, cm violence, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationship

wc: 0.6k

___________________________________________

two millimeters to the right, and it would’ve hit his carotid.

the sentence replays in your head like a cursed mantra, rendering your other senses useless. you couldn’t hear the doctor say you could see him now, or feel penny tug your arm towards the room. and you certainly couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw spencer reid in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and iv drips, with a big fucking gauze dressage on the side of his neck.

you knew your line of work was dangerous, being a federal agent who hunts down serial killers should be enough to prove that. but it never surprised you seeing the panic that overtook all of you when one of your own was hurt.

the pure terror you felt in this moment though, was something without parallel.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

you’re not even sure how it happened. they were on the way to tell the preacher he was innocent, and instead he opens fire on federal agents? it was a cruel twist of fate, spencer doing what he could to protect his people and pushing blake out of the way but getting hit himself. it wasn’t anyone’s fault either, the preacher had military grade machine guns, and spencer would have done what he did for anyone. you made sure to tell blake that.

but your spencer was hurt. and all you wanted to do was take away his pain somehow, and toss it in a river to never be seen again.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

“hey,” you hear a voice pull you out of your head. looking up you’re met with tired soft brown eyes lying down on the jet’s couch, “i’m okay, honey. please go sit on a chair.”

if spencer had all his strength he would lecture you on the dangers of not being properly restrained on an aircraft and the statistics of plane related injuries. but that was the problem, he didn’t have all his strength. and you were not going to let him out of your sight.

which is why you are sitting on the floor of the jet, perched in front of the couch where spencer laid, resting your head on the cushion his head was on, body leaning against couch’s frame. and you planned to stay right there until you landed back in quantico.

“looks like this flight is overbooked,” your section unit chief teased upon seeing you on the ground, “hopefully the brass sees our good work and gives us a bigger jet next year.”

morgan, hotch, even jj offered you their seats to at least get some rest, something you hadn’t had in days.

“i’m fine right here.” you spoke softly.

jj and penny looked at you in concern, but knew you wouldn’t be swayed to move anyway. your stubbornness always acted as a curse and a blessing.

spencer moved his hand to graze your cheek gently, “the doctors fixed me up really good, i promise i’m okay.”

you move your hand to rest on top of his, slowly rubbing your thumb into the curve of his palm, “and i promise i’m okay right here. i’m not moving.”

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

two millimeters would haunt you for many years to come, but maybe right now you could use it to measure how much closer you can get to spencer till there’s only two millimeters between you.

spencer knew this was a war he was not winning, and let his hand intertwine with yours. if you weren’t so close to him you might’ve missed the faintest “thank you” escape from his lips. the jet takes off and the two of you are lulled to sleep almost immediately. the rest of the team unspokenly watched over you both, making sure you weren’t rattling around or spencer rolling around too much. and penny couldn’t help but take a few pics to show you later.

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part six

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: smut & not proofread

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry when you hear the girl talking to Lando. He’s barely responding to her, but still. It’s so clear to you. Lando doesn’t care about you. That silly crush of yours? You need to get rid of it. How faster, how better. When they walk inside the living room, it doesn’t take longer then a second for Lando to see you sitting on the couch. 

While Lando is busy staring at you and thinking about what to say, you can’t stop looking at the girl he bought home with him. Is it bad that she kinda reminds you of yourself? She’s wearing the same sort of dress you were wearing on your ‘date’ with your ex. Her hair is the same color and about as long as yours. It must be a coincidence. 

Lando feels so ashamed right now. The night he goes for the most pathetic way, is the night you see it happen. Fucking hell. He hasn’t drunk enough to handle with this. When he saw Emily earlier at the club, at least if he got her name right, he could only see the dress she’s wearing. Exactly like yours from earlier. Then he saw how she had some other things that reminded him of you. It felt like the only solution for tonight. 

“Uh,” Emily clearly feels the tension between Lando and you. “She’s not your girlfriend right?” She asks awkwardly. 

“No,” you quickly reply. 

Lando doesn’t even know what to say. He can only feel ashamed right now. Fuck. You keep looking at Emily and him. He knows that you see it as well, it’s not hard to miss that Emily looks like you. This is embarrassing. It feels even more embarrassing that she’s a cheap knockoff compared to you. He lets out an annoyed sigh. Fuck, he really fucked things up with this. 

Now that he thinks about it, he wonders why he even brought the girl home with him. How longer he looks at her, how less she reminds him of you. Tonight was about proving that you’re wrong, not about proving the other way around. Why did he even bring her with him? It’s desperate, really.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” you softly say while standing up from the couch. Is it that bad that you’re disappointed in this? You feel like some sort of fool. Why did you even wait up? Why did you want to know about this? You feel yourself getting more sad with the second. Slowly you walk away. When you walk past Lando, he’s quick to grab your shoulder. It makes you even more sad. 

“Don’t leave like this,” he softly says, “Let’s talk.”

You feel the anger running through your veins right now. You aren’t thinking about what you’re saying right now. “I don’t think your girlfriend is here to talk,” you sneer to him, “and neither am I. Not anymore at least.”

“Let me explain,” Lando pleas with a soft voice.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you state, “We’re nothing. It’s not like we’re friends or anything. You lied to me before, I don’t trust you anymore. We’re even less then nothing now.”

“Don’t act like this,” Lando replies. You see the pain in his eyes, but for now you don’t care about that. He did this to himself. He’s the one who bought her home, not you. If it’s up to you he feels all kind of pain right now, he deserves it. 

“Don’t act like what?” You ask annoyed, “Can’t I tell you that we’re not friends, or anything else? Or can’t I tell you that I don’t care about you? You do you Lando. I really don’t give a fuck. So go have sex with your new girlfriend over here.”

“Shut up,” Lando groans. 

“Or what?” You reply angrily. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Lando continues. 

“I mean every word of what I just said,” you lie. Of course you don’t mean anything about it. You thought that Lando and you were finally becoming friendly with each other, you even hoped for more. Fuck this is really bad. It even pains you to say those words to him, but you don’t feel like you have another choice. 

“Stop lying,” Lando says with a louder voice this time. He almost seems angry this time. The frustration is obvious. 

“I don’t care Lando. Do whatever you want, go fuck with her or another girl. I really don’t care about it,” you tell him with the same frustration, “just make sure that you’re not moaning out my name again.” 

“Shut up,” Lando groans. The angry undertone in his voice is getting more clear now. You match it.

“Make me,” you reply angrily. 

You’re painfully aware about how close Lando and you are standing towards each other. He isn’t holding your shoulder anymore, but you feel every breath of him on your face. At this moment you want nothing more then for Lando to snap. It feels like you’re pretty close to make that happen. You wonder what will happen next. Will he scream at you? Or would he shut you up another way? Some way you prefer?

Lando takes a step closer towards you. His nose is almost pressed against yours. The space between to two of you gets only smaller. You wonder if you need to say something else, but then Lando continues to talk. 

“You want me to shut you up?” He asks you. His voice isn’t angry anymore, it doesn’t even seems frustrated anymore. It’s almost scarily calm for what’s happening. You notice how Lando doesn’t look away from you. The girl he bought home with him is still here, but it seems like Lando has forgotten about her. Not that you mind. Why hasn’t she left yet anyway?

“Yes,” you state boldly. 

Lando doesn’t think about the possible outcomes of his next movement. He stops thinking about everything he wants to do right now and for once just does something. Still annoyed and frustrated with the whole evening - and mostly with himself, he finally snaps. He grabs your waist, and pulls you almost into himself. Before you can react he lifts up your chin with a soft, but forceful movement. He gives you one last look in the eyes before closing his own eyes and slamming his lips against yours. 

You didn’t expect him to do this. Fuck, you really didn’t. But it’s insane how good it feels. Lando his lips are soft, even softer then you thought they would be. His kiss reflects the way he’s feeling, it’s messy but it does fit the moment. You can probably kiss him like this for the rest of the night.  And many nights more. If he would let you. Maybe it isn’t Lando who doesn’t support that idea, it’s the girl from earlier who distracts you from each other. 

“What the fuck!” She loudly screams. “Why did you even bring me here?” She continues to ask, “This is fucking insane.” 

“Just leave,” Lando sighs annoyed. He doesn’t move away from you in the mean time. You’re still trapped in his arms. Without saying a word, but with a small grin plastered on your face, you watch everything amused. It seems like she doesn’t want to leave like this. The girl is still fuming and making all kind of remarks at Lando. While he only tries to get her to leave. 

Eventually Lando needs to let go of you to walk her outside. You still hear her screaming in the hallway. It makes you giggle. Of course, it’s bad that Lando treated her like this - but for once, you’re glad about it. It would be way worse if he fucked her. You hear the front door close, after that there’s a peaceful silence. No more screams from the girl. No more arguments between Lando and you. 

When Lando returns to you, he’s busy thinking about what to do next. Should he continue with what he was doing? Or should he apologize? He has no idea what you think about all of this. What if he kissed you without you agreeing with it? When he sees you leaning on the wall and waiting for him with a small, but really satisfied grin plastered on your face, Lando is quick to forget about all his worries. He rushes himself back to you, only to press his lips on yours for the second time that night. 

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he grunts after pulling back.

“Says you,” you reply softly.

Lando doesn’t reply verbally this time. He softly pins you against the wall and presses his lips against yours for the third time tonight. Now that he knows how it feels to kiss with you, he never wants to stop with it. He can’t miss this feeling. 

You can safely state that you have never been kissed better then this. It’s not like you want to give yourself hope, but Lando kisses you like there’s no-one else he ever wants to kiss again. You can only hope that it actually is that way. Mainly because you’re sure that you never want to kiss anyone else again if it isn’t Lando. 

“Fuck Lan,” you softly whimper when he pulls back again. 

He looks at you. The way he stares at you makes you shiver. His eyes pierce through yours. “What babygirl?” Lando asks you. He’s afraid that you have come to your senses, that he should stop this. You probably don’t want this, he guesses. 

“Don’t stop,” you softly tell him with red cheeks. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop,” Lando mutters a bit disappointed. You show him a confused look, didn’t he hear you? You don’t even know why he’s thinking about stopping. The only good thing about him mishearing you, is that he seems disappointed to stop. That’s interesting. 

“I said don’t stop,” you tell him a bit louder this time. 

This time it’s Lando who shows you a confused look. He has no idea what’s happening to him. Before he can even ask if you’re sure, you already surprise him again. This time it’s you who pulls him closer towards yourself. Lando doesn’t even know what’s happening anymore. It seems like you do want this as well? He thought you lost yourself in the moment, but now he’s not so sure about that anymore. 

He can’t help himself anymore now. His tongue is inside your mouth and battling yours for dominance. Lando can’t hold himself back. If this is the only night he’ll experience this, he needs to experience as much of you as he can. When you let out a soft moan during making out with Lando, it only arouses him more. He feels his pants tighten around a particular spot. Softly he pins you against the wall again. He removes his lips from yours, only to connect them with your neck. 

It makes you let out a soft moan. How is Lando making you feel like this in only a matter of time? You must be losing your mind. Your focus is quick to disappear when Lando his hands start to explore your body as well. His hands are everywhere, at least that’s how it feels like. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he eventually tells you. 

“Make it up to me?” You ask confused. What’s he talking about. 

“For bringing her home,” Lando confesses, “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

Slowly you nod. “That’s a lot to make up for,” you softly say. 

Lando nods as well. “Thank god we have a lot of time,” he jokes. You show him a small grin. That’s enough confirmation for him right now. Within seconds he picks you up. You’re surprised about his strength. He’s actually walking you to his room like this. When you reach his bedroom, Lando softly drops you onto his bed. He joins you on the bed, hovering above you while pressing kisses on your cheeks, forehead, nose and every other spot he can find to press his lips against. 

It takes you a lot to withhold yourself from letting out loud moans whenever Lando does something. When Lando kisses you against your neck and softly sucks on a small bit of your skin, you can’t hold them back anymore. You let out a loud moan. 

“Lan,” you softly whimper.

“You better keep calling me that,” Lando softly tells you. You show him a small smile. He let himself down on the bed next to you. You’re quick to move yourself closer towards Lando. Within a couple seconds you have yourself pressed up against him again. Lando looks at you full lust. “Needy babygirl?” Lando asks you. 

You can only nod. You feel your cheeks redden up. It almost feels embarrassing, but you really can’t stop feeling like this right now. The things Lando is doing to you, while almost doing nothing to you, are actually insane. Lando moves himself again. This time he positions himself sitting right next to you. Softly he pulls you up as well. He toys with the hem of your sweater, looking at you with questioning eyes while doing so. You show him a small nod, hoping that he understands the hint. He does. Slowly Lando pulls off your sweater. 

When he sees that you’re wearing nothing underneath your sweater, he softly gasps. “Fuck babygirl,” he mutters while looking at your boobs. He notices the way your nipples have hardened, he wants nothing more then to put them into his mouth. For now he withholds himself from actually doing so. He does however move his attention towards your leggings. Suddenly he can’t think about anything else then seeing you naked. 

It’s you who is quick to discard the leggings you were wearing. Lando can’t believe his eyes when you start to pull of the leggings. When the leggings have joined your sweater on the floor, Lando can’t stop staring at you anymore. Softly he lets his hands wander over your body, stopping by your string. After this there’s no way back. Not that he can trust himself to stop now, but after seeing you completely naked he’s sure that he can’t stop anymore. 

You let out a soft moan when Lando traces your string with his fingers. “Take it off please,” you beg Lando. 

“Sure babygirl?” Lando asks you, “Because I don’t think I can stop myself anymore after seeing you naked.” He needs to know for sure that you want this as well. 

“Please,” you continue to beg, “Just take if off already.”

Lando doesn’t need to know anything else for now. He is quick to pull down your string. When he tosses it on the floor as well, he can’t tear his eyes of you. You’re beautiful. Words are leaving his mouth rather quickly, he can’t even think about what he’s saying anymore. 

“You look so beautiful,” he murmurs. You show him a small smile. “Imagined this for years,” he grunts, “You look even better then in my dreams.” Is Lando confessing that he dreamt about you? What’s going on? “Can I touch you?” Lando suddenly asks you, you’re quick to stammer out a yes. 

Lando is quick to come into action after hearing your yes. Suddenly he’s everywhere at once. You feel him exploring your naked body. His lips are pressing kisses on your neck, but he’s fast to move down lower. Eventually he reaches your boobs. He sends you one more asking look to know you’re sure about this, which you are quick to confirm to. After that Lando closes his lips around one of your nipples, while softly kneading your other tit. It causes you to let out a loud moan, something that Lando seems to like. 

Everything is getting to much for you rather quickly. It’s been a while since the last time you’ve had sex and with a thin walled room next to Lando, masturbating wasn’t one of your options lately. The way Lando discovers your body is making you lose your mind. You need to feel him as well. You start to toy with the hem of his shirt, trying to make clear to him that he should take it off. Lando doesn’t budge. 

When Lando moves down on your body again and presses kisses against your lower stomach, you’re sure that you’ll be losing your mind. When one of his kisses is almost pressed against your cunt, you almost let out a scream. Fuck it’s actually insane how much you need him to do something to you. Who would have thought that Lando is the one who can make you feel like this? Now that you think of it, you’re not that surprised. 

“Ohh Lan,” you softly moan out when Lando gets even closer towards your more private parts. Lando lets out a low groan. “I need to taste you,” Lando grunts. 

“Please do,” you moan. 

That’s all Lando needed to hear. He dresses himself down in no time. His shirt and pants join your clothes on the bedroom floor. Then he spread your legs for himself. “Such a pretty cunt,” Lando softly mutters while looking at you. He really can’t believe that this is happening. 

“Do something,” you softly beg. 

Lando doesn’t wait any longer anymore. He presses kisses against your cunt in a taunting slow pace. It makes you crazy. “More,” you whimper. Lando listens to you. Like some sort of madman he starts to lick your pussy. His tongue is everywhere at once. You don’t even try to hold back your moans anymore. They are leaving your mouth again and again. It seems that Lando likes it as well. 

“You’re making such pretty sounds for me,” Lando tells you adoringly. It gives you a warm feeling on the inside. You’re probably red already, but otherwise you’d be sure that this would be the reason. “Such a good girl,” Lando continues to praise you. 

Lando slowly lets one of his fingers slide inside of you. Moving it in a rather fast pace while connecting his lips to your clit. Softly he sucks it inside of his mouth. When he releases, you let out a loud moan again. You feel your orgasm getting closer. 

“Fuck me,” you try to order Lando. 

Lando stops his movements. “Fuck you?” He asks you confused.

“I need to feel you inside me,” you confess. 

“What about asking nicely?” Lando asks you teasingly. He always thought you’d be a bit of a brat and it turns out that he’s right. However, what he didn’t expect was how easily it would be to turn you into a begging mess.

“Please Lan,” you beg him without even thinking about it. “Please let me feel you fill me up,” you continue, “Please fuck me.” Begs are leaving your lips like prayers. Lando has never felt so aroused in his life before. He always thought it would be different with you, more intense for sure, but he didn’t expect it to be this much better with you. He’s still wearing his boxers, but he has never felt this close to an orgasm before. You’re making him lose his mind. 

Lando already knows that when he has felt you around his cock for the first time, there’s no one else who would ever feel better around it anymore. He knows for a fact that when he fucks you, he ruins sex for himself for the rest of his life. But still, that doesn’t stop him from pulling down his boxershorts and letting his cock spring to freedom. 

You’re greedily grabbing his boner, needing to feel it in your hands before he puts it inside you. Slowly you stroke his dick, Lando lets out a loud moan. It feels good to pull a sound like this out of him. You want to hear every sound you can get out of him. 

“Princess,” Lando grunts, “You have to stop doing that, otherwise I’ll cum before even fucking you.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” You ask Lando. Fuck, you feel like a brat but you can’t stop yourself. You never felt like this before. No one ever made you feel like this. Lando can only grin when he hears your remark. 

“Always thought you would be a brat,” he tells you with a dangerously low voice. It makes you even more turned on. “Sorry,” you whimper.

“Never apologize for that babygirl,” Lando is quick to reassure you, “I always liked the thought.” Before you can react again, Lando continues to talk. “And I always liked the thought of you being my brat even more,” he confesses. You don’t know what to say. At this moment you don’t have to say anything, Lando comes closer towards you and starts to line up his cock with your entrance. 

“You still want this?” Lando asks you.

“Please,” you beg.

That’s all Lando needed to hear. He pushes himself inside of you. Within seconds he’s setting a ungodly pace. You can’t even think straight anymore right now. The only thing that’s in your mind is how good Lando is fucking you. Sex never felt like this before. You wonder if anyone else will ever make it feels like this. You don’t think so. Lando is probably ruining you. And you would let him do it again every time he wants to. 

“Fuck,” you whimper when you feel your orgasm reaching again. Lando makes all kind of sounds in the mean time. You love every single one of them. Every small or big grunt, moan and groan makes you even more aroused. 

“You feel fucking perfect,” Lando groans. He increases his pace even more. “I’m so fucking close,” he adds almost ashamed. 

“Me too,” you confess.

Lando didn’t lie about how close he already was. He feels himself almost crashing down because of his upcoming orgasm. He tries to fuck you as hard as he can manage, pushing and pulling in and out of you with a rapid pace. “Fuck,” you almost scream when Lando keeps increasing his pace. “I’m coming,” you tell Lando pretty quickly after that.

You feel the orgasm washing over you. It’s never been as intense as now. Lando tries to pull himself back, remembering for the first time that he didn’t use any kind of protection. Your legs are firmly wrapped on his body, you’re not letting him go. 

“Pill,” you softly explain. Lando nods and pushes himself deeper back into you. He feels his load coming out of him and entering you. 

“Fucking hell babygirl,” Lando grunts a couple minutes later when he feels more relaxed again. His orgasm has left his body. He feels calm again. “That was,” Lando starts a sentence he doesn’t know how to finish. It was so many things, mind-blowing, the best sex of his life and he can go on like this. 

“A mistake,” you finish his sentence. You already feel sad about the words you just said, but you know that it’s for the better to call it a mistake. “This can’t happen again,” you sigh. 

Lando doesn’t know what to think right now. “A mistake?” He asks you confused, “Was it that bad?”

“No,” you’re quick to deny, “I think, no I know that this was the best sex I’ve ever had. But we can’t do this again Lando, I’m not the one for one night stands.”

“I never called this an one night stand,” Lando is quick to tell you. “Let’s talk tomorrow about this babygirl. I want to sleep and I want you next to me.” 

It’s probably the most stupid thing you can do, but you agree to Lando his wishes. You let yourself fall asleep next to Lando. He cuddles up against you and does the exact same thing, but not before wondering how he’s going to make sure that this will happen again. 

a/n; finaaaaally some tension :) there's more to come! hope everyone likes it <3

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@saachiep81 @misspygmypie

[poppy-metal]

fail marriage au…………………….

having your first big blow out fight after marriage counselling. putting everything you ever found aggravating or disrespectful or wrong or even just a bit annoying on the table. art doing exactly the same. it gets mean. it gets personal. it gets ugly. you scream at him, scream like a banshee and he shouts back. veins you didn’t know he had bulge in his neck, his fingers flex as he wildly gesticulates. you throw something, a plastic tv remote that shatters against the wall. it all passes in a heated blur, you hardly know what you’re doing or saying but that blood is pumping through your veins and you’re alive and so is art. alive. furious, at you. you stalk up to him, and he stands tall above you, looming like a storm cloud. a sweet faced angelic storm cloud that right at this second you couldn’t fucking stand. you jab at his chest with your finger as you yell, lay into him. why couldn’t he tell you how he feels? why did he have to be so fucking passive aggressive? why was tashi the centre of his fucking universe? why couldn’t he be a fucking man and tell you what he really wants? be a man art. be a fucking man for once in your goddamn life.

his nostrils flare, his anger rising with every poke. he grabs your wrist, yanks it up and leans in close. stooping, showing you that he is bigger. he would stoop to your level. he will fight back. you feel his breath on your nose and seethe. he’s still minty fresh. stupid cunt.

“what i want is for you to shut the fuck up and stop acting like you know everything.”

“fuck off, you limp dicked sack of shit.”

“fuck you cunt.” he flicks those brutal syllables at you, chewing his words, opening his mouth so you can see his tongue forming them. you feel the severity in the pit of your stomach. you feel something else lower.

“fuck me? fuck you!”

and in that moment you drew together, moving as one, in the most violent kiss of the modern age. he squeezes your wrist, still held aloft. your other hand grips his shirt collar, pulling so hard it hurts his neck. good. you hope his delicate little neck gets a friction burn and a rash and you hope it stings forever. he tongues furiously at your mouth, mashing his lips into yours and licking the side of your mouth. eating your face like he eats pussy. which he hasn’t done in a while, another thing to yell at him about later. his other hand grips the back of your head, holding it still so you have no choice but to recieve his hot, angry love. you kiss back with equal fury. you want to make him suffer your love. don’t want it? tough luck. it’s his. and he will take it. he grunts into your mouth, it vibrates your tongue. you pull back, but he doesn’t let you. he forces you back nearer to him, spine curving in hateful ecstasy. he kisses you for a few more seconds before drawing back only a few centimetres to rest his forehead on yours and breathe. your lips are wet with him.

“i love you,” you breath.

he caresses the back of your head.

“prove it.”

me when i overachieve.

anyway this is apart of my failmarriage au and you should probably read this part first to understand whats going on here. or just follow the #failmarriage au tag that i have.

your breath shudders out of you. you'd never heard that tone from him before, or rather, never directed at you. not exactly cold but, chilled. serious and pointed. dominant.

your hands fall from his hair, sliding down his throat, his shoulders. you stare into his eyes - he stares back. you feel like you're on a razor thin wire. concede or push back.

you wonder what this will fix. but you don't think you care. you want him. you miss him. your heart is pounding just thinking about it. you take a step back, two, three, several paces.

"okay," you say. you dont even know what you're agreeing too, just that you want it, whatever it is.

before you even have time to linger on that thought though -

because art is already stalking towards you, undoing his soft leather belt and letting it drop to the floor. you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe. just watching in this kind of stupified silence as art unczips his pants and slides his delicate fingers under his waistband. In three strides, art was right up in your space, owning it,  staring you down with a cool kind of control in his eyes, heavy cock in his hand, already hard and flushed and mouthwateringly beautiful. you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t think. all you could see was art. 

when art spoke, his voice was an iron grip closing around your throat. each word as clear and distinct as a brand to your hot skin.

“get on your knees”

you sink to the floor. It felt like falling, your knees knocked out from under you by the invisible string of his command that binds you to him. breath punches out of your lungs as you let yourself go under. art was already reaching out and grabbing the back of your head and shoving his cock past your waiting lips, pushing all the way to the hilt as his leaking head slammed into the back of your throat.

“god,” art breathed out, vice grip holding you in place. “You’re beautiful like this” and you were lost. years of built resentment and anxiety dissipating like smoke as art took over your senses. the taste of him, the smell of him, the warmth of him, the silk soft press of his cock down your throat. It was everything you’d been longing for from him. 

your hands fly up to grip art’s waist, fingers trying to find purchase, pressing him deeper, holding him deeper, worried he might pull out but not able to hold yourself back. when art didn’t say anything, didn't tell you to stop, you sank forward and started to suck greedily, tongue running over art’s throbbing length, trying desperately to take him apart, to please him, to worship him, to give him what he wanted. 

you heard yourself whine, felt your body sway forward, but you managed to hold yourself still, keep your tongue flat, keep your mouth wide and waiting, holding art still against the back of your throat, wanting desperately to prove you were good. that you loved him. That you wanted, wanted, wanted him.

"give me your hand,” art breathes, looking down at you, and you think briefly of the ancient greek god apollo, and how if art was a deity, you.d gladly stay right where you are. lovingly holding him in the back of your throat. 

your mind was already starting to go fuzzy with the heavy weight of art on the back of your tongue, salt slowly leaking from his pink slit, the slow stretch of his your lips around art’s shaft starting to ache in your jaw. , but, still you had enough awareness to look up confused, meeting art’s eyes in a question. but art didn’t offer an explanation. just looked down at you, hand held out, patiently waiting, like it wasn’t a question of whether you would obey; it was just a matter of when.

shakily, your hand reaches out to his. by instinct or by pure coincidence, its the hand with your wedding band on it. your fingers brush against each other, and then arts fingers, lithe and strong, an athlete's fingers, slide between yours. he brings your clasped hands together against his chest. if your throat wasn’t stuffed with cock you’d gasp at the gesture, the intimacy of it alone. your palm against his bare chest, his right pectoral. right over his thunderous heartbeat. his wedding band presses against yours. 

“Im gonna move, okay?” he breathes down at you, and his hand squeezes yours. “If you want me to stop just squeeze my hand two times.”

you nodded, a slight movement, eager and unbidden. art ran a finger under your jaw, fluttering his fingers against you. you had to shuffle a little to keep as much of art in your mouth as you could as he exhaled and used his free hand to slide against the back of your skull, cupping it tenderly.

a little punched-out gasp falls from arts lips as he slowly rocked his hips, pushingas deep as he could go as you moaned around him. art took a second, waited for you to look at him, blink the tears from your eyes, before he started the slow glide out of your mouth. you laid your tongue flat against the underside of him, tracing the veins, unable to move forward to chase him back down your throat as arts hand kept you firmly in place.

when he was all the way out, spit slick and gleaming, he rested the flushed head of himself against your bottom lip. rubbed himself there, traced every contour of your mouth with the slit of his cock. glossing your lips with the sheen of his precum. 

“I love you.” he said - voice choked and you couldnt tell if it was from emotion or lust, maybe a combination of the two. 

you felt something flare hot in your belly, but before you could utter a word, art was sliding back home, right back into the silk pallet of your throat. and you welcomed him greedily, lapping up every inch he gave you. 

the whole while you held his hand, still pressed against his chest. you tilted open your jaw as wide as it could go, imagining you wanted to be a snake and swallow him whole. you took everything. you breathed through your nose when he was settled fully inside you - you sucked around him when he began to pull back, suctioning your mouth around him to mimic a pussy. a tight hole.

arent i such a good wife, you thought. no one could take his cock like you could. no one would drop to their knees and let themselves be used this way, but you would. to you, this was love. this was passion. 

art lasted a few more minutes before he was dragging himself free from the warm hug of your throat -

“I want you spread out on the kitchen counter," art panted, jerking his chin. he reached down to wrap a loose hand around his wet cock, stroking it languidly. your throat ached with missing it. “I need to be inside you. I want to -” he swallows. “I want to fuck you."

you inhaled sharply. it was a word you didn't often hear from arts lips. especially in reference to sex. the crude word coming from him made your belly clench warmly. more, you wanted more of that.

you stared at each other for what felt like forever but was probably only a couple seconds, art’s cock still only inches from your face. you watched transfixed as art’s leaking head slipped between the tight circle of his fingers, flushed tip disappearing and pushing back through. It was filthy, it was gorgeous, and your whole body shuddered imagining what it would feel like at your entrance: the slow press, the slick head, the aching burn as it slowly pushed inside. because it would burn. the last time you’d had sex….. you didnt want to think about it.

Instead you hurriedly scrambled to obey. shoving the straps of your dress down as you went, feeling it pool around your waist as you bent against the cool marble of the counter. you’d never fucked here. suddenly that was a crazy thought to you. wasnt it a kind of ritual for a couple - to christen the house? your fingers curled into your palms as you pressed your bare chest down. 

you felt art come up behind you and your breath hitched when you felt his palms skimming up the backs of your thighs. you hadnt realized you’d been trembling until that moment. something about his touch calmed you though. 

ridiculous,  to be shy when this was your husband. he’d seen your cunt a hundred times.

all thoughts fled your head when those familiar fingers parted the lips of your cunt - finding you wet. “baby” art’s strangled voice reached your ears as he felt through your delicate slit - he sounded beside himself with wonder. that you,d be this wet for him. this ready. he slid two fingers in easily - just a slight pressure at your entrance and there was a give of the flesh. and he was in - inside you. pumping steadily. “that’s it,” a kiss at the base of your spine, soft and special. “let me in. give me whats mine.”

yours, you dont know if you breathed it or just echoed it in your head. hips pushing back into him, opening yourself further. the stretch was full but it felt so right. 

“god - you’re so responsive - how could i forget -” he was working himself up. his thumb nudged your clit, circled it with the pad before pressing down on it, his own goran covering up your keen. like it affected him more than it did you, to feel how you throbbed against him with need. “gonna put my tongue on your clit everyday and you’re going to let me. let me worship what i married, spread your legs and fucking take it-”

“oh god,” you’re whining. practically humping your cunt on his fingers. “whatever you want, baby. take it, its all yours.” 

you clench around nothing when he suddenly yanks his fingers free, but you dont have to mourn the loss long, your empty spasming hole feeling the silken pressure of his cock in the next second. he grips your waist, wholly possessive as he drags you back onto him and, oh. Its so blissful. that tender ache in your cunt as its filled to the brim. You’d-

“fuck - i missed this - missed your pussy -” 

yes, yes missed. you’d missed this.

art adjusts himself. spreads out his legs so he can really move, leans his broad chest over your back, covering you, smothering you, squishing you into the countertop but he doesnt care. you dont care. pinned beneath him and speared open like this - you’ve never felt more loved by him. 

“so tight and warm - god - i never wanna leave -” he watches, pink lips parted where you’ve taken him. the flared open lips of your pussy hugging the base of his cock. a groan rips from his chest, loud, because he wants you to know, really fucking know, how overwhelmed he is, how much you make him feel, as he slowly drags himself out - only able to make it halfway before he has to bury himself back into that tight heat. your walls tighten and squeeze around him in these luxurious pulls and he feels spit pool in his mouth, the sensation enough to empty his brain. he rocks there, barely pulling free from the clutch of your body. 

“treat me so well with this - little cunt - “ wet desperate kisses are pressed wherever he can reach, his mouth hungry for the salt of your skin. he pulls it between his teeth, some raw animal part of him just wanting to naw on you. he rubs his forehead against your shoulders as he starts to move his hips faster. finally pulling out all the way before he slams back in, knocking your hips into the hard marble, and he should say sorry, he should take more care, you’ll be bruised surely, but then his mind flits back to your therapy session - at the words you’d both said - how you felt - and the words exchanged in your fight. and he feels something kindle in his chest, sparked to life by the liquid heat pouring through him - you fucking - you’re so cruel sometimes and you dont even know - you dont even see what you’re doing to him, the power you hold, how much he’d give to you if only you’d fucking open up to him. get angry at him. demand more of what you want instead of fucking expecting him to read your goddamn mind. 

he hadn’t felt the wet grip of his wifes pussy in months until just now. that couldn’t happen again. 

he pulls himself to his full height - using his ringed hand to make a makeshift leash of your hair, wrapping it around his tan fist. anchors you back onto his hard dick again and again in hard punishing pulls that seem to punch moans from you.

“this is how i should have treated you from the beginning, huh? come home every day and bend you over the minute i step through the door. pound out all my frustrations on this tight cunt. use you to masturbate my dick.” he grunts - that viseral fury that’d you’d seen spark in him briefly before was back in full force now. you could feel it in the reverberating clap of his balls against your ass. the forceful grip on your hair, yanking your neck back, nearly pulling your chest off the counter, your tits bouncing. “maybe then you’d appreciate me.”

you dont know what part in you is broken that soaks his cock at his treatment instead of clamping up. his anger, his vitriol, it all speaks to a deep part inside of you that screams to be wanted. you whimper and bear down around him, meeting him instead of shying away. 

“g - od - oh god, art - “

“would that make you my happy little wife?” he slows back down. drags his thick length in and out of you in purposeful rolls of his hips. “I bring all my shit to you and you devote this hot little pussy to warming my dick. you’ll take care of me, right? drop to your knees and give me a proper fucking welcome home.”

you cant think. your eyes are rolling back, your brain fogging. Its so good, oh god, how is it so fucking good. you’re drenched between your thighs, you can feel it running down your thighs. you can feel the hot raw part of your pussy that is being penetrated again and again on his cock as it retreats and then glides back in. 

“Im gonna cum.” is all you can say. “art, im so close -”

“fuck,” he stops his movements. grinding his hips into yours, churning his dick inside you. his mouth skims your ear, he lets go of your hair to grip you around the throat. “tell me you love me. tell me you love me when you cum, baby, or i swear to god, i cant do this anymore -” 

“I love you!” the words are the truest they’ve ever been in years. you’re on your tippy toes, squirming, trying to get away or trying to get closer, you cant tell. probably closer. you want art to carve apart for himself inside you - brand himself on you forever so you can never leave, never forget, never doubt this marriage. “I love you, i love you, i love you, i love-”

“I love you too. fuck - i need you to cum. cum on my cock and show me you still want this -” 

you shatter apart. a million stars exploding in a galaxy. arts strong arms come around you like a band, wrapping you up against him as you shake. your breaths come out harshly in sync. the beats of your heart a fast thrum between you. 

you turn your head, desperately seeking, and he’s there, already leaning down to take your lips in a kiss. 

the weight of him still inside you is one you take comfort in. you dont want him to leave your body. you dont want this to end. 

“stay,” you whisper against his mouth. 

his hand cups your cheek, strokes his thumb over the swell of your flushed skin. “always,” he says back. 

[solarspirit]

How They Comfort You

(luffy, nami, sanji, zoro, usopp)

with the east blue five because i miss pre time skip one piece

Luffy

As goofy and dumb as he usually seems,  Luffy is actually pretty perceptive. 

If he notices you sulking by yourself, he’ll plop right down next to you, holding a big juicy stick of meat to share with you

Food always makes him feel better, so it should make you feel better, right? 

If you want to vent your troubles to him, he’ll nod along with a very serious expression and not understand any of it. At least he’s trying! 

If you cry, he’ll panic for a second before making silly faces to distract you and eventually cheer you up

Overall, he’s not great with what to say, but his presence and (somewhat helpful) attempts to make you feel better are comforting 

Nami

Out of all the Straw Hats, she’s the best person to go to for comfort 

She’ll actually ask you what you want, if you need advice or words of comfort, she’ll give them to you, and if you just want a hug or silence, she’ll do that instead 

Nami’s a hugger, so her go-to is to give you a warm hug anyway.

If you’re on an island, she’ll treat your sadness with retail therapy. Even if you don’t buy anything, trying on different outfits or looking at whatever you’re interested in helps take your mind off things 

If you’re really inconsolable, she’ll offer you something from her treasures she knows you’ve had your eye on. Only as a last case scenario, and she insists it’s a one time thing (it won’t be) 

Sanji 

Obviously, he’s going to cook for you. 

Sweet, savory, salty, whatever your comfort food is, he’ll make it as soon as he notices you’re sad. 

Although he already bends over backward for you anyway, he’ll be even more compliant with anything you ask for to try and make you feel better. 

If you smoke, he’ll  offer you a cigarette and some kind words to tide you over 

If you don’t, he’ll still give you solid advice or comfort to make you feel better. He’s pretty logical and is able to figure out how to solve whatever you’re going through.  

Zoro 

Zoro knows when something is wrong, but doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do about it. 

If you’re sulking, he’ll sigh and sit with you until you break the silence. If you don’t want to talk and just need someone to be with you, he’s your guy. 

Zoro will give you solid advice if you ask for it, but won’t sugarcoat it. It’ll be blunt and straightforward.

 If you want comforting words for him, you’ll get them, but he’d rather just pat your head and listen to you vent. 

He’s one of those people who doesn’t know what to do when someone cries in front of them, so it’s a little awkward if you start crying. 

If you initiate it, he’ll let you cry into his chest and tell you it’s okay (partially because he doesn’t know what else to say). 

He’s not great at comforting you, but he tries his best

Usopp 

Usopp relies on humor and lies not fully true stories to cheer you up. 

Whenever you’re sad, he’ll come up with a tale of a grand adventure to take your mind off things 

Whatever he’s talking about, it’s so absurd that you find yourself laughing through your tears, or so indignant on proving what he’s saying is false that you forget  your troubles

He won’t let you be sad by yourself either–if he notices you’re sulking, suddenly the ship has a random repair he absolutely needs your help on, he needs your help with canon practice, any excuse to pull you out of your sadness 

If that doesn’t work, he’s always willing to listen to what you have to say and has surprisingly good advice on how to feel better 

[wyniepooh]

Know

art knows you like no one else. he knows you better than you know yourself.

standford!art x reader. mentions of alcohol. cheating on reader’s part but it’s valid bc her bf is an ass. art knows he can treat u better than ur shitty bf, and proves it.

“You have to know, right?”

“what?”

your words came out slurry and slow, and it took all your might to not let your squinted eyes close. through the sliver of what you could see, art sat opposite you, back against the side of his bed and beer bottle in hand.

you chuckled, “I don’t know what you-“

“That he treats you like shit.”

you stop in your sentence, choosing instead to fill your mouth with another sip of your beer. You gulp down the prickly liquid, wiping your mouth as you say, “you don’t know anything about us.”

He shrugs. “I know you’re spending a Friday night getting drunk with his roommate, rather than accompanying him to that fancy tennis gala he was invited to.”

you shook your head casually, taking another full sip before speaking.

“I’m wasn’t interested. You know I don’t play, right? i didn’t want to-“

“Did he ask?”

you laugh, running a swift hand over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sat up slightly, scooting a little closer to where you were. you had your legs crossed, and you were drowsily leaning on the side of your boyfriend’s bed. he propped his elbow on a raised knee. “did he even ask you to go?”

you smile slowly faded as you looked down, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you tried to focus instead on the harsh, brown carpet of the room. Faded music could be heard from the other rooms, and usually, you’d be in one of those dorms, partying it down, but tonight, you much prefer the silence.

“No,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat and took another swig. “you know, with the way he talks about you and the way he acts around you, you would think everyone knows exactly how he feels about you. everyone except yourself.”

He chugged what was left in his bottle, tossing it to the side where a pile was beginning to accumulate. He stared straight at you with half-closed eyes and pressed his lips together. “honestly, sometimes, I think you know too. deep down. I think you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he’s going to do to you, and yet you choose to ignore it.”

“Why?” He asks. there was a look of genuine concern and confusion of his face. his expression was pained, as if the idea of you suffering hurt him more than you.

You nibble at the bottom of your lip, hoping that the pain of the peeling skin would stop the tears from running. your actions were done in vain, as your tears had already begun to form and fall. Suddenly, you feel a warm finger on your face, gently swiping away at your dampened cheeks.

The pad of his thumb stayed on your cheek while the rest of his hand uncurled around your jaw. “You have to know, right?”

“Yes,” you sniffled, “of course I know he treats me like another one of his fan girls that he tosses away after-“

“No, not that,” he mutters.

“look at me.”

He guides your chin up until your eyes are parallel with his, and for the first time that night, you get a good view of his face. His overgrown blonde hair scattered all over his face, some across the front of his blue eyes. They seemed to not be able to concentrate in one place, flickering from your hair to your nose to your chin. You were sure that your cheeks were as flushed as him from the alcohol and the embarrassment, so much so that heat was practically radiating off of the two of you.

“what are you talking about, then?”

he sighed, dropping his hand from your face and slumping his head down at the same time. you could feel his warm breaths escaping his nose and hitting your cold knees.

Finally, he looks up, brows creasing as he responds, “how I feel about you.”

he parts his lips, struggling to find the words. “You have to have already known, right? I mean, all the times I’ve wiped away your tears and and comforted you because that asshole did something stupid again.” A beat passed.

“I know I can treat you so much better,” he breathes, “if you would just let me.”

Somewhere between his first question and his last, the proximity between of the two of you had closed. His arm suddenly wraps around your neck as he pulls you into him, digging his nose into the space where your shoulder and neck connects.

“Please,” he mutters.

chills spill down your body from his words, and you simply pause in all of your thoughts for a moment. Finally, you close your eyes and hug him tight around his waist as he tenderly rocks you back and forth.

you’re the one to pull back, and at first, you see a glimmer of disappointment in art’s eyes. but then you lean close, and closer, and, for the first time tonight, he smiles. He further guides your actions by placing a hand on the back of your head, not letting go even once your lips have connected with his.

your own fingers scratch at the back of his curls, and you swear he laughs against your mouth. You bask in the sounds of your mixed pants and the electric buzz generated from the delicate connection of skin in the otherwise quiet room, and it brought upon a lightness in the air, something you hadn’t felt since earlier that day when you first saw art in the dining hall.

“I know,” you mumble against his lips, stopping for a minute to catch your breath. You rest your forehead on his, eyes still closed as you caress his glowing face with both hands. he laughs again, harder this time, and you join him, repeating the same two words over, and over again.

-

a/n: hey google play the historically significant song treat u better by shawn mendes

[merminns]

A happy ending and beautiful beginning

Bakugo x reader

❧ Word Count: 0.5k

❧ this is my take on soft big boy katsuki. Just a little something to warm up with, and I'll be sticking with the old theme until I figure out what to do with the blog.

gn reader

Bakugo katsuki was always rough around the edges.

That was a well known fact.

He's brash and loud, he doesn't take shit from anyone and likes to make it a point how he's better than everyone else.

Everyone warned him that he'd end up lonely one day. That he'd never manage to befriend anybody, that he'd never find a partner.

He didn't care, he didn't want friends, didn't care for a partner, all he wanted was to become the best. And he dedicated his entire life to reach that goal, to become the greatest hero in existence, and he made sure everyone knows about it too, always advertising how he'd crush everyone else.

That's why he never thought he'd find himself here, in a warm cozy house that's currently cramped with all of those he cares about, his family, his friends and...You.

You with your bright smile and twinkling eyes and a heart too pure for this world. It was no wonder that he fell for you, but the fact that you returned that love was baffling to him. You were the one thing that he never dreamed he'd have.

He never understood how you managed to see past his sharp edges and rough front. How you saw all of him, all of his flaws, and still loved him.

Now, there are people who still criticize his personality, who wonder aloud about how someone like him could manage to end up with you. And even though he sometimes finds it hard to believe too, he doesn't care what anyone else says. Cause what he has now proves they've been wrong all along.

Cause here he is now, sharing his life with someone he loves in ways he never thought possible, someone he would give his life for. He knew deep down that he'd rip the world apart if only it mean you'd give him a smile, just a tiny tired smile like the one on your face right now as you're thanking everyone who came to congratulate you.

Bakugo moved from where he stood in the opposite corner of the room to you, and with every step he took closer to you his heart warmed a little more. Until he reached you, bending down to land a light kiss on your forehead and take the tiny bundle rest in your arms. The sleeping little baby that was the main attraction of the night, the reason everyone gathered around to congratulate you. His child. Your child. And as he held the baby in his arms he felt his heart melting at how beautiful they were, your little creation.

Then with eyes so bright and suspiciously watery, bakugo started on his way to put your baby in their crib threating his gathered loved ones that he's going to murder whoever disturbs his child's sleep.

[princessisfinethx]

Baby Fever pt. 2

New dad!König x new mom!Reader.

Fluff, post-pregnancy, post-birth, mentions of premature birth. Y'know, a sprinkle of angst. Bit it's all happy domestic stuff. Enjoy.

Your eyes fluttered open and you realize the baby wasn't crying. When you checked your phone, it was 2 in the morning. It was feeding time, so you turned over and climbed out of bed, not realizing it was empty on the other side. You hummed and went to grab one of the bottles out of the warmers, already filled with the formula but found there was no bottle.

You hum, exhausted mind turning over trying to think why you didn't prepare a bottle beforehand. And why your alarm didn't go off. You walk to the baby room and pause, seeing a dim light on, as well as hearing soft muttering. Walking slowly, you peak into the room...

König was standing in the middle of the room, your baby girl cradled in one arm, rather, one hand. His other hand held the bottle up for her. He was rocking and turning, talking to her. He had on his pajama pants, and slippers but no shirt on.

"Mommy's friends didn't like me. I think they were just jealous of her." He smiled down at her, taking the bottle away and setting it down. He throws the towel over his shoulder like you showed him and gently placed the newborn girl up, supporting her head. "C'mon, get those nasty burps out." He rubs her back then gently taps.

"Your mommy challenged me to a game of pool. I've played it a few times but I said yes. And she won, but don't tell mommy, I let her win." He chuckled. "Then she let me buy her a drink or two- ehm, they were soda drinks." He cleared his throat. Then smiled again. There was a soft muffled burp and she spit up. König laughed again and carefully maneuvered the baby and the towel to wipe her mouth clean. "That was a good one. Almost as loud as daddy's eh?"

You stayed leaning against the doorway, listening to König's stories.

"The doctors said you were born too early, and very weak. But I think that just proved those silly doctors wrong. Look at you, burping like a sailor! Oh don't cry meine Blume, I've got you. See?" He cooed softly and you heard the baby whine a little. König hummed softly and you heard him tapping her back, and then he laughed softly. "Did you poop on me? A fart. I knew you'd be more trouble than your mommy."

You couldn't help smile. You heard him go over to the changing table and carefully remove her diaper. You watched from the door as König winced. "You did a number in there. I wouldn't be surprised if you woke mommy up with that stench." He said as he cleaned her bottom. He threw the dirty diaper away and placed a new one on. He throws some powder into the diaper.

"When you came out, and the doctors told us you were a girl, I was so thrilled." He put the pajamas back on, carefully snapping the bottoms closed. "But they said you and mommy needed to stay in the hospital for a little longer. I got so scared for both of you, both of my girls. I ran out and bought your mommy a ring. I know, I should have married her before you came out...I was scared. But when you were born I was even more scared! What could daddy do except wait?" He sighed heavily and placed the baby girl against his chest.

"I didn't know babies could come out so small...you were tiny. They kept you in a little glass machine, I don't remember exactly why but, they said it helped you breathe. Ah but I knew better. They just had to keep you contained because you were a fighter. Ready to knock out the next doctor who told you otherwise." He pressed his lips to against her head and smiled. "And they said momma couldn't breastfeed you. She was sad, she thought she did something wrong but everything turned out just right huh? We're all here." He turned and smiled when he saw you standing at the door. "Ah. You did wake momma with your stinky bottom."

You sighed, some tears in your eyes as you walked over to him. With your daughter in one hand, he used his free hand to cradle your head to his chest. "Oh I'm sorry meine libeling, I didn't mean to make you sad." You shake your head and look up at him.

"No, not sad. Just happy. Happy sad." You shrug and sniffle. He gently ran his fingers through your hair and you spoke again. "How many times are you gonna tell her the hospital stories?"

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your head. "Until she learns to talk and tells me to stop. But maybe I'll tell her before she goes to her first day of school, or her first prom, or when she leaves for college." He takes a deep breath and slowly let it out. You could tell he was trying not to cry. "I wonder how close the colleges are here." You laughed and wiped your eyes.

"Stop talking about her leaving. You're making me more sad." You gently take the baby in your arms and kiss her head, rocking slowly. You felt König's arms encircle your body and his head on top of yours.

"I'm sorry. C'mon, let's get you both back to bed. My girls." His voice was soft, but tired. You nodded in agreement and gently set the girl down into the crib. You made sure she wouldn't fuss, then turned to König. Who then picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. He laid you down, kicked his slippers off and crawled into bed with you. You laid your head against his chest and you felt his hands finding their resting spot against against your thigh and back.

After a second, you mumbled against him. "Don't lie to our baby girl. You lost that pool game because you kept staring at my ass."

He laughed, making your head bounce. "I'm not telling our girl that."

"Then you can tell her you lost fair and square because you were so in love with me." You pressed a kiss to his neck. He leaned down and stole a kiss from you, then laid his head down.

"Maybe. But, maybe I did let you win." He was smiling and you grumbled in disagreement. "Sleep meine libeling. We'll settle this on our next pool game, drinks on me."

"Soda drinks."

A/n.: I'm sad, trapped in a stinky hotel. So I brainstormed this mess while watching Jurassic Park. I made it kinda sad but it's still all fluff. No more baby fever fic after this.

And, I thought about mentioning how reader can't breastfeed because my mom told me she couldn't for me. (For different reasons) But she said some trashy religious people told her if she couldn't breastfeed then she wasn't cut out to be a mom. And I know that today, there are still some people who find that using formula is 'unnatural' or 'cheating'. But I'm here to tell you, some people are literally just gonna try making you feel bad about everything. Do what you feel is the best thing, whether it's for yourself, for your child, for your pet, everything.

That was long. Sorry. Felt like ranting.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Not just a pretty face - Lewis Hamilton

request: Special request for Lewis being free practice dating around as a Capricorn sun, meeting with a Leo sun a fan of his but ends up clingy to her presences in his life but she just friendzoned him due to his commitment issues.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: kind of a slowburn

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Leo Sun girly coming right up, also there's a small horoscope bio to her zodiac at the end, let me know if you guys think it fits.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The winter of 2024 was proving to be colder than usual in Europe, but the lack of heat was certainly not reflected in the blaze set off by the news that Lewis Hamilton would be driving for Ferrari in 2025. The rumors had been swirling for days, but seeing it confirmed had sent shockwaves through the motorsport world. Lewis had always been a Mercedes man, the Silver Arrows an extension of his very being. But now, a scarlet future awaited him.

And amidst all that he found himself in the opulent driveway of an estate that screamed old money, the kind that bought influence as easily as it bought rare vintage cars. He glanced around, appreciating the perfectly manicured lawns in the hot Californian winter, the sprawling mansion, and most importantly, the gleaming 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO California parked under the portico. The car was a masterpiece, a relic of a bygone era, but he wasn’t there for the car; he was there for Y/n.

Y/n was a whirlwind wrapped in couture, with a knowing smile and a glint in her eye that could either promise trouble or adventure, depending on her mood. She strolled out of the house, her walk as smooth as the car’s curves. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she approached him, wearing a dress that flirted with the summer breeze.

“Lewis Hamilton, as I live and breathe” she teased, her voice a melodic blend of sophistication and sass. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Lewis grinned, slipping on his sunglasses. “And miss a chance to see you? Never.”

She laughed, a sound as intoxicating as champagne. “Flatterer. But I’m not the main attraction today.” She gestured towards the Ferrari, and he followed her gaze.

“Your dad’s 250 GTO,” he said appreciatively. “It’s a beauty.”

“Of course it is,” she replied, walking over to the car and running a hand along its sleek body. “And today, it’s all mine. Well, ours.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re letting me drive it?”

She laughed again, this time with a touch of condescension. “Oh, Lewis, sweetheart. No one drives my family’s babies except me. But you can ride shotgun.”

He mocked shock. “You know, I do have a bit of experience behind the wheel.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “And I have experience keeping these classics in one piece. Trust me, you’ll enjoy this more from the passenger seat.”

With a shrug and a smile, he acquiesced, walking over to the passenger side as she slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was cool and supple against his back, the interior a time capsule of luxury and craftsmanship.

As she started the engine, the car roared to life, a throaty purr that screamed Ferrari. She shifted into gear with practiced ease, and they were off, the car gliding smoothly onto the winding roads that led away from her family estate.

“You seem to know your way around this car” he commented, watching her handle the vintage machine with confidence and skill.

“Of course I do” she shot back. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. My dad made sure I knew how to handle every car in his collection. And this one,” she patted the steering wheel affectionately, “just so happens to be my favorite.”

Lewis watched her, impressed. He had always known Y/n was different, not content to just sit on the sidelines. She was a force of nature, and he admired that about her. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Not many people can handle a car like this.”

She flashed him a smile, her eyes twinkling. “I’m full of surprises, Lewis. You should know that by now.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, I know. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Just one?” she quipped, throwing him a sidelong glance.

“Among many” he admitted. “You know, I’ve always been serious about us.”

Her expression softened for a moment, but she quickly masked it with her usual bravado. “I know. But you’re a f1 driver, Lewis.”

He nodded, understanding. “I get it. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are” she agreed. “And I have to say, you’ve impressed my dad. He wouldn’t let just anyone near his prized possessions. The fact that he allowed me to take you for a ride in this car means you’ve earned a soft spot in his heart.”

“Did I?” Lewis asked, genuinely surprised. “I was sure he hated me.”

She laughed; a musical sound that made his heart skip a beat. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… protective. But he sees something in you, something he likes. Maybe it’s your determination, or your passion. Or maybe he just thinks you’d actually be good enough for me.”

Lewis eyed her with a hint of curiosity “And what do you think?”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the road ahead. Then she glanced at him, her gaze intense. “I think you might be worth the risk.”

He reached over, taking her right hand in his. “I’ve told before, but I’ll gladly say it a hundred more. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to leave.”

She smiled, a sad but warm smile that almost lit up her face. “Sure, Lewis.”

As they drove through the countryside, the sun starting to settle behind them, casting a golden glow over everything. Y/n handled the tight corners and straightaways with a finesse that spoke volumes about her driving skills. Lewis couldn’t help but be impressed. He knew how difficult it was to master a car like this, especially one with so much history.

“So, what’s next for you?” Y/n asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “Apart from the big move to Ferrari, of course.”

Lewis sighed, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s a big change, leaving Mercedes. They’ve been like family to me. But Ferrari… it’s a dream, you know? Every driver wants to wear red at least once.”

She nodded, her eyes flicking towards him briefly. “It’s a huge opportunity. And you’ll be amazing, no doubt about it.”

“Thanks,” he said, appreciating her confidence in him. “What about you? What’s next for Y/n?”

She shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “Oh, you know. The usual. Jet-setting, managing the family business, keeping an eye on our car collection.”

He laughed. “Must be a tough life.”

“It has its moments” she admitted with a small chuckle.

They drove on in companionable silence for a while, the scenery flashing by in a blur of greens and golds. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” Lewis asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

She glanced at him; one eyebrow raised. “Are you proposing, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not yet. But I’m serious. You and me… do you think we could make it work?”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes focused on the road ahead. Then she sighed, a wistful smile on her lips. “I don’t know. You’re always on the move, always chasing the next big thing. And I’m not sure I want to keep up.”

“I’d slow down for you” he said softly.

She shook her head. “And that’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want you to change for me. I want you to be you, the Lewis who’s always pushing the limits, always striving for more.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

She smiled, a sad sort of smile. “I want someone who can match me, who understands my world and fits into it. Someone who doesn’t just see me as an accessory, but as an equal.”

“You are my equal,” he said firmly. “In every way that matters.”

She glanced at him, her eyes softening. “Maybe. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

“No” he admitted. “It’s not. But we could figure it out. Together.”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful. Then she nodded slowly. “Maybe we could.”

The sun had almost set, the sky a riot of colors. It was a perfect moment, one neither wanted to end.

“Tell me something,” she said suddenly. “Why Ferrari? Why now?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s something I’ve always wanted. It’s the pinnacle. And after everything with Mercedes, I felt like it was time for a change. A new challenge.”

“And you think Ferrari will give you that?”

“I believe they can try” he said confidently. “And I’m ready for it.”

She nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face, the undertone to the question not lost on him. She wanted to know how he felt about jumping into the unknown for a promise.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Lewis. Really, I do.”

“That means a lot.” he said, his voice sincere.

As they pulled back into the driveway of her family estate, the car’s engine ticking as it cooled down, Lewis turned to her. “Thanks for the ride, Y/n. It’s always fun with you.”

She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that lit up her face. “Anytime.”

He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded, her eyes softening. “I know. And maybe… maybe that’s enough.”

As he got out of the car, he glanced back at her, his favorite firecracker, the one woman who had him hooked for years now. The one who had him chasing her around the globe just to wish on shooting starts. The one he had never had.

As he walked away to his car, he heard her call out to him.

“Lewis!”

He turned, a smile on his lips. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger” she said, her voice soft but strong.

He nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. “Never.”

______________________________________________________________

Y/n is a Leo sun girly, with Pisces Moon and Mercury and Gemini Venus

Leo Sun

Craves Attention and Admiration: Y/n enjoys the spotlight, and usually thrives on compliments.

Independent and Strong-Willed: She's not just "arm candy."

Passionate and Generous: Her enthusiasm for sharing what she loves and to learn the things other people like.

Gemini Venus, Pisces Moon

Flirty and Playful (Gemini): playful and flirtatious.

Emotional Depth (Pisces): deep well of emotions that might be hiden under a bravado.

Adaptable and Communicative (Gemini): adaptable and a good communicator, but needs mental estimulation.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

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[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding.  Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

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[saetoshis]

Listen. Yes Hoshina is a short king. But consider. . . If he's short he's probably feeling like he's got smth to prove. Excited to bend his partner over and deill them like they insulted him. Plus then he might hit you with the 'princess' or smth of the like. Putting youbin a verbal place of power (as the taller person) while he's still doming thr fuck out of you. "How'd you let this happen, princess? Letting someone like me see this weak side of you? Were you just careless? Overly trusting? Or perhaps you underestimated me. I suppose I'll have to punish you for that." Type beat.

Anway love our beloved Hoshi thanks as always for your tasty art!

HELPME UR SO RIGHT ... NOW IM THINKING LIKE ... WHAT IF U TEASED HIM FOR BEING A LIL SHORT N THEN .. YK ...

taller!fem reader [5'7"+ 172cm+], oral m. receiving, size kink [sorta?], teasing, pet name [ princess], fingering, squirting, MDNI.

you, who got all-too-cocky because your eyes are just a bit higher in line with his, made a mistake.

vice captain hoshina is nothing if not an enigma. his silly demeanor and playful attitude about everything makes him seem so non-threatening, that you might've gotten too comfortable with teasing him and acting high and mighty. whenever he tells you what to do, maybe you'll make a little gesture with your hand above his head, reminding him who has more "power." these jokes were your mistake.

maybe he'll want to punish you - watch you kneel in front of him, his hand on your pretty head as he guides you towards the bulge in his pants. maybe he'll hum out a little, "since you wanna poke fun at height, how 'bout you try being the short one for once?"

maybe hoshina will lean back and watch you unzip his pants, taking no time to push your mouth onto his eager cock. he might even rut his hips a little, muttering out between breathy 'fuck's, "not so big now, huh? how does it feel, hm? didn't think i'd be big down there, did you?"

hoshina watches so closely as you bob your head and pump your hand, thighs keening together where you're sat all prettily on the floor. a little smirk might even tug at his lips as he realizes just how turned on you're getting from this. "what, getting all hot and bothered by this? didn't think someone shorter than you could get you all worked up? you know better, don't you?"

his words send a jolt straight through your frame and you can't help but shudder, and all of a sudden the vice captain seems so much more intimidating, even more enticing than you ever thought. it's like he can sense you losing yourself in the moment, and he's got you right where he wants you.

hoshina leans down, flashing you a smug sneer as he lifts your face to look up at him - all the while admiring the pretty sheen of your lips and your glassy eyes. "is that what i think it is? is the princess who's always mocking my height suddenly unable to resist me? the irony... how should i deal with you, hm?"

he maneuvers you to bend over against the counter, chest pressed against the cool granite as he lets his thumb drag along your clothed pussy. one hand presses your back, the other languidly slipping off your shorts and panties as he hums, "oh, what's that? a wet spot, hm? not so cocky now, aren't you?"

it takes a lot of strength to even muster thoughts, your head spinning from how lewd he's acting - it's bafflingly hot. you pant against the counter as you look back, watching his eyes flit over your hips while his finger does the same against your clit. hoshina lets out a little laugh when he watches you shudder along with a strained whine.

"feels good, doesn't it? does being put in your place turn you on? yeah?" hoshina sneers and lets out a little chuckle, swiftly slipping his fingers between your walls and curling forwards. he can't help but wear a smirk on his face as he enjoys your willing submission. "let me remind you that i'm the vice captain of the third division. the strongest second to mina. forgot that, did you?"

his sheer strength shows in each intense flick and curl of his fingers against the spot that makes your spine shudder, and it's humbling. it's when he starts simultaneously toying with your clit that you feel like you're on fire, a buzz building up between your thighs just begging for release.

"that's it... yeah, let it out. show me just how much you like it. cum all over my hand, bet you'll never act cocky again," hoshina leers under his breath, ministrations going into overdrive as you shiver and whimper shamelessly. with a voice-cracking whine, his name falls from your lips over and over as flicks of liquid smother his hand from his unrelenting movements.

"ahh, of course you squirt on top of everything..." hoshina leans over the counter to admire the dizzied expression on your face with a little grin of his own. his fingers nudge your chin as he murmurs, "felt good? yeah? you gonna be good now? don't wanna hear you trying to humble me ever again after you left such a mess all over me."

he presses a little kiss on your cheek, smirking against your skin before he shifts to your ear. with a low whisper, he mutters, "unless you wanna have me fuck you in that suit... 92% isn't a joke, you know?"

2024 SAETOSHIS. do not copy/repost.

[jjkamochoso]

A Game of Fire and Ice

Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Satoru Gojo x gn!reader

When you get hurt on a mission, Gojo’s full power comes to light and you get a front row seat to seeing just how vicious your boyfriend can be.

Inspired by the lyrics “I don’t wanna scare you but I can and I will and I fucking hate it” in the song “Curses” by food house

Warnings: cussing, violence, blood

Satoru was warm.

His presence around you was like sunshine lighting up your face on the hottest summer day. His love for you burned as if he were the blazing logs in a fireplace on the coldest winter night, or an uncontrollable forest fire in the wilderness.

Satoru was warm.

Gojo was not.

His piercing ice blue stare could make the strongest enemy weak in the knees. If someone ever dared to get in his way, the drunkenness of power he felt as he tore them down, bit by bit, playing with the poor soul akin to a cat toying with a trapped mouse, was a feeling he would never tire of.

Satoru was warm. Gojo was frigid. Brutal, even.

And right now, it was Gojo that swarmed your vision, not Satoru, as you laid in the street, sticky blood pouring from your wounds and coating the pavement in a macabre painting of pure burgundy. The curse you were sent to exorcise had been misranked and maybe if you were more prepared walking into your fight with a special grade, you wouldn’t be on your deathbed right now. As a grade 1 sorcerer, you were by no means weak, but your opponent was formidable, outmaneuvering your techniques and putting up a strong fight, so much so that you were currently splayed out instead of standing up. When Gojo heard you were sent to fight a special grade instead of the simple grade 2 you were expecting, he was quick to teleport to your area as soon as he could. He knew you could handle yourself but figured you wouldn’t mind a helping hand so you could get back to enjoying your day together. And a helping hand was a far cry from what you needed at this point—you needed to see Shoko as soon as possible. As Gojo began his fight with the curse, you tried using reverse cursed technique to stop your bleeding but it was no use. Your energy had dwindled too much and you had no choice but to watch the fight unfold, hoping Gojo could be quick today. You heard the white haired man cackle as he unleashed raw fury upon the curse, pummeling it with cursed energy. Even through your spotted vision, you saw how he released endless amounts of punches at the curse, hitting it with both the blue and red techniques and laughing uncontrollably as the curse desperately tried to evade the attacks.

“What’s wrong? Getting tired?” taunted Gojo, blue eyes radiating a bloodlust like you had never seen before. It chilled you to your very core seeing how ruthless he gets with his enemies. You remembered how just the other night you were cuddled with the tall man, his lithe figure lazily draped over you, laughing about something silly and immature. You could hardly believe it was the same man in front of you, the one showcasing an insatiable desire to cause as much pain and anguish to this curse as he could. It was like he was in his own little world where nothing else mattered but proving his superiority over the curse he could easily squish under his well polished, expensive shoe like a bug.

“Don’t give up yet! We’re having fun, aren’t we?”

Another blast of blue went by and rubble from the now obliterated building came raining down on you, doing nothing to help the throbbing headache you were nursing. You shakily put a hand to your gushing abdomen and pulled it away to see it hadn’t let up a bit. You didn’t have much time but Gojo didn’t seem to notice. Maybe his Six Eyes were telling him you could hold on for a few minutes longer? You didn’t know. All you were aware of was that it was time for Gojo’s game of predator and prey to come to an end.

“Gojo, please… just end it,” you pleaded, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as he continually jumped around, frustrating the curse he was battling since it couldn’t land a single blow on the man.

“Gojo!”

Nothing.

More rubble fell on you, this time hitting you in the same spot as the curse did, making your wound bleed even more, which you didn’t think was possible.

You let out an anguished groan. “Sa… Satoru. Please.”

That was enough to gain your lover’s attention. The glint of his blue eyes caught your own and it was like he crashed back down to earth and became aware of his surroundings, no longer intoxicated by sheer power. When he finally espied exactly how hurt you were, he opened his domain and killed the curse once and for all, his mind reeling with the fact that you were gravely injured. As much fun as he was having, you were supremely more important to him than continuing to play with the curse that dared to lay a finger on you. As you saw him rip the head off the curse and explode it into tiny pieces, you let out a sigh of relief knowing that thing was dead. The domain closed and your boyfriend ran over to you in a flash; you could tell Satoru was back.

Your Satoru.

So why did you feel uneasy when he loomed over you?

“Y/n, hey, you’ll be alright, just hang in there a sec, okay? We’re going to Shoko.”

As his long fingers reached toward you, your body reacted before you could think rationally about your actions.

You flinched.

You saw the hurt flash across his face, apparent only for a second before it was gone in an instant as he scooped you up. Satoru was feeling a multitude of emotions at that point. He was grateful that the curse was laughably weak and couldn’t land a single blow on him or else he probably wouldn’t have enough energy to teleport you back to the school like he was currently doing. However, he was taken aback by your reluctance to let him near you. Why did you have such a visceral reaction to him reaching for you?

Was it you being afraid of him accidentally hurting you with all your injuries?

Or was it you afraid of him hurting you…

On purpose?

You had fallen unconscious as he hauled you into Shoko’s office, laying your body on a table so she could heal you. He took a seat on an extra chair, a frown settling on his typically smiling face. Beside the glaringly obviously shitty fact that his partner was seemingly now afraid of his touch (or him as a whole), he hated seeing you like this, bruised and bloodied, especially due to a clerical error. You shouldn’t have been sent there at all, certainly not by yourself anyway, and if he hadn’t gotten there when he did… Satoru shook his head to clear the thought.

“They’ll be fine. If you had waited any longer, they wouldn’t have made it.”

Shoko rested a hand on Satoru’s shoulder, his gaze set on your unmoving body.

“They’ll wake up soon. I’m going for a smoke.”

A few minutes after she left, you began to stir. The cold table jolted you awake and you sat up in an instant, wondering if you were still in the midst of a battle. When you saw you were in a sterile room and Satoru’s blindfold over his eyes, you registered that you were safe and remembered the fight was over.

“Glad to see you’re awake. I was missing seeing those beautiful eyes of yours,” Satoru said, but his tone was anything but playful.

“Satoru, I-”

“Why did you flinch?”

You were quiet, stunned at his outright question and it prompted him to ask again, urgency lacing every word.

“When I reached for you back there. Why did you flinch?”

The truth had to come out now, there was no way for you to avoid answering. Not when he was staring you down, the blindfold doing nothing to lessen the intensity.

“Satoru, you… you scared me.”

The frown was back on his face. “What, like because you thought I was going to hurt you? Or like… hurt you, hurt you?”

His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He’d manage to keep most people at arm’s length his entire life, only letting a certain few get close to him as to avoid getting hurt. Now, waiting to hear your admission, he regretted ever daring to fall in love or thinking he could get some semblance of a happy ending in this messed up world.

“I… I just… I didn’t know at the time.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him, ashamed of your confession, so you kept your eyes on your fiddling hands.

He stood up with a loud screech of the chair as he nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, my own partner doesn’t even know if I’m going to hurt them,” he said, a bitter chuckle leaving his throat. “I can save you from a curse that’s about to kill you and yet you still don’t feel safe if I’m around.”

“What? Satoru, stop, I had just gotten my ass kicked by a special grade and I was delirious from blood loss. That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” he cried out, desperation leaking from him like a broken faucet. “I could kill you right now without breaking a sweat. I have a power that no sorcerer or curse can match. I can annihilate entire countries if I wanted to, y/n, and you’re telling me you’d be completely fine taking me back to your apartment for dinner and a movie right now? You think my abilities cease when I’m not actively fighting a curse?”

“You scared me back there because you were murderous, Satoru,” you seethed, “and because not everyone is some god amongst men like you. I watched my boyfriend toy with a special grade curse like it was nothing. The same curse that nearly took my life and left me bleeding out on the ground, alone. So yes, at that moment, I was scared. I’m sorry for upsetting you, I-”

“See? That’s the thing. I don’t want to scare you but I can and I will and I fucking hate it! Don’t you see how shitty that makes me feel? You’re the one person that I never want to feel afraid of me.” Satoru’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath, calming himself down a little before continuing. “I went ballistic because that curse almost killed you. It needed to suffer for trying to take away the thing I hold dearest in this world. I don’t know what it’s like to lose in a battle of jujutsu, and I probably never will. I just know that I want to keep you safe and I will do whatever I must to make that happen.”

“I get that, Satoru, believe me,” you replied, finally looking at him. You could tell he was distraught and you understood why. You couldn’t imagine the weight he held on his shoulders as the strongest, not to mention how his (justifiably) large ego made it difficult to empathize and connect with others at times. However, you knew that the man in front of you was not the killing machine that relished in the pain he inflicted on others. The man in front of you was your loving boyfriend, the one who sent you funny cat videos and pouted when he couldn’t buy copious amounts of sweets at the store. Even though they were the same person, you knew that there was a time and place for both iterations of the man and they would both do everything in their power to keep you happy and safe. You reached out your hand to his cheek and this time it was him who flinched as your delicate touch landed on his skin.

“You are prideful, egotistical, and often arrogant. You don’t take criticism well or understand that there’s a time and place for jokes. You like to show off your immense power and yes, oftentimes it scares the shit out of me.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re not making me feel any better.”

“But,” you said, your thumb softly swiping along his jaw, “I know underneath all of that lies a good heart. You are a good man, Satoru, one that I’m proud to love. I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, okay? In that moment, when I flinched, it wasn’t only you specifically, but the situation as a whole that I was scared of. You’re a total menace when you’re mad.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek and he leaned into it ever so slightly.

“But you were also totally hot as you ripped the head off that curse for me. I trust you with my life, forever and always. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t.”

Satoru accepted your apology internally, opting to instead do what he did best—crack a joke and lighten the mood.

“It was agonizing watching my favorite cuddle buddy pull away from me, I felt like I needed Shoko to heal my own wounds,” he said, pouting. You shook your head and let out a small laugh, making Satoru genuinely smile for the first time that day. He may not do everything right in a relationship, or completely understand how to relate to other people, but he’d be damned if he let you die before he could try to learn.

[twst-drabbles]

Leona 28

Summary: Leona doesn’t wear much to bed, which makes it great for you to feel his skin. It’s a common routine for you both, but apparently Leona wanted more.

(Again, not explicit, but very charged just to give all of you a warning.)

With how long Leona spends basking in the sun, you always have this little expectation that his body would get some kind of damage. There’s a type of roughness that comes with the rays. Grim’s fur has gotten less soft, Deuce’s face more stiff, and the back of Ace’s hands have gotten rough as well.

Leona’s skin however, as you skimmed your fingers over his waist as he laid in bed, was as soft as ever. It was pretty unfair, honestly. You’re more academically focused, so most of your light came from a lamp or overhead lights, but Leona spends his time regularly napping in the full force of the sun.

You pressed up against Leona, who huffed in annoyance but otherwise did not move. “Your skin’s too soft.” You grabbed his muffin top and gave it a squeeze just to prove a point. Soft. Too soft. How unfair.

“Hmm? And what do you want me to do about it?” Leona mumbled as he shifted, notably not shoving your hand back on his waist. Leona shoved his face back into pillow. “I’m just that gifted.”

But then again, he’s rich, so he’s probably using some high quality and stupidly expensive shower set up.

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” You followed up the line of his body. You found his chest and gave it a squeeze, chuckling as Leona almost seized, “Very gifted indeed.”

“…” Leona looked over his shoulder at you, eyes narrowed but not in anger. They were alight with playfulness. “So that’s how you wanna go, huh?”

Ah, you were banking too much on him being too sleepy letting you drift off to sleep while squeezing. Whoops. Well, can’t back down now, because you knew Leona would find a way to hang this over your head later. Bastard. Oh well, you adore him nonetheless.

You squeezed and pressed his skin, trapping his nipples between your fingers, “I can’t help it. Every part of you is nice and soft. Want me to stop though?”

His mildly playful face grew annoyed. Suddenly, Leona grabbed your arm and pulled you right on top of him. He laid flat on his back, grinning with those sharp canines of his as that playful glint came back full force. He shoved your palms deeper into his chest.

“No. You started this, so go for it. I have all night.” Leave it to Leona to know exactly what he wants.

You laughed and, in your urge to be just the slightest bit mean, you lightly pinched him. He closed his eyes and breathed in, satisfied and ready for the night to come. No matter what he says, he can always rely on you to know just the right ways to unravel him.

[gilbirda]

Personal coach Red Hood

Another quick one before sleep. This is honestly becoming a fun wind down exercise to relax before bed! I highly recommend just letting the words come as they come and disconnect for a moment.

Shout out to @impyssadobsessions and @emeraldsandamethyst for hyping me up as I write this fic! Thank you for the support!

Part 1 || Part 3 - Part 5

----

Jazz flexed her right hand and picked up the wooden spoon again. Her knuckles were definitely bruised and it was going to be annoying for a day or two. 

She sighed. 

Not even making her favorite soup was proving capable of cheering her up anymore. She kept going back to Hood screaming at her after the bank robbery earlier that afternoon, how he grabbed her and pushed her away.

His constant rejection stung, and she wasn’t stupid — smiling and having a positive attitude wasn’t going to magically change his mind. She tried to prove she was smart, resourceful and strong enough; and if it wasn’t enough for him then there was nothing she could do.

She could try her luck with the other bats, but she didn’t know if he had already warned them about her or something.

Jazz tried the soup and winced. It was… not fine. Tasted slightly burnt and needed more salt. She shouldn’t be cooking while in a bad mood since she was messing even the soup she could do with her eyes closed.

A soft tap on her balcony window made her jump and then chide herself for being so easily startled.

She turned, finding the same vigilante she had been thinking about. What did he want?

He said something, but his voice was muffled through the glass, and with the helmet’s voice modulation she couldn’t make the words. Jazz pointed at her ears and shook her head. The man sighed, given how his shoulders slumped, and took off his helmet.

Jazz’s eyes were glued to the white locks of hair he had at the front. 

“I want to talk.” He said.

She considered him — the disarmed body language, the tense lips that weren’t a smile, his fingers tapping the helmet. She was sad and a little bit mad about the incident that day but…

She checked the soup one more time and sighed, turning off the stove and putting the pot away.

“What do you want?” Maybe she could have said that less like she wanted to bite his head off, but she was tired and mad and hungry. And he had been an asshole to her for the better part of a month.

Hood just stood there, quiet. She raised an eyebrow.

“Your food sucks.”

Jazz took in a deep breath and moved to close her balcony glass door, considering the conversation over. 

“Wait,” he stopped her from totally closing the door, “I didn’t mean that.”

She glared at the whiteouts of his domino mask. “You don’t have to lie, I know I’m not a good cook.”

“Okay, then your food has… room to improve?”

This made her chuckle, but it was more because of the face he made. He looked completely out of place, trying to play nice like this. 

“What do you want?” She asked again, reopening the glass door. This time, she also made a gesture to let him inside if he wanted. Surprisingly enough, he followed, his helmet under one arm. “Want something to drink? I may have some apple juice, but I’m not sure.”

“Beer?”

“Are you drinking on the job, Mr. Hood?” She smirked, enjoying the way he huffed at her words.

“Call me just Hood.” He shook his head. “And I’m fine just like this. I’m not staying long anyway.”

She shrugged. “What do you want?” She asked for the third time.

Jazz watched him shuffle his feet and run a gloved hand through his hair. He was nervous, avoiding her eyes. He reminded her so much of Danny, and how hard it was for him to open difficult conversations.

“After— After you left, I saw the snipers. Thank you.” He added with a small voice. It was genuine. “They could have really turned the situation to something worse, and… and I couldn’t… I didn’t…”

“It’s fine. You were busy.”

He was talking about the guys on the rooftops that she took care of, and the reason why she couldn’t follow him into the bank on time before the lockdown. She tried to explain, but he cut her off so rudely so he might have found them tied up and knocked out where she left them.

He shook his head again. “I didn’t let you explain.”

“No, you didn’t.” What was the point in sugar coating? “You were, and excuse my wording, a grade A asshole.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.” He sighed. “That I am.” He cleared his throat but didn’t speak for a few moments. Jazz waited patiently as he gathered his words. “I’m not a good mentor. I don’t even know what I could offer you. And I’m a ‘grade A asshole’, but… You are one tough motherfucker to keep coming back again and again... And you did me a solid today… I guess what I’m trying to say is—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I will be your student.” She smiled and extended her hand. “When do we start, teacher?”

----

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[mojogojocasahouse]

Just in Time Part II

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 6.5k series content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), angst, smut, unprotected p in v, oral m & f-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

Part I

You follow the sound out into the cool summer morning, Satoru leaning back against the railing with his head hung. He’s in shorts and an unzipped hoodie, his snowy locks still mussed from his pillow. He raises his eyes when he hears the door opening, blinking the agony from his eyes away before he smiles. Had you not been paying attention you’d have missed the switch. 

“Go sit in the bedroom and stay there,” Satoru instructs, turning you by the shoulder and gently shoving you toward his room, “Actually, lock yourself in the bathroom or something…Okay, or just stand there…”

Fear has frozen you in place, but when he pushes down on your head you drop to the floor in a heap, leaning back against the counter in the middle of the kitchen as a call of your name on the other side of the door signifies the worst has come to pass. You hear Satoru mutter ‘Good enough, I guess,’ before he snaps his jovial, mischievous persona back into place, his sing-song greeting to your father outside barely audible just as the hinges close behind him. It takes you too long to drag yourself across the sleek wooden floor and hover your ear against the same place you’d been pressed to in very different circumstances earlier that night. 

“I know she’s in there you insolent brat!” That’s your father’s voice, sounding as furious as you’ve ever heard him.

“Are you going senile in your old age?” Satoru’s wit never fails him, “We’re gonna have to strip you of that fancy position if you can’t keep your thoughts straight. I think I could be a principal, don’t you? Not that I really want to go to Kyoto but…”

The sound of blood spattering against a wall proves there’s a third out there with them, Satoru’s taunting laugh confirming he’d been the target of a blood manipulation technique. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hang on, Gramps. Call off your little attack dog, you know it’s pointless. Unless you forgot that too…”

“She’s getting married tomorrow and this nonsense that’s gone on for too long already is finished! Stop harboring her like there’s anything you can do, what’s done is done.”

“But it isn’t done, is it?” The change in his tone is almost jarring. It’s menacing now, low and rumbling even through the barrier you're still pressed against.

“You have nothing to offer–”

“Ha! Don’t I? Does that shriveled raisin rattling around inside your skull not remember? I AM the Gojo clan. It’s all me! And no offense to Kamo’s cute little squirt gun technique, but we all know who’s winning this fight, right?”

It’s all murmurs that follow, the wood too thick to allow any legible words no matter how hard you press your ear against it. You fight the urge to wrench open the door…

“You know, Gakuganji,” you can hear Satoru respond after 30 seconds of eternity, his tone once again light and carefree, “A smart man would have tried to bleed me dry as a 15-year-old kid when you caught me sneaking out of her room at that first Exchange Event.”

“It didn’t matter. What could you give me, Gojo?”

“Now? Not a damn thing! And let’s be honest, probably not back then either. You’ve always been a slimeball. Go home, old man. You lost. No seat for you at the round table.”

“There’s nothing you can do-“

“You have ten seconds to leave, I don’t think I need to warn you about what happens if you don’t.”

The door knocks you flat onto the floor when he reenters the house, his hands quickly coming to right you as he drops to his knees. You’re just trying to keep yourself from crying, the pale stretch of his bare chest at your eye level and it takes every ounce of your waning self-control not to break down into him. His hands are warm and the arm’s length distance feels like miles, and he’s the only thing you want. But he’s something you can’t have.

When he’s certain you’re steady he jumps back to his feet, grabs his phone, and walks to peek out the window to ensure your unexpected visitors are gone. A flash of headlights flickers against the wall and you sigh in relief, your body still frozen in place.

“Nanami!” Gojo greets, phone pressed to his ear, “Yeah…yeah…No, I don’t need a ride … That happened one time six years ago! … Shut uuuup…No…Wai-wai-wait! I need something! … It’s important! … Is that apartment in your building still available? … It’s not for me…It’s not for me! … I got baby Gakuganji out, she needs a place… Okay, what about that other place… Uh-huuuh… Yes… No, I’ll just cover the year… Yeah, upfront… Here tonight… No, my place in the city… I’m staying up… Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re not paying for-” you begin to argue when you’re certain he’s hung up.

“I didn’t ask,” he quickly cuts you off, “Take the bedroom, I’ll stay out here. One of good ol’ Kento Nanami’s suit buddies is a building manager, says he might have a place. No promises the Kamo clan will let me into their little fortress to get your stuff, but I’m gonna call Yaga to see if he can swindle a deal.”

The typically childish, flippant Satoru was gone, and in his place was the intelligent, efficient man that so very few saw, including yourself. He was a strategizer, calculating and quick-witted not only with his sarcastic words, but solutions, too. In ten minutes he’d already freed you of your shackles and found you an alternative path; could you have just asked him for help years ago and gotten this same response?

“Get some sleep,” he urges again, lifting his phone back to his ear for his next call, “Nothing will happen tonight… Yaga, need a favor!”

His bed feels like quicksand as you settle beneath the silky sheets and plush blankets. Everything smells like him from the pillows and the shirt you wear to your skin that he scrubbed clean with a touch so gentle it had sent ripples down your spine. You can hear him still murmuring in the living room, the conversation growing heated and you want to run to tell him you’re not worth this trouble. Nine years as an intermittent visitor to his bed doesn’t qualify you for this, he should have just surrendered you to the men at the door. 

“They tracked her phone!” He’d said that loud enough you were able to hear it clearly. 

Has there been any one moment of your life where you had control? All this time you’d thought your moments with Satoru had been yours and yours alone, a secret kept between the two of you, but it wasn’t. Your father had known all along and let it continue, and you knew that it wasn’t for your benefit. The trip down memory lane leaves you sobbing into your hands, all the emotions of the night cresting over your weakening composure. You do all you can to keep quiet, choking and sputtering on the wails that want to break free, you can’t show weakness. Not now, not ever. 

Even in your best attempts at discretion, you’re still too loud to hear the door slowly open, so when a long, slender body curls behind you it comes as a complete surprise. Satoru’s arm wraps tightly around your middle, his face notching into the curve of your shoulder.

Tears of despair turn into those of relief, your fingers threading with his on your stomach before you clutch his hand to your aching chest like a child’s teddy bear. It’s big enough to be one. Your muscles ache from tension, your resolve beginning to crack, and when he nuzzles his thin, pointed nose against your skin you finally lose the battle. 

He holds you as you sob, the embarrassment, shame, and fear you felt running down your face. You can’t make out whatever he’s whispering in your ear but you swear it sounds like a pleading ‘stop’, and you can feel the way his arm pulls you even closer, your knuckles going white as you tighten your own grip. The burning in your throat is made worse with every gasping breath, and you can’t tell if it’s your body quivering or his until his palm swallows your jaw whole and pulls your chin up to face him.

The salt of your tears is bitter in a desperate kiss, his tongue coated with what had soaked your lips. There’s nothing gentle about his movements, they’re frantic and hard, the shock of his desperation enough to snap you back to reality. It’s him who’s trembling, his brow knit tightly for reasons you don’t and will likely never know. 

“Stay…” you choke, throat thick with sorrow and strife, the thought of him leaving you in his bed alone dropping heavily into your stomach like a stone, “Please.”

“Sure,” he agrees, pecking at your lips again at a drastically softer pace.

Despite your turmoil, you doze off quickly. His embrace is an oasis, the feathering kisses he leaves along your neck, shoulder, and in the hollow behind your ear blooming like flowers and spreading their vivid warmth until you slip beneath the weight of sleep. He greets you here as he often does, the life you’d built in your dreams welcoming you. 

It’s still dark when your eyes snap open, an arm pulling you tighter into a searing cocoon when your body jolts. Your long-held fantasy has burned to ash and crumbled into a nightmare, the image of white hair billowing in the breeze as tears ran from crystal blue eyes still painted behind your eyes. 

“Toru?” you whisper as your fingers graze along the soft, smooth skin locking you in place.

“Hmm?” he hums, his tired voice like a balm. 

“Are you here?” It’s delirium fogging your train of thoughts, words your mind has fabricated still echoing. 

“Where else would I be?”

“Please stay…” You’re not even responding to him at this point, exhaustion has taken hold once again and thrown you right back into the fire. “Toru…”

The sun is blinding when you wake again, the bed cold and empty. A toothbrush is sitting on the bathroom counter when you wander in, a fresh set of shorts and a shirt that will be far too large for you perched on a shelf. Who knew Satoru could be such a gracious host?

There’s no sign of the man in the question even when you make your way to the living area save a mug of half-drank coffee sitting on an end table near the sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony. When you turn towards the kitchen, you spot another mug set out by the coffee maker, one for you, and that sinking feeling in your chest that had woken you up in the early hours of the morning returns.

“Then do something!” a distant voice shouts, “Do something!”

You follow the sound out into the cool summer morning, Satoru leaning back against the railing with his head hung. He’s in shorts and an unzipped hoodie, his snowy locks still mussed from his pillow. He raises his eyes when he hears the door opening, blinking the agony from his eyes away before he smiles. Had you not been paying attention you’d have missed the switch. 

“Morning,” he greets in a jovial tone you know is a lie, “I left you a mug—“

“I know,” you cut him off, and here in the light of a new day, you realize something you’d known all along. 

You’re in love with him.

The pain of that admittance is freeing. He’s cast in a warm orange glow looking every bit as ethereal as he was, and you press your cheek to the patch of sun shining on his chest, wrapping your arms around his slim waist and stealing this moment with him knowing it very well may be the last. His arms lock around you faster than your hands can knot at the small of his back, there is no hesitation, not even enough time to consider a different course of action, and when he notches your head beneath his chin and sighs, your mind goes quiet. 

You’ll stay here as long as he allows it. Five minutes, an hour, it doesn’t matter. This feels good, it feels safe…

I love you, I love you, I love you… It’s like a mantra, and while you don’t dare speak it you hope the message gets to him somehow. Maybe in the tightness of your hold, the tension from your efforts, or the shallowness of your breath. The world is still quiet, giving you enough peace to soak this in. There’s no blaring of car horns or busy conversations floating into the sky to disrupt you, it’s just the steady thrum of his heart beating. You’re positive this is the first time anyone has just…held you like this.

When he pulls away you try to hide your disdain for the distance he creates, your eyes are still closed when he tips your face up towards him with the side of his pointer finger. 

He catches you mid-breath in a kiss harder than you expect after just waking up. You can feel his failed restraint, it’s been years since you’ve welcomed a new day together, lonely nights after long taxi rides home have been the norm. Two hands grip behind your knees and hoist you upwards, your arms slipping around his neck as his tongue drags along your lower lip, urging your mouth open and a whine to slip free. 

There are a thousand reasons to stop him, but none of them matter right now. He’s so warm and solid, his jaw slightly rough with stubble too pale to see. A smile spreads across his face when he finally catches himself in his frenzy, slowing his frantic pace to something much more gentle and languid. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” he purrs into your mouth, sliding his tongue over your own before you can respond, “I want crepes.”

The sun disappears from behind your eyelids, and you feel the cool surface of his kitchen counter as he sets you on top of it. With free hands, he explores the soft stretch of your legs, slipping between them as you continue to tug at his lips greedily. The clock hasn’t even hit 9 AM yet, but the ache settling into your core is beginning to burn. There was something so pathetically irresistible about seeing him so comfortable, so unguarded, it felt like you weren’t just a visitor to his bed. And that was a dangerous precipice to be standing on. 

“Are you always so needy in the morning?” he laughs against your throat, a whine slipping free from his tease, “This what I’ve been missing out on?”

When his tongue swipes over your searing skin, your fingers lock into his hair as he explores the throat you bare to him. It’s those open-mouthed, lingering tastes that he tortures you with that have your hips flicking in search of friction, so he gives you his thigh, pulling you down to perch on it and dragging you over the slim, firm muscle. You know you look desperate and unkempt, but he keeps you moving enough to have you spasming as you find release and go lax in his hold. 

“So…” he practically sings, a lilt of conceit in his tone, “Crepes?”

“It’s too early for crepes,” you pant, confused by his choice of a morning meal.

“Pfft, for you maybe! You want any or no?”

After dressing in a hoodie and sweatpants, Satoru leaves with a quick peck to your forehead, promising to be quick before the door clicks and locks behind him. Seconds later, a fluffy head of white hair pokes back in, his keys still rattling in the lock.

“Don’t use your phone,” he instructs, “Or open the door.”

You passed the time tidying the space up. There isn’t much that needs to be done, but you get into a steady rhythm that you’re all too familiar with, wiping down counters, picking up laundry, and you almost make the mistake of leaving the apartment to take out the trash before remembering his warning to not open the door. 

As you begin to wipe down the bathroom, the sharp scent of the cleaner burning at your nose, you realize the ease he’d infused into you this morning has all but dried up. You watch as your hand trembles around the rag, a terrified reflection coming into view as you circle the white foam off the glass, revealing the truth of what lies beneath the crumbling facade. 

“What are you doing?” a smooth voice asks from behind you, causing you to yelp and your heart to skip a beat, “Are you cleaning my bathroom?”

“Uh…” you stammer, still reeling from the shock, “Yeah.”

“Don’t… You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry–”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

With that he walks off, yelling over his shoulder that food was here and to hurry up before it got cold. You’d become so accustomed to being scolded for not being busy tidying something up that having him go and do the opposite had thrown you for a loop. When your own house had been too clean to keep you working, you’d been sent somewhere else to help, your existence nothing more than a housemaid for the Kamo clan. You’re own fault, you’d been told, with such a useless cursed technique what else would there be for you to do? 

“C’mon!” he calls, “I’m being nice and waiting!”

Where a pile of cream-filled crepes sat in front of Satoru, a much more normal option was beside his on the table, a paper bag sitting on the couch in front of it. He paid you no mind as you cautiously pulled the bag towards you, peering inside to find a dress and jacket that cost far too much money.

“Satoru–” you scolded, squashing the leap your heart did into your throat, “I can’t pay–”

“Didn’t ask you to,” he cut off again, “You can’t go out in that.”

Right. You’re going to see an apartment today. Suddenly, what little appetite you’d mustered was gone, but you slink down onto the couch anyway, trying to eat as much as you can with a boulder in your stomach. 

“What’s a’matter?” he asks with a full mouth, “I thought you liked that place.”

Adding a heaping pile of guilt to what you were already carrying threatened to shatter you, but you set a smile on your face and force the food down. His knee rests against yours, his long legs spread wide, his focus honed on his phone as he types away with one thumb. The furrow of his brow has you wondering if it’s just more trouble you’re causing him, technically now with clothes proper enough to be seen in public wearing, you could leave him free of whatever burden you’d inadvertently placed on his shoulders.

When his phone begins to vibrate with a call, he throws his overly sweetened crepe back onto its wrapping and wipes his hands on his shorts, greeting whoever it is with a cheekful of whipped cream and dough.

“If you’re calling me with more shit news…oh really!? So kind of him…I’d love to hear how that conversation went…Tell me…It is important…It is…Because I said it is…God damnit, Yaga!...”

The next bit of the conversation even you could hear thanks to tempers flaring and voices rising: “He said she’s your problem now.”

You can’t leave the apartment fast enough, even in nothing but Satoru’s baggy clothes. He yells at you to wait as you run to the door, circling down the stairs as fast as you can with tears dripping down your face. When you make it out onto the sidewalk, a solid chest and two long arms pull you in immediately, and you don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is. It’s easy to forget what he’s truly capable of. He probably leapt right off the balcony.

“I’m too tired for this,” he sighs, the agitation he was masking slipping through, “Go inside. Please.”

“No,” you argue, trying to shove him away, his hands easily catching yours and trapping them in cuffs of long, dexterous fingers.

“I just want to sleep for two fucking hours! Please, go inside!”

“You’re free to go–”

“Oh my God! Shut up already!”

It’s embarrassing how easily he hoists you over his shoulder like a tantruming child and carries you inside, sitting you on the couch and flopping down beside you, his head falling into your lap like it was a pillow. 

“You piss me off,” he mumbles, curling an arm around you as his eyes drift closed, “I never do anything I don’t wanna do. Thought you knew that by now.”

A lingering drop falls from your cheek into his still tangled hair, your fingers instinctively moving to swipe it away but instead digging deeper, scraping against his scalp soothingly. He rumbles in appreciation, already drifting off, and so you continue. The steady, slow breaths exhaled through parted lips assure you he’s getting the sleep he desperately needs. You know he’d stayed awake all night anticipating another uninvited guest to his door, and who knows if he’d even managed the night before. He claimed he never slept on missions, unable to relax enough to find even a semblance of peace away from home.

Three hours later, he hasn’t moved. A small braid sits across his temple, keeping some of the strands that had been falling into his eyes neatly twisted away. You’ve barely been able to keep your eyes off of him, your wandering touch having moved from his hair to trace the sharp features of his face ever-so-gently to not wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper to ears that can’t hear you, hoping it alleviates the weight bearing down on your chest. It doesn’t. 

You can’t see him again. At this point, being with him only has the potential to throw you deeper into this void you’re hurtling down. After seeing this apartment, you’ll find a hotel and take the weight of your problems off his shoulders. You know he has more than enough of his own to handle, sometimes you can’t help but think it’s a miracle he’s still standing. 

The thought makes your chest tighten, and it’s simply more evidence this cord needs to be cut. He’s got his little black book and you’re simply just another number. You’re not even fun anymore, the baggage you carry is too much to bear to still be considered a good time. Whatever responsibility he feels for you is displaced, just because it all blew up right outside his front door doesn’t make this—you—his problem. 

“Hmmm,” he hums twenty minutes later, his face nuzzling down into your legs as his arms around you tighten, “What time is it?”

“Two-ish…” you reply, trying to keep your voice level, but when his fingers pull up the hem of his shirt you’re wearing and his lips press softly against your stomach there’s no helping the sharp gasp that betrays you. 

Within seconds he’s twisted you onto your back against the armrest, greedy hands tugging your borrowed shorts still loosely hanging off your hips down and off. White hair fills your fists as your spine arches off the couch, Satoru’s lips locking around your clit and suckling hard. All thoughts of never seeing him again are quickly thrown out the window. His palms hold your thighs spread wide as his silver tongue finally tastes what you’d denied him last night. He’s the only man who ever has, and he’s the only one you ever want to.

His thin, sharp nose drags over your clit as he laps at your entrance, your legs begging to clamp down around his ears as searing heat boils in your belly. It’s pathetic how you’re already trembling, but it only spurs him on, your eager response to his affections is always his greatest motivation. Despite his tongue being buried deep, it isn’t enough. You still feel so empty and your body instinctively asks–begs–for more by rolling your hips over his face, searching for anything to satiate the hunger. There is no surrender in his appetite, however. In a battle of wills, he always comes out on top, and today is no exception.

“You taste so good,” he hums against your soaked core, half-drunk on nothing but you.

“Please,” you whine, keening when he teases your back entrance with a taunting flick. 

“M’gonna take care of you.”

Something foreign and tranquil washes over you in a steady wave, and Satoru immediately pauses when you go slack beneath him and sink into the plush material of the couch. As he presses his lips in a reverent trail from your hip to your throat, pushing the baggy shirt you’re wearing up to clear his path, you relax even further.

You trust him. You love him. 

Your fingers are still locked in his hair when you hear his quiet request beneath your ear: “Can I?”

It’s such a stupid, juvenile thing, but it’s something you’ve been denied in all the years of this… situation, so you nod, taking a deep breath in a poor attempt to calm your nerves. Your pulse is thrumming with anticipation beneath his mouth, and the moment he clamps down hard enough to sting, he thrusts into your wet heat as blood pools beneath the fragile skin his tongue soothes over. 

He does it again, decorating the dip of your collarbone as the spongy head of his dick kisses your cervix, and you’re limp, taking anything and everything he’s willing to give. Let him decorate you, claim you, fuck you until you’re incoherent, it doesn’t matter. Just as long as it’s him and he doesn’t stop.  

“So wet…” he praises, groaning when his words cause you to tighten around him.

Always for you, you think as his tongue dives between your parted lips, the taste of yourself still lingering. The gentle way he cradles your jaw is the complete opposite of the speed of his hips battering into you. He’s chasing something he can’t quite reach, whether that be a sensation or an emotion you can’t tell, but he’s looking, willing himself to find this answer even if it kills him. Every stolen kiss seems to connect his wayward thoughts, but when he starts to whimper into your mouth and his pace begins to falter, you know the friction of his cock dragging along your walls has consumed him.

“I can’t–” he stammers when you lock your ankles on his lower back, tightening around him further, “Fuck, baby, that’s n-not helping.”

“Give it to me, Toru.” One last time. “Pl-please, I want it.”

There’s barely time to take a breath before you’re on your stomach, ass being pulled straight up into the air, his shaft filling your gaping hole so deep you can feel the pressure in your chest. Long, slender fingers find your swollen clit and being moving in steady, quick circles, and at this point all you can do is scream and cry out until he’s shooting hot, thick ropes of cum into your spasming cunt, your own orgasm ripping through you, leaving you boneless and drooling.

“Shit…” he pants, his phone vibrating on the table in what has to be a third attempt at a call in the last two minutes, “Gimme a second.”

The bedroom door closes as you slump down into a heap, the mess between your thighs getting sticky and uncomfortable as you adjust to the emptiness returning. It’s tempting to sneak out now, if it wasn’t for your current debauched state. You’re still so surrounded by him, the couch smells like his stupid cologne, your thighs are quivering, and you can still feel the tips of his fingers digging into your hips. Maybe you’ll never be free.

“Okay, princess,” he coos, lifting you off the couch bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom, “Quick shower then we gotta go.”

By four o'clock, you’re heading out the door, donned in a new dress accompanied by Satoru in sleek black pants and a silky black button-down, bag in hand. It’s an overnight bag, you can tell from the size and also because you caught him packing it in a rush. He hadn’t seen you, well, at least as far as you could tell, and as much as you wanted to believe he was heading out on a mission, you couldn’t convince yourself of it. The phone call he had to talk out of earshot, the fancy clothes he wore just to go tour some shitty apartment, the bag…you’re well aware of what it all means. You don’t even let the fact he’s opening your car door for you distract you from the knowledge he’ll be doing the exact same gesture to another tonight.

“Okay,” he sings out as he slides into the driver’s seat, “Ready to go?”

All you do is nod, keeping your eyes focused out your window. 

“Why’re you so quiet?” he complains–whines–five minutes into the drive, “It’s boring.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “Where is this apartment?”

“What apartment?”

“The one we’re going to see?”

“Oh…riiiight. That apartment. You don’t really want to go look at that, do you?”

He can sense your anger bubbling in the cramped space, but he laughs when he looks over to find you staring daggers at him, nostrils flared.

Relax!” he chuckles, “So worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Satoru!” you yell back, groaning when your body betrays you for a moment and relaxes when his hand falls to your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing softly up and down over your exposed skin, “My life is a wreck!”

“When hasn’t it been?”

“You arranged that apartment. And now we’re not going?” You have to change the subject before you combust.

“Well, you said I couldn’t pay for it, and you can’t pay for it. Not yet anyway–”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. So, what now then!?”

“Dinner!”

The car comes to a screeching halt outside of a ramen place, and you burst into tears.

“Hey…” He’s frantic, leaning over the center console to take your face in his hand, “Hey…no-no-no. Don’t do that.”

“What am I supposed to do?!” you scream at him, your cheeks already soaked and eyes swollen, “Just go in there and eat ramen like nothing is wrong!?”

“I mean…yeah. Why not?”

“Fuck you!” 

It’s a battle when you try to get out of the car, his left hand continuously locking the doors as his right attempts to stop you from pulling at the handle at all. He’s grunting ‘stop’ and ‘listen’ and ‘calm down’ but his words fall on deaf ears. 

“Why won’t you just let me go?!” you finally sob, both of you panting and flustered.

“Because…” he replies quietly, threading his fingers with yours, however unresponsive they are, “Will you stay in the damn car?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t move to leave either, and he takes that as confirmation. With a heavy sigh (and an empty stomach) he takes off down the road until you’re outside the city, finally pulling into a large gated property. Flowers surround you on all sides, and the sound of a fountain in a pond pairs serendipitously with the birds singing the sun away as it begins to dip closer to the horizon. The house nestled amongst the gardens is massive, winding paths of stone leading through the rainbows of blooms, and you can’t help but be entirely awestruck for a moment before confusion settles. Satoru opens the door with his keys, pulling you inside the manor that’s every bit as impressive on the inside as it is outside.

“Where are we?” you ask harshly, pulling your hand free of his.

“The Gojo Estate,” he answers so casually you want to throw a shoe at the back of his head.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m showing you around. It beats Kento’s buddy’s apartment, dontcha think?”

Not even the coldest winds could have frozen you in place so quickly. He’s brought the overnight bag from the back of the car in with him, tossing it onto the kitchen counter before opening the fridge and grinning when he finds a bottle of strawberry soda waiting for him on the shelf. 

“There’s more to the place than the foyer!” He’s moved out of sight now, but not far judging by how close he still sounds, “C’mere! Don’t be shy now.”

He’s waiting on a porch overlooking the pond you’d heard earlier, koi fish gently swimming in the clear water without a care in the world. If you’d thought the city suited him before, it was nothing compared to the sight of him framed by lush greenery and the unhindered glow of sunset. He looks every bit the part of clan head here, oozing authority and confidence as he leans with his back against the railing, smirking as you cautiously approach.

“What are we doing here?” you ask again, meek and quiet, all signs of anger gone.

“Giving you options,” he answers, gloating almost, but trepidation is still laced with what you recognize as false conviction.

“I can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I mean, you wouldn’t be living alone. No one should live alone here, that’s why I don’t. What if I slip in the shower and no one finds me for days? Ha! Could you imagine…”

“Satoru!”

Does he know what he’s asking? Does he know what it means? If it means nothing to him, fine, but you? The idea of it has you tensing and pushing back tears, your bottom lip trembling as you allow the fantasy of a home and a life to slip through the cracks forming in your barriers you keep it behind. His fingers are chilled from the glass bottle he’s been holding, the sharp contrast against your burning cheeks causing you to gasp and you’re met by infinite blue eyes staring down at you. 

“Look,” he begins, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect pink pout, “I…” He sighs, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts, “Why didn’t you ask me to get you out of there sooner?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. You’d been asking yourself the same thing since it all blew up last night. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” you answer truthfully, “If it’s not me, you have someone else–” “There is no one else. There never has been.”

“What?”

“There is no one else.”

No one else? His lips press softly against yours as you stand in stunned silence. All these years thinking you were second to twenty, and there had never been another? 

“Say it again,” he breathes into your slackened jaw, and your brow furrows in confusion.

“What…” you blubber, meeting the galaxies living in his gaze once again.

“Tell me again.”

A tight grip on your wrist tugs your hand up to what remains of the braid still twisted in his hair from his nap earlier, you hadn’t realized it had survived both the shower and what transpired before it, but it had clearly held on tight. Too many thoughts buzz around in your head for you to comprehend what the hell he's asking for until he requests it one more time, his voice cracking like his life hinges on knowing if what he’d heard was real or a figment of his overactive imagination.

And then it clicks. Your heart comes to a skidding halt as fear runs cold through your veins, and you try to run but his arm curls around your waist, holding you in place.

“I…” your tongue is paralyzed, a phrase you’ve never uttered to another person knotting and twisting, “You were asleep.” It’s such a cop-out, and the way his face falls shatters your heart.

“Right, thought so,” he concedes, “Okay. Well, do you want to see–”

“I love you.”

The words spill out so suddenly you’re clasping your hands over your traitorous lips, the urge to flee burning in your legs, and he smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he leans in, pulling your wrist to free your shock-slackened lips from their cage, and kisses you. 

This kiss is different. It’s softer, lingering, it’s the kind of kiss that welcomes you home after a long day and melts the toils and tribulations you faced away. While your hands shoot to the kitchen counter behind you and your knuckles go white in an iron-like grip, the tips of his fingers brush down your cheek so gingerly a shudder shoots down your spine. You’ve never been touched so softly, with so much…you can’t think it. 

“Again,” he whispers, and you reply with those little three words in just as hushed a tone, “Again.”

With every repetition, the words fall with more grace and his smile grows. Your cheeks are burning, nerves fluttering to life in your belly, but when he asks for the fifth time to hear you say that phrase, you close the distance between your bodies, grab his jaw in both hands and finally with conviction you tell him the truth: “Satoru. I love you. I don’t kn—mmph!”

As quick as it is, the force of his lips crashing into yours is bruising. There’s nothing tactful about it, he just needs contact and he needs it now. 

“Love you,” he murmurs, and you understand immediately the incessant nagging to hear those words over and over. 

You know someone, at some point, had said that to you, but time has robbed you of the memory. This is the first time you can ever recall hearing it, and something breaks down inside of you faster than you can keep up with. His chest is there to collapse into as the tides roll in, tears pouring from your eyes as relief washes over your storm-stricken shores. The space carved out in his embrace fits you like a glove, your head tucked neatly below his cheek as he leans down to swaddle you in tight. You’re shaking and sobbing but this time he doesn’t ask you to stop, because he understands. It’s the same for him.

“Can we go to dinner now?” you sniffle, wiping your nose on the back of your hand, gazing up at him with glassy eyes.

“Nah,” he brushes off, “I’ll order something. There’s a shirt for you in the bag, take your pick.”

Donned in a t-shirt that hangs down to the middle of your thighs, you’re perched on the couch beside Satoru with a spread of food on the table before you once again. He puts on some movie but you aren’t paying attention, all you can concentrate on is trying to convince yourself it’s over. It’s done. You’re home. But too many years have passed, and it’ll take time.

“What, Yaga?” Satoru barks into his phone, “I’m not going…I’m not going…Find someone else.”

“What was that?” you ask as he tosses it away, looking over at you with eyes glowing in the dim light.

“Oh, a mission abroad. It usually goes to me but…”

There are more important things now. 

“They can figure it out,” he chuckles with that signature aloof, pompous lilt, slinging his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. 

Maybe it won’t take as long to get used to this as you think.

Sorry this took so long!!!

{{Masterlist}}

[drurrito]

Move Along

AN: literally just wrote this bc i refuse to journal!! I'm also off a melatonin gummy so all mistakes are mine

Warnings: it's angsty, a little suggestive, probably cursing

----------------

Wanda rides out her high while you watch from below. She falls over with a dreamy sigh, her arm falling across your chest and her fingers curl against your neck. You pull her in closer with a kiss atop her head. You let her mindlessly play with the hairs on the nape of your neck for a few moments until you catch the vacant look on her face.

"S'wrong?" you mumble, not really expecting anything to come of it. Wanda doesn't say anything for a few beats, and that makes you turn towards her, lifting her chin with the softest grip, her eyes choosing to look at the lamp on your nightstand.

"Wanda?"

"Vis asked me to come see him in Hamburg," she's still not looking at you.

"Oh? Like a weekend trip?"

"More than a weekend trip," she shrugs, "for the summer, said I'm too far away for his liking."

"You guys talk like every night, don't you?" you tilt your head, cocking a brow.

"That's not the point," she lightly flicks your ear. You both have had this flirtationship/friends with benefits thing long before Vision ever came into the picture. You weren't used to competing for someone when he came around, you still aren't. Wanda used to think it was cute how you always acted like you were at the top of her roster--because you were--at least until Vision proved to be a top contender. You never hit the gas, but you never hit the brakes either. You've just been cruising like always, and Wanda absolutely factored that in when she was making her decision about Vision.

"Y/n," Wanda eyes finally land on yours, her hand moves down to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing against your skin.

"It's getting serious, between me and him."

"Okay," you knew this is what she was getting at the whole time, she's always been too nice to just come out and say things like this.

"Okay?"

"What am I supposed to do about it?" You gently grasp her hand and prop yourself up on your elbow, "he's sweeping you off your feet from miles and miles away, and I'm just, here I guess."

"There's nothing else you want to say to me?" Wanda sits up too, she wraps the sheets around herself while you sit there at the crossroads you hoped to never reach.

It was always going to end this way.

Maybe, deep down, you hoped that by the time this day would come that you would have figured out the right way to go about things.

But you haven't and that's on you, so you have to take this on the chin and keep it moving like you used to do.

"Y/n?"

"When do you leave?" You turn to face Wanda in time to watch her shoulders droop.

"Thursday," her reply is curt. You wince, it's Tuesday.

"So this is it then?"

"You're not even going to try to keep in touch?" Wanda frowns while you chew on your lip.

"And talk about what, Wanda? How amazing it is to live with the guy that has way too much money to shower you with gifts for so many lifetimes?"

"It's not about the money y/n-"

"It's the effort, I get it. But I've been here, Wanda--more than Vis has, even."

Wanda opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but she just sighs instead. You're right, you've been here, but not in the way she needed, wanted you, and you both know that. You never bothered to evolve beyond a fuck and a flirt, and Wanda realized she had to give up on waiting for you at some point.

She just didn't expect for it to happen so soon.

Wanda reaches for your hand, taking it in hers when you don't pull away.

"I'll always remember this, us," she lifts your hand to her lips and releases it with a kiss. Your jaw twitches with an emotion you thought was long-lost. Wanda moves to get up from the bed, but you still her with a hand on her own.

"Stay? Just for tonight?" You curse yourself with how much that resembles begging, and you barely have the courage to look Wanda in the eyes while you wait for her answer. After tonight, nothing will be the same, so the least you can do is just savor what's left of it now.

Wanda's eyes soften, you'll always be special to her. She wordlessly nods and climbs back into bed with you, pulling you close to her chest. Wanda pretends that she can't feel your tears on her skin. You finally relax and fall asleep after a few minutes of her whispering sweet nothings into your ear while drawing patterns across your shoulders and back.

As much as Wanda wishes things were different between you, she knows that life will leave her behind if she keeps waiting around for something more to happen.

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You wake up, the other side of the bed is the coldest it's ever been.