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witchywithwhiskey · 10 days ago

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kiss me softly

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you're distracted during movie night with your best friend, and when he convinces you to tell him what's on your mind, it leads to so much more...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, tit play/nipple sucking, dry humping, dirty talk, some degradation, some objectification, referenced dumbification, vaguely referenced free use, praise kink, begging, teasing, kissing (so much kissing), Bucky's a lil possessive, pet names (doll, pet, baby), aftercare, friends to lovers

word count: 4.7k

a/n: how many times have i written a bucky barnes friends to lovers fic on a couch? SO many times! and will i write it again? probably!!! anyway, here's my contribution for week 2 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer! i didn't use allllll the prompts but i still had a lot of fun writing this one, so i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

prompt: “Did I give you permission?” | [Cock Cage | Orgasm Delay/Denial | Master/Pet Roleplay]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

“That’s a mean frown ya got over there, doll.”

Bucky Barnes’ comment broke you from your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring unseeingly at the TV in your living room. Shaking yourself lightly, you glanced over to the other side of the couch, where your best friend was lounging comfortably for your movie night.

Even with the vaguely concerned expression on his face, Bucky looked far too good in a plain black t-shirt and a simple pair of gray sweatpants. You’d always known your best friend was handsome, but there was something about seeing him sprawled out on your couch, taking up so much space in your home, it had you feeling a certain type of way…

“Do you not like the movie I chose?”

You startled slightly at Bucky’s question, and abandoned the trail your thoughts had been wandering down. They wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Bucky was your best friend, not some guy to scratch an itch that you could probably just ignore.

“No, no,” you assured him, looking back at the TV. He’d put on some 90s action movie that you normally would’ve enjoyed, but you’d seen it so many times, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from getting distracted. “I’m just thinking,” you said on an exhale, rearranging yourself on the couch so your legs were tucked underneath you.

“Must be serious to have you frowning like that,” Bucky teased, shifting his body so he was facing you, ignoring the movie as it played on, even though it was one of his favorites. “C’mon, doll, tell your best friend what’s troubling you—it’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky flashed a charming grin your way, and you couldn’t help but melt a little. Your best friend always had that effect on you. He could convince you to do anything he wanted with just some sweet words and that dazzling smile.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t use his superpowers for evil—just for a little bit of trouble. Like that time he’d talked you into getting some finance guy at a bar in Tribeca to buy you extra drinks so Bucky could drink for free too.

The guy hadn’t been very happy when he learned he’d been bankrolling you and your best friend for the night, but you’d ditched him and the bar before a fight could break out. You and Bucky had collapsed against each other on the subway ride home to Brooklyn, laughing together, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where yours ended and your best friend’s began…

Wrenching yourself out of that memory, you forced yourself to focus on Bucky.

“I just…” you began and trailed off, suddenly realizing how pathetic you were going to sound when you gave voice to what you’d been thinking about. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if there was a way to phrase it so you didn’t sound quite so pitiful.

When inspiration failed to strike, your helpless gaze met Bucky’s eyes across the couch. He ducked his head and looked at you from under his lashes, giving you an encouraging nod.

“I won’t judge you, doll, you know that,” he said, his voice low and rumbly in a way that made your stomach flip and a little tingle to flutter between your thighs. His expression was so open and sincere, you squirmed, ignoring your body’s reaction.

“I know,” you said, nodding, and letting your gaze drop to your fingers in your lap. “It’s just a little silly.” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained. Your fingers picked at your nails—a nervous habit your best friend had pointed out to you years ago.

Bucky scooted across the couch, until he was close enough to place one of his warm hands over yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.

You knew you were being ridiculous. You knew Bucky wouldn’t judge you, you didn’t know why you were so nervous about talking to him. So you told yourself to be brave. You took a deep breath and looked at your best friend, meeting his bright blue eyes.

“I was thinking about…kissing.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment, then two. Then Bucky cocked his head to the side and a little line formed between his brows, his expressions morphing into confusion. Before he could ask his question, though, you rushed on, suddenly eager to get it all out once you’d started.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed,” you explained, your voice breathless from the flood of words spilling from your mouth. “And I was thinking about how nice it would be for someone to take my face in their hands and just…kiss me softly—kiss me like they mean it.”

The whisper of your words trailed off, leaving the muted sounds of the movie and the city beyond your living room to press down on your shoulders. At some point, you’d dropped your gaze again to your lap, where your hands had turned over, fingers slotting between Bucky’s. As you watched, his hand gave yours a little squeeze.

You didn’t see Bucky move, but you heard him. You heard the couch creak and the rustle of fabric as he slid across the cushions until his gray cotton-clad thigh was pressed against your bare knees.

Just like Bucky, you’d dressed comfortably for movie night, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that might’ve belonged to him once. But you’d commandeered it so long ago, you thought of it as yours.

“Is that what you want?” Bucky asked, his voice even lower and rumblier, sending the butterflies in your stomach spiraling.

The fingers of his other hand were gentle when they slid against your jaw, tipping your face toward him. Your best friend’s blue eyes looked practically electric in the dim light of the room, and there was something, something like hunger, wading deep in their depths. The emotion called to something deep inside you.

“Do you want me to kiss you, pet?”

That nickname—the one Bucky only used when you were half asleep, snuggled up close, your heads huddled together, your limbs entwined while you lay in bed or on the couch after a long night of watching movies or drinking at the bar—sent a warm flush through your body.

You hadn’t been thinking about Bucky when you’d been thinking about someone kissing you, but in a matter of moments, it had become all you could think about. Suddenly, you were all too aware of your best friend.

His breaths were coming a little faster, and his blue eyes had darkened, his pupils blowing wide as his gaze searched your face. You could smell the faint hint of salt and butter on his lips from the popcorn you’d eaten earlier, and you could see every grain of the dark stubble shifting on his clenching jaw.

There was a hesitance, a nervousness, you rarely, if ever, saw in your best friend, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. He wanted this. He wanted it as badly as you did, and knowing that made you brave.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged on a whisper, meeting his gaze with your own, your eyes wide and pleading. You leaned into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek rhythmically.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, Bucky stared into your eyes, as if searching your soul for any reason to pause. When he found none, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he rumbled in a teasing tone that had your heart fluttering in your chest.

Then Bucky leaned forward, and you did the same, until your breaths mingled and you could feel the warmth of him on your lips.

Your mouths met in a tentative brush, so soft you would’ve thought you imagined it if it wasn’t for the shock of electricity that zipped down your spine. You tilted your face, searching for more, and Bucky’s lips met yours again in another cautious kiss.

Heat bloomed in your body, unfurling in your chest and taking root low in your belly, your racing pulse thrumming between your thighs. It was a slow-building pleasure, but then, all of a sudden, you were ravenous for more. You pressed closer, fingers curling around Bucky’s shoulders, tongue flicking experimentally against his upper lip.

He groaned like he was in the greatest pain, but then his hands were wrapping around your waist, spanning your ribcage, and he was hauling you closer. His mouth covered yours and he deepened the kiss, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask.

Bucky devoured you, his lips moving against yours in a greedy push and pull that had you moaning wantonly into his mouth. When your lips parted, his tongue plunged inside, taking control of the kiss while his fingers tightened on your body.

Your best friend held you like you were priceless, and kissed you like you were inescapable. Bucky kissed you like he’d been waiting years—decades—to get his mouth on you, and you’d only needed to ask.

It was dizzying, overwhelming and wonderful in the best way. You kissed him back with all the pent up yearning that had been locked away in your heart, consuming him just as much as he was you.

Only when your lungs were burning for air did you wrench your lips from Bucky’s with a gasp. Over your desperate, panting breaths, you heard him growl, his hands cupping your face as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Did I give you permission to pull away, pet?”

The possessiveness in Bucky’s tone made you melt, and a whimper of desire slipped from your lips. You’d never seen this side of your best friend, but it made you nearly feral for more.

“Bucky,” you whined his name pitifully. Your fingers were clinging to his t-shirt and trying to tug him closer on the couch, but you were already as close as you could possibly be while you sat next to each other.

At your desperate whimpering, Bucky softened, a smile flirting around the edges of his mouth. “C’mere, pet,” he purred, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

Then your best friend was manhandling you into his lap, arranging you so your legs straddled his thighs. Your ass was perched over his groin, where you could feel a thick bulge pressing into the center of your body, making heat cascade down your spine as wetness dripped from your slit.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you mewled, rolling your hips instinctively and grinding against his cock through your clothes. “Did you—did you get this hard from kissing me?” you whispered, stumbling over your words but forcing them out because you needed to know the answer.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky rumbled, affection in his tone as his hands dove beneath your oversized t-shirt to skate up and down your spine. You felt electric heat burst everywhere he touched. “My best friend’s sweet kisses made me this hard.”

He lifted his hips, digging his bulge into your soft mound, dragging a helpless moan from your lips. He pressed his grin into the underside of your jaw.

“You feel so good, pet,” he murmured into your skin, like he was confessing a secret. “Your mouth is a dream that’s haunted me for years, and now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no going back for me. You’ve wrecked me, baby, and I need so much more of you.”

With one hand cupping your jaw, Bucky dragged your mouth back to his and he kissed you like a starving man—like he’d been lost in a desert for days and you were his first sip of water.

You kissed him just as greedily, launching yourself off the ledge the two of you had been dangling from for years, neither one wanting to be the first one to jump. But now he had, and you were happy to follow him in his freefall, knowing he’d catch you and hold you safely in his arms.

When you needed air, Bucky’s mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, his lips finding your thumping pulse and sucking on your skin until you were whining. While you gasped for breath, he found every spot on your neck that made you hotter and needier, until you were squirming your hips impatiently on his lap.

“I need more, too, Bucky,” you huffed, spreading your legs wider over his thighs so that you could press down more firmly on your best friend’s cock. You fingers sank into his soft brown hair, holding his face to your neck while you rolled your hips in a dizzying frenzy. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

Bucky stilled beneath you, and it was only then that you realized what you’d said. You sucked in a surprised breath, not sure where that boldness had come from—though you suspected it had something to do with the fact that you felt safe and comfortable enough with your best friend to freely speak your frustrated mind.

Leaning back, you caught sight of Bucky’s face, his eyes meeting yours as humor and lust roiled in their blue depths, like he was eager to meet your challenge. He wore a dark and hungry smirk, and his hands tightened where they held you, pulling you close until your chest was pressed tight to his.

“Does my pretty little pet need my cock?” Bucky asked, his tone agonizingly condescending, and making you drip so much you began to worry you’d leave a wet spot on his gray sweatpants. But then he distracted you with more filthy words. “D’you need your best friend to fuck that achy, greedy pussy between your soft thighs, huh?”

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, a little surprised to find out your best friend had such a filthy mouth.

But you didn’t hate it—far from it. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you and talk you through it, so you went on, hoping that if you were vocal, he’d keep talking dirty to you.

“Y-yes, I need you, need you to fuck me, Bucky, please!”

Not needing to be asked twice, Bucky flipped you down onto your back on the couch, taking care to make sure you didn’t knock your head against anything but the pillows. Then his hands were manhandling your legs together, dragging your sleep shorts and panties over your hips and off in one swift movement.

While he reached behind his back and yanked his t-shirt off, you pulled yours over your head, discarding it and your bra as quickly as you could manage. Once free, your hands immediately went to your tits, groping your soft flesh and rolling your nipples between your fingers as you stared up at the muscular chest of your best friend.

Bucky’s big body pushed between your thighs, which you spread eagerly for him, your knees hugging his ribs while he shoved his sweatpants down. When his cock bounced free, you gasped softly at the sight of him—so thick and hard and perfect.

For a moment, the two of you paused, like you’d both just realized you were naked in front of each other for the first time. Your gaze roamed hungrily over Bucky’s body, appreciating the breadth of his shoulders, the slight taper of his waist, the soft trail of hair leading down to his hard cock.

The moment dragged on for so long, you managed to tear your eyes away from your best friend’s cock to look at his face. Bucky’s handsome face was slack with desire, his darkened blue eyes roving over your body with the same kind of awe you’d felt when looking at him.

His gaze lingered on your chest, watching your fingers idly play with your nipples. You squeezed your tits harder, making yourself gasp and arch up off the couch. Bucky’s cock gave an answering twitch and he grabbed it in one fist, pumping himself slowly while he marveled at you.

It felt good to be the object of your best friend’s lust, but you could feel your pussy leaking and pulsing, begging to be filled. You decided Bucky could watch you all he wanted—but later, after he’d fucked you.

“Buck, please, I need your cock,” you whined, your hands leaving your body to reach for him. Your fingers curled around his shoulders and you dragged him down on top of you, his knuckles brushing against your soft mound and making you moan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss slow and drugging, stealing your breath until your head was spinning. When he pulled away, it was only to speak more filth against your lips.

“Your tits are so pretty, pet,” he murmured, using his thumb to press his cock between your soaked folds, dragging his shaft through your lower lips to make himself slick with your juices. “Can’t wait to suck on ‘em while my dick’s buried in your cunt. Wanna hear your pretty whines while I suck your tits and you clench around my fat cock.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” you huffed, fingers carding through his hair and dragging him to your mouth for a messy kiss.

“What, ya like it when I talk dirty, baby?” Bucky asked teasingly when he pulled away. There was a ridiculously charming grin on his face, like he already knew the answer to his question. Which, of course, he did.

You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement, your lips curving in a smile. “I love it,” you mumbled, pulling him in for another deep kiss before finishing your thought. “Love hearing all the filthy things you wanna do to your best friend.”

Bucky groaned, his cock throbbing against your pussy, and then he was pulling his hips back until the tip was notched at your hole. He paused, lifting up enough for his eyes to search yours.

In that moment, neither of you needed words. The hunger and desire and need swirling through your body was reflected in Bucky’s dark blue gaze, and though your lips parted to beg him to finally slide inside, all you had to do was nod.

Bucky thrust forward slowly, carefully, and yet you still gasped when the head of his cock pushed inside your tight hole. It had been a while since you’d had anyone or anything inside you, and even though Bucky wasn’t intimidatingly big, you still felt the stretch of your body accommodating him.

“Y’alright, pet?” he murmured against your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin, his mouth never straying far from yours.

“Yeah, just—just go slow,” you whispered back, fingers hooked around his shoulders, nails digging into his warm muscles.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, alright?” he rumbled in a stern voice that had the butterflies fluttering in your belly again. He pulled back enough to give you a serious look. “I want you to enjoy this.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up in a half smile and you pulled him down for yet another kiss. Even though your lips were swollen from kisses, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough from Bucky, especially the ones where you were both smiling too much to brush your lips against each other’s.

He pushed forward, using your distraction to slide a little deeper. You tensed at the stretch of feeling him fill you more, waiting for the pain—but nothing came. Bucky’s hands soothed over your bare skin, using his words to distract you again.

“I want you to want to do this again, baby, because I already know that I will—I’m gonna wanna fuck you again and again and again, until you’re nothing more than a dumb, mindless pet who’s drunk on my cock, your cunt squeezing me tight every time I make you come. Wanna drain my balls in your pretty pussy until you’re overflowing with me.”

A moan slipped from your lips at Bucky’s words, you cunt clenching tight around the tip of his cock. Instinctively, you spread your thighs wider around your best friend’s body, allowing him to sink even deeper into your cunt, until he was buried halfway to the hilt.

“I want that, Bucky,” you whispered against his scruffy cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on him until you could see his face. “I want you to fuck me dumb, make me your pretty little fuck toy—want you to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. Wanna be your perfect fuck pet.”

“Fuuuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky groaned, pushing the rest of his cock into your pussy as slowly as he could bear, the self-restraint evident in every tense muscle of his body. “You’re such a perfect, pretty fuck pet—fuck, you feel good.”

The words were stolen straight from your lips, because it was Bucky who felt good. It was Bucky who felt so hot and hard and perfect inside you, filling you up enough to feel the stretch without hurting you.

Unable to stop yourself, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him tight inside you while you buried your face in his neck and moaned. He grunted, feeling your pussy gripping and squeezing and sucking on his cock. Every slight movement sent pulses of pleasure through your body.

“You feel so good inside me, Buck,” you murmured, tilting your face until it was pressed into his scruffy jaw. “God, your cock is just—so good.”

At your words, you could feel the slight tremors wracking Bucky’s body as he held himself still, fighting against his instincts to give you the chance to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up. But that’s not what you wanted. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you.

“Need more now,” you whimpered, rocking your hips and urging him to move, but he remained still above you.

“Gimme a minute,” he huffed, kissing you to distract you.

Despite his best efforts, your hips kept rolling lazily beneath his heavy body, so he lowered his weight until you were pinned beneath him and all you could do was whine into his mouth. He huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“If ya keep doing that, ‘m gonna empty my balls in your cunt sooner than I planned, pet,” he warned, though there was an edge of a smile in his warm, teasing tone.

A giggle erupted from your lips even as your inner walls clenched tight around Bucky’s cock, your body liking his words more than you probably should’ve. But seeing Bucky struggle to keep his composure while he was buried inside you made you want to be a menace to your best friend.

“You gonna turn me into your cumdump, Buck?” you teased, dragging the blunt edges of your teeth down his neck, feeling his cock twitch inside your tight channel. “You gonna fill me up until I’m leaking your come all down my thighs—you gonna fuck it back into me, huh?”

Bucky’s head dropped to your shoulder with a pained groan and he pulled his hips back, pushing against the tight hold your legs had on him before snapping forward. He started fucking you in short, punishing thrusts that had you moaning mindlessly as his cock pounded into you.

“Christ, your dirty mouth is even worse than mine, pet,” he growled, but there was an edge of exhilarated laughter in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t mad about it. Instead, he lifted his head and flashed you an impish grin, before ducking down to your chest.

When Bucky’s lips wrapped around your nipple and he sucked hard on your tightened peak, you cried out. Your back bowed off the couch, shoving your tits into your best friend’s face while your fingers clutched his head to your chest.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you gasped, the words devolving into an obscene moan. You squirmed beneath his bigger body while he chuckled at the helpless sounds you made.

Bucky was everywhere, his mouth sucking greedily on your tits, hands groping the soft curves of your hips, his cock spearing into your cunt over and over again in hard, brutal thrusts. It was too much, and yet not enough.

Your legs tightened around Bucky, ankles hooking around the backs of his thighs to try to hold him inside you as you met his every thrust. Pleasure was winding tighter in your lower belly, and you were desperately chasing your release, your fingers tugging uselessly on your best friend’s hair as you whined.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, please,” you chanted, until he finally rose up and met your lips in a furious kiss. “I need more, I need—” Your words cut off on a gasp when Bucky drove his cock into you so hard and so deep, you felt the tip brush against the very end of you.

“I know exactly what you need, pet,” he growled, that possessiveness back in his tone that sent your heart careening in your chest. “You just be a good little slut and take your boyfriend’s cock like a perfect fuck pet.”

He picked up his pace, fucking you into the soft cushions of the couch like a man possessed. His hard body loomed over you, his muscles shifting gloriously beneath his skin everywhere you touched, and even as his chest heaved, he kissed you. His mouth devoured yours, greedily drinking down every sound of your pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you were on the edge of your release, your cries growing higher pitched and more desperate as your body fluttered around his pounding cock. Bucky murmured encouragement into your lips, his hips grinding against your soft cunt, the base of his cock rubbing your clit until you were lost to the pleasure.

You came with a shrill scream, every muscle in your body clenching so tight that you dragged Bucky over the edge right after you. Your best friend buried his face in your chest, sucking idly on your soft tits and grunting his pleasure.

His hips kept thrusting wildly, spilling rope after rope of his seed deep in your pussy as your body clenched around him. You moaned unabashedly, basking in wave after wave of pleasure as they washed over you.

For long, endless moments, your bodies writhed together, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from each other as your mouths kissed messily.

Finally, when you were both spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight for one blissful moment before he rolled to the side. His hands were gentle on your body as he rearranged you so that one of your legs was thrown over his hip, keeping his softening cock buried in your pussy.

“Kiss me softly, baby,” Bucky murmured against your lips, echoing your earlier words with a smile curving his mouth. There was a teasing edge to his tone, but you didn’t get the sense he was making fun of you, just being playful with you the way he always was.

It made your heart clench to think that nothing truly had to change between you and Bucky even after you’d given in to the mutual desire you felt.

He was still your best friend, and now the two of you could become something more—together. You hadn’t missed the way he’d called himself your boyfriend in the heat of the moment, but that was a conversation for later.

So you huffed a little laugh at his teasing and kissed Bucky. You kissed him as softly as you could manage while you both caught your breath.

It was different, more decadent, both of you taking your time to learn the other. It was like you both knew you had plenty of time—the rest of your lives—to discover everything there was to know about each other. Everything you didn’t already know.

For the rest of your movie night, you and your best friend, Bucky Barnes, took turns kissing each other softly, and fucking each other hard. Eventually, you fell asleep together, entwined on the couch, both wearing smiles on your kiss-swollen lips.

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

#hotbuckysummer2025 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #friends to lovers #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

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pellucid-constellations · 4 months ago

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I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down.

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh.

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him.

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient.

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled.

Well, most were.

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future.

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others.

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere.

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim.

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him.

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!”

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain.

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?”

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine.

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting.

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger.

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.”

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?”

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.”

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.”

“And why should I choose to go home with you?”

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump.

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table.

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.”

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes.

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him.

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past.

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty.

Warren was a nice man.

But Azriel—

“You are so beautiful.”

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow.

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!”

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.”

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours.

Maybe he had known.

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage.

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?”

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening.

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left.

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?”

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over.

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing.

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.”

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions.

“What?”

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.”

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.”

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.”

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.”

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.”

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs.

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.”

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp.

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.”

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.”

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you.

It had seemed like there was another path.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.”

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner.

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter.

It had been months without seeing him.

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then.

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.”

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices.

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband.

That’s what made this even more tortuous.

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy.

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill.

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.”

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—”

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.”

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this.

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.”

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter.

“I would do anything to be with you.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.”

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.”

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists.

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—”

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.”

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.”

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that.

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.”

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.”

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—”

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—”

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down.

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back.

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.”

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?”

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.”

“I left.”

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.”

“We had no mating bond.”

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.”

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be.

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—”

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.”

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.”

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.”

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy.

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.”

“When?”

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.”

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed.

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.”

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement.

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.”

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face.

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.”

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked.

“Not to me,” you affirmed.

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court.

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell.

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings.

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House.

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task.

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed.

You hadn’t knocked on it in years.

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again.

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift.

You knocked again.

No answer.

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway.

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before.

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed.

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered.

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.”

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track.

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you.

“I am not getting married.”

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt.

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name.

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist.

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up.

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly.

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—”

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t.

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—”

“Look at me.”

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm.

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours.

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded.

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks.

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—”

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.”

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.”

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered.

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.”

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.”

“I know.”

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist.

“Wanted?”

You drew back. “What?”

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.”

You could only stare at him.

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.”

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave.

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Azriel.”

“Please don’t marry him.”

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.”

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.”

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—”

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.”

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.”

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.”

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?”

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?”

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.”

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?”

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.”

“And when did you begin to worry about that.”

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.”

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.”

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.”

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.”

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.”

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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blackenedsnow · 6 months ago

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helloooooo, your writing is amazingggggg and i was hoping it would be okay if i requested a shadowww x reader. Where Maybe sonic ask shadow to bring medicine to you (to try and introduce you to shadow as your sick with something or have a major injury, etc). Shadow prehaps is annoyed but agrees anyways, then however when he meets you sees maria in you. Then veryday to be sure you get better shows up in the morning to help take care of you, and slowly the two become friends then prehaps at the end share a kiss and become lovers? Idk it sounded cute in my head lol.

familiar

WARNING: Illness

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Sick! Reader

NOTE: This is such a cute request and I'm pretty proud of this! Sending you all the love, and I hope this brightens your day a little! Take care of yourself <333

SUMMARY: Shadow reluctantly delivers medicine to you at Sonic’s insistence, but upon meeting you, he’s struck by a haunting familiarity.

It was late afternoon when Shadow approached the house tucked away at the edge of the city, a small bag of medicine clutched in his gloved hand. The only reason he was here, he reminded himself, was because Sonic had all but begged him to.

“Come on, Shadow,” Sonic had said earlier, exasperated but hopeful. “They’re too sick to go anywhere, and I’m tied up with something. Just drop it off and say hi. You might even like them!”

Shadow had scoffed at that. “Highly unlikely.”

Yet here he was, standing at your door. He knocked, sharp and deliberate, and waited.

A muffled voice from inside called, “Coming!”

The door creaked open, revealing you. Despite the exhaustion evident in your eyes and the pallor of your complexion, you greeted him with a weak but genuine smile.

“Oh, you must be… Shadow?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded curtly, holding out the medicine. “Sonic sent me. He thought you might need this.”

You accepted the bag with a quiet “thank you,” looking up at him with an expression so open, so trusting, that it stopped him in his tracks. For a fleeting moment, he was no longer standing at your doorstep but aboard the ARK, looking into the kind eyes of someone he thought he’d lost forever.

Maria.

The resemblance wasn’t physical, but there was something about your demeanor—gentle, unassuming, and kind despite the pain you were clearly in—that tugged at a memory buried deep in his chest.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing his prolonged silence.

He blinked, snapping himself out of the moment. “Fine. Just… don’t forget to take the medicine.”

You chuckled lightly, the sound hoarse but pleasant. “I won’t. Thanks again, Shadow.”

He nodded again, turning on his heel and disappearing into the fading daylight.

To Shadow’s own surprise, he returned the next morning.

It had been a restless night. Thoughts of Maria swirled in his mind, but they mingled with the image of your weary yet kind face. He told himself he was simply being thorough, ensuring you were following the instructions for the medication.

When you opened the door again, wrapped in a blanket and looking just as surprised as you were grateful, Shadow felt the smallest pang of relief.

“You’re back,” you said, stepping aside to let him in.

“You didn’t seem capable of taking care of yourself yesterday,” he replied bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone.

You laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

It became a routine. Every morning, Shadow arrived with something—soup, tea, a fresh supply of tissues—and checked on you. At first, his visits were brief and businesslike. He would make sure you had what you needed and leave with little more than a nod. But as the days passed, the conversations grew longer.

You learned to expect his dry wit and sharp observations, and he found himself oddly drawn to your quiet resilience. Despite how miserable you felt, you always thanked him sincerely, your gratitude genuine and unassuming.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you said one morning as he set a cup of tea on your bedside table.

“I know,” he replied simply, sitting in the chair he’d claimed as his own.

“Then why?”

He hesitated, his crimson eyes flicking to the floor. “You…” he paused, looking back at you with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

You didn’t press him, sensing the weight of his words, but your soft “Okay, thank you.” carried more meaning than either of you acknowledged.

By the time you were well enough to venture outside again, the bond between you and Shadow was undeniable.

“You don’t have to come by anymore,” you said one evening as he walked you back to your door after a short outing. “But… I’d miss you if you didn’t.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something vulnerable.

“I’d miss you too,” he admitted, the words slow but sincere.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes widened, and for the first time since you’d met him, Shadow looked genuinely flustered.

“Thank you, Shadow,” you whispered. “For everything.”

His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, a rare and precious sight. “I... You’re welcome.”

And from that moment on, his visits were no longer about ensuring your recovery—they were about seeing you.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog fanfic #shadow x reader #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #x reader #ask #fanfic #request #oneshot

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omgeto · 2 years ago

Text

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop.

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours.

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised. ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer.

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art.

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know.

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you.

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force.

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere.

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.”

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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tobythesudriantram · 3 months ago

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Ballad of the Blue Foxes || Vs. the Miaverse

Song 1. Jump Start || Mingle vs. Horrid Henry.

Song 2. Storyteller || Bambisitter Mia vs. Mitchell Tanner.

Song 3. Check Up || Avenger Mia vs. Pete Wheeler.

Song 4. Ride or Die || Tomkanaria Mia vs. Jubilee.

🎶Outside the tunnels, I see the sun 🎶

🎶The days go by, some things are gone,🎶

🎶Others will stay, like you and me,🎶

🎶That's the importance of being Mia🎶

🎶and Jubilee.🎶

An overly elaborate birthday piece I made for @friendlyfox34. This was originally going to be just the Mingle part, but when I decided to do something special and take over all four bases.

Horrid Henry is owned by Novel Entertainment. Mitchell Tanner is owned by CBBC. Pete Wheeler is owned by Humongous Entertainment. Jubilee is owned by Transport for London and Joella Productions. All instances of Mia are owned by... Well, Mia herself. What did you expect? Tico Tac is owned by Video Kids. Kachina is owned by Hoyoverse. All of the Dave and Bambi characters are owned by the creators of Vs. Dave and Bambi: Golden Apple Edition.

...That's probably, unintentionally, the biggest crossover I've made yet.

#Learning with mingle and friends #bambisitter mia's daycare #horrid henry #mitchell tanner #strange hill high #backyard sports #pete wheeler #underground ernie #jubilee

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luvvyouforever · 7 months ago

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i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader

synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!

content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)

author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3

you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.

for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.

however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.

then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.

but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.

your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?

when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.

his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.

"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.

you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.

he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.

he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"

a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.

"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."

his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.

a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.

as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.

"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.

"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.

he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.

you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"

you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara x reader #declan o'hara fic #rivals #rivals x reader #rivals fic #declan o'hara smut #aidan turner #rivals smut #rupert campbell black #declan o hara

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joemama-2 · 28 days ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8.4k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation

series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter < spotify playlist

Year: DECEMBER, 2018

It was yet another night of bringing back Satoru from a party you didn’t know he was at. Another night of watching him mingle too closely for your liking with some random girl. A friend’s house party, he had told you. Satoru had sobered up slightly by the time you dragged him from that rich kid’s mansion back to his estate. Sober, but quiet.

His quietness would usually throw you off, considering he could chat anyone’s ear off. But with the highs and lows of your disordered relationship, the quietness started to become a good thing. When it was quiet, it meant no one was voicing their opinions. And with no voiced opinions, no fighting, no crying, and no words of “needing space”.

So, you’d learned to treasure the silence, even if it was fragile. Even if it always came with that tight feeling in your chest, like walking on a wire you weren’t sure would hold. You preferred this version of him—hushed, head down, hands shoved in his pockets—over the witty, sharp-tongued man who knew exactly how to break you apart without even trying most times.

The front door clicked shut behind you. He kicked off his shoes without looking at you, then padded quietly toward the kitchen. You stayed by the doorway, coat still on, watching him pull a glass from the cabinet like it was muscle memory.

“You want water?” he asked after a pause, back still turned.

“No,” you answered, softer than you intended.

He filled the glass anyway, drinking half of it in one go. You watched his shoulders rise and fall, tired, worn. Not from the party. From everything. From you, maybe.

“I didn’t want to go,” he muttered.

You raised a brow. “And yet, you did. And then you were the same one who told me to show up.”

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot I texted you. That was an accident.”

“Seems like everything is nowadays,” you easily quip back, arms crossed. He says nothing, looking off to the side as he finishes his cup of water and sets it on the countertop beside him. You watch his subtle nervous tics—the way he taps his finger against his bicep, the clenching and unclenching of his jaw, and the way his eyes dart anywhere and everywhere, except your own pair.

“Who was that girl?” You ask again, voice in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” he says immediately.

“Then why were you with her?”

“I was drunk.”

“Did you cheat on me?”

“I already said I didn’t.”

A beat of silence.

Your eyes remain fixed on him, but his still won’t meet yours. Instead, he stares at the sink, as if the answer might be written in the metal grooves of the basin or hiding in the drain.

You take a step forward. “So that’s it?”

He exhales through his nose, almost like a scoff, but not quite. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth,” he snaps, finally turning toward you, frustration flickering behind his eyes. “Why do you keep asking questions you’ve already made up your mind about?”

Your brows pinch. “Because when you lie, you never blink.”

He flinches, barely, but you catch it. You always do. And for a moment, the quiet returns. Not peace. Just stillness. That dangerous kind of silence—the kind that comes right before something breaks. Satoru runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard now. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” he repeats, voice flat. “I danced with her. I talked with her. I don’t even remember half of it. But I didn’t fuck her or kiss her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You stare at him. He finally meets your eyes.

“That still hurts, you know?” you murmur. “It still counts.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t apologize. Just looks at you like someone who doesn’t know what else to give. Like he’s already emptied his pockets and come up short.

“Did you want to?” You continue.

“I didn’t.”

He says it a little too fast. A little too sharply. The kind of defensive answer that tastes more like fear than truth.

You nod slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Right. Just drunk. Just forgot. Just an accident.”

Satoru finally looks at you, and that’s somehow worse. His expression is open, but not apologetic. It’s tired. He’s already lost something and is trying to figure out if it’s worth salvaging. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he says again, quieter now. “I swear to you. I didn’t.”

You believe him. You hate that you believe him. But the ache in your chest doesn’t lessen. Because it was never just about that. Not really.

“Then why’d she look at me like I was intruding?” you ask, arms tightening around yourself. “Why’d she touch you like she had the right to?”

“I—” He falters. “I let her.”

You swallow hard. “And that’s what hurts even more.”

The silence creeps in again. Heavy this time. Not the kind you’d grown to treasure, but the kind that confirmed what you both knew: you were always waiting for the next crack. And maybe this was it.

Satoru steps toward you, slow, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You never do,” you whisper. “But somehow, you always end up with the pieces.”

There’s a beat of stillness before he speaks again, voice small. “Do you want to leave?”

You look at him. The man you’ve loved, and lost, and tried to love again. And your voice, steady but hollow, replies:

“Do you want me to?”

He stares and stares, and you resist the urge to look away with a burning onset of fresh tears. Holding your ground is something you’ve learned to do, something he’s helped you do, even if it means using it against him. His lips part, then close. He looks down at your hand before gazing into your eyes.

He blinks.

“No.”

The word hangs in the air between you, fragile but heavy. You swallow the lump in your throat, heart pounding louder than the silence. For a moment, you imagine what it would be like to throw your arms around him, to press your face into his chest and let the tension slip away. To go back to how things were between you before all the mess. But the memory of every harsh word, every cold shoulder, every night spent alone after an argument pulls you back.

Then, his hand reaches out, tentative, trembling even, and you feel the weight of his uncertainty. You don’t pull away. You don’t step back. You let him take your hand, fingers curling around yours with a fragile grip. His other cups your cheek, leaning down to plant a sweet and soft kiss on your lips. His lips linger before drifting to your cheek and down your neck. His arm wrapping around your waist, you feel your body melting into his embrace.

Your arms instinctively loop around his neck, letting out a wistful sigh, eyes closing. His lips reach a particularly sensitive spot he’s grown accustomed to showing extra attention to. Sucking at the area softly, teeth just barely grazing your skin to where it still feels pleasurable enough. You twitch, a moan rolling off the tip of your tongue, head lolling back.

A low breath escapes him at the sound, fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as if anchoring himself to you—to this moment. His lips trail slowly back up, skimming along your jawline, reverent and slow, until his forehead rests against yours. “I miss you,” he murmurs, voice raw—cracked open in a way you hadn’t heard in months.

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy, vision hazy from the heat of the moment and the storm of emotions behind it. “I’m still here,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you mean it physically, emotionally, or as a plea for him to notice you—really notice you—again.

“For how long?”

It’s like he’s constantly trying to give you ways out—his sorry attempt at saving you, even if it’s far too late. But there’s still that one part of you that keeps you tethered to this moment—to him. The part of you that doesn’t want to be saved.

So your simple response is kissing him once more, reaching up to smash your lips into his, hands running through his hair. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move, as if debating something internally. And then, he’s all over you.

His restraint shatters.

Satoru grips you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, like if he doesn’t hold you tight enough, this fragile thread between you will finally snap. His hands roam your back, desperate and warm, pulling you flush against him as his mouth claims yours over and over. Every kiss is filled with apology, with longing, with a thousand things he never found the words to say. He walks you back slowly, blindly, until the back of your knees hit the couch. You sink down together, his weight gentle but all-consuming as he follows you, lips never parting from yours. Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, grounding yourself to him—to this reckless moment of pretending everything broken between you can be fixed with closeness.

“I feel like I’m losing you,” he breathes between kisses, forehead pressed to yours again, voice barely audible. “I feel like I already did.”

You don’t validate him. You don’t have to. The way you’re clutching him says enough.

His hands slow, brushing up beneath your shirt with a familiar tenderness, as if asking—Is this still mine to touch? Are you still mine to hold? You nod, just slightly, barely a breath of motion, as if you’re unsure yourself. He waits a few seconds and then exhales shakily. That tiny gesture is enough to keep him afloat.

His fingers undo the button of your pants, pulling down the zipper with practiced efficiency. Your own unbuckle his belt, throwing it off to the side.

The clothes come off with the kind of quiet desperation that only familiarity breeds—not rushed, not slow either, just… necessary. Each layer removed feels like shedding another wall, a final plea to be vulnerable, to be seen. Not just skin-to-skin, but soul-to-soul, even if only for tonight.

Satoru kisses down your sternum, reverent again, almost worshipful. His fingers ghost down your sides, brushing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing you all over again, or maybe making sure you’re still real. His mouth follows, trailing lower with a gentleness that borders on painful. When he comes back up to kiss you again, it’s softer than before, less desperate, more deliberate. His nose brushes yours, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. You think he wants to say something—maybe he almost does—but instead, he just presses his forehead to yours again.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let him in.

Not only into your body—but into the parts of you you’d boarded up. The pieces that still loved him. The pieces that still wanted to love him. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s dangerous. But in this quiet, trembling moment of two people who never really stopped being each other’s, it feels like the only thing that makes sense. You’re not sure where things will go after this, if anything will change, if the damage can ever be undone, but right now, you’re his again. And he’s yours.

Even if only for tonight.

“Satoru,” you moan softly, back arching off the couch at the feeling of the top of his cock hitting your g-spot so deliciously.

He groans as you squeeze around him, face screwing up. His heavy groans and pants fill your ear, your legs locking around his waist. “God…f-fuck—this—you.”

“Right there…please,” you whisper, breath fanning his cheek.

His hips jutt, thrusting his thick cock harder. You cry out, nails digging into his back and scraping smooth lines of red down his silky skin. “Like that. Just like that,” he mumbles.

You cling to him like he’s the last thing tethering you to Earth—fingers pressed against the curve of his shoulder blades, mouth brushing his jaw as breathless pleas slip from your lips. The air between you is thick with heat and heartache, every movement laced with a need that goes far deeper than physical.

Satoru presses his forehead to yours again, his breath shuddering as he moves with a rhythm that feels more like an apology than desire. “I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice cracking at the edges. “I’ve got you.”

Your body reacts subconsciously, but it’s your heart that trembles. Raw, vulnerable, and still healing. Every time he murmurs your name, it lands somewhere deep, somewhere old and aching. The way he holds you feels like he’s trying to stitch the broken pieces back together with every motion, every whispered confession that never makes it fully into words.

His hand pinches and rubs your nipple between his fingers, and you bite hard on your lip. It roams down your stomach, feeling around your ribs before his thumb finds your pretty, puffy clit. With ease, he presses down with the flat of it.

Your toes curl, eyes rolling back. Your limbs feel loose, brain mushy. He rubs before circling the bud, just how you like it. His eyes are laser-focused on your oh-so-pretty expressions. The expressions he’ll miss. He times the thrusts of his thick cock with the swirling of his thumb, fucking you compeltley dumb and boneless until all you could do is slur out meaningless mumbles, mixed with whimpered pleas of his name.

Satoru leans in, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, his breath uneven against your skin. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, his tone a mixture of awe and regret. “I fucking love you. I love you so fucking much, you make me—fuck—feel so g…good...”

Your hands find his face, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. For a moment, everything stills. Just the sound of your breaths, your heartbeats crashing together, bodies wrapped in something desperate and tender all at once. It’s more than lust. It’s grief, apology, love, and all the things left unsaid.

When he presses his lips to yours again, it’s slower this time. Deep. Full of meaning. Like he’s trying to tell you something he’s never been brave enough to say out loud.

His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring the wet cavern with desperation.

His grip on your hip tightens, fingers pressing deep while his thrusts get faster, harder, more intentional. All you can do is cling to him, panting through your nostrils. When he pulls back, a thick line of saliva connects your mouths. His thumb flicks your clit.

You squeeze.

His cock twitches.

“F-fuuuck. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, g-gonna…yeah—gonna come,” he quivers out, hips snapping against yours in a sloppy motion.

“M-me too!” You whine, grip tightening into a fistful of his hair.

You both border on the edge of finishing for more grueling minutes, as it always did when you two had sex. You both agreed it added to the fun and intensity of it all, edging being your second favorite thing. The first was when he’d moan and groan pathetically against you.

But something’s wrong.

You feel it before you hear it—the way his heart thuds irregularly beneath your hand, the way his breath catches not from exertion, but emotion, how his thrusts just barely stutter.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, voice nearly broken.

You shift slightly beneath him, shakily brushing damp hair from his forehead, eyes searching. “What is it?”

His head pulls back, and that’s when you see it. The faint sheen of tears lining his beautiful eyes. It almost breaks you instantly.

“I…I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know what I want, b-but I know what I don’t…either.”

If he wasn’t fucking you, you would’ve smacked his arm and told him to quit joking. Except he’s not joking, he’s dead serious. It’s almost a little hard to believe him considering he’s confessing in the middle of being balls deep in your cunt, but you assume he couldn’t find any other right time to do so.

You can’t find your voice, so he continues. The hand that was on your hip traveling up to your cheek, gently cupping it. His thumb swipes the area beneath your eye with tenderness. “…I—I think we need to figure ourselves out.”

“No,” you choke out, unaware of the tears that stream down your cheeks. Your arms tighten around his neck, legs as well. You cling to him like he’s your savior, like he’s the only one you have left.

And well, he is.

That’s what makes him feel even more shitty about doing this.

“S-satoru—”

“I know. ‘M sorry, I’m…I’m really sorry, Y/N.” A tear falls from his cheek down to yours, his thrusts growing slower, but still as pleasurable.

“Y-you don’t know!” You shout.

His lips tremble against yours, the motion almost reverent now—slow, shaky, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth before it’s too late. He’s still inside you, still moving, but the urgency is gone. Replaced by something heavier. Final.

“Promise me, Y/N. Please, promise me.”

You blink through the tears, breath catching painfully in your chest. “Promise you what?” you ask, voice cracking open like the rest of you.

He closes his eyes as if your question physically hurts him. And it does.

He blinks them open. “We should have nothing to do with each other. I-it’s not doing anything good for us. So…don’t look for me. Don’t do it. And I won’t look for you.”

Your whole body stills beneath him. It’s like someone has pulled the air out of your lungs, out of the room, out of the world. And yet he stays inside you, forehead pressed to yours, as if hoping to stay close enough to soften the blow.

“That’s not fair,” you whisper. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “You don’t get to hold me like this, do these things to me, say stuff like that—then ask me to pretend we don’t exist.”

He’s crying now. Really crying. Silent tears trailing down his cheeks, his body trembling ever so slightly. “I know,” he breathes, like it’s a confession. “But if I don’t say it now, I won’t be able to walk away. Neither will you.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. Your chest heaves with the weight of heartbreak, confusion, and the cruel irony of intimacy turning into goodbye. Still connected in the most vulnerable of ways, the silence stretches long between you—thick, suffocating, sacred.

“You’re still everything to me,” you say softly, lips brushing his cheek.

“And you always will be,” he murmurs. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Then, with devastating gentleness, he spurts his seed inside you. He lies still for a few seconds before he pulls out of you—like he’s trying not to break you more than he already has—and gathers you into his arms.

For the last time.

The following morning was the last time you saw him for five years.

He said nothing, he didn’t cry anymore, he didn’t try to stop you from putting whatever valuables you had at his house in a box before his parents came home from a trip. He just watched silently. He didn’t hug you, didn’t kiss you.

You wanted to slap him. Curse him. Maybe kill him.

But you didn’t. You blinked through your blurry vision, hiccuping heaving breaths, hands trembling.

He stood in the hallway like a ghost—like he wasn’t really there, like you weren’t really there either. Just a moment passing through him. Just a chapter he refused to reread. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the shoebox as you stepped past him, waiting… hoping… that he’d reach out. That he’d do something.

But he didn’t.

Not when you brushed past him. Not when you paused at the door, turning one last time with red-rimmed eyes and a silent plea. Not even when your lips parted to say goodbye, but no sound came out.

Was it really this easy for him? He must’ve been preparing for this moment now for ages. You did this, didn’t you?

He just stood there. A statue. An ending.

So you walked out. And the door clicked shut behind you like the final nail in the coffin.

Five years.

Five years of silence.

Five years of learning not to look for him in every man you talk to.

Five years of learning how to breathe without him in your lungs.

You hated him for making it easier with each year that passed. You hated yourself more for wishing it hadn’t been.

And yet—no matter how much time passed, no matter how much healing you forced yourself through—there was still that part of you, small and bitter and quietly aching, that whispered: He didn’t even say goodbye.

That’s why your eyes tear up five years later when you see the way a boyish smile makes way onto his dimpled cheeks after giving you your housewarming gift after officially moving into the new place he got you and Koji.

Because after everything—after the years of silence, of rebuilding your life without him, of nights spent convincing Koji that no, there was no one else coming to dinner—he’s here.

Standing in your living room like he belongs there. Like he never left.

And it should make you suspicious. Should make you slam the door in his face, scream every unspoken word that’s lived in your chest since the moment he let you walk away without a fight.

But then he grins wider.

That same crooked, too-charming smile that used to melt you in the middle of fights. That always preceded trouble. That lit up the darkest corners of your life. He holds out the box wrapped in glossy paper like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Thought this would help you get back into the groove of things,” he says, trying too hard to sound relaxed.

You take it slowly. Fingers brushing his. A tremble you try to mask as a chill. “What is it?”

“That’s why you open it.”

Your throat tightens at the simple reply. You hate how familiar this feels. How easy it would be to fall back into old rhythms, into old mistakes. You shouldn’t be letting him stand here. You shouldn’t be letting him smile at you like that.

But your hands are already peeling away the wrapping paper.

Inside is a ceramic watering can—cream-colored, minimalistic, just like the ones you always pointed out in those expensive catalogs you couldn’t afford back then. The ones he used to say were “boring” before secretly bookmarking them. Except there’s a painting of what can only be Koji’s work, including his mother, him, and his father, all holding hands. You swallow hard as you turn it in your hands.

“Since you have a little patio now, I figured you could get back into planting. Maybe some tulips, peonies, or purple hyacinths.” He shrugs, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Your lip quivers before you can stop it.

“Don’t cry,” he says with that soft, teasing lilt in his voice—the one you used to fall asleep to years ago. “You’ll make me feel like I got you a vacuum or something.”

You laugh, but it cracks, just a little. Your eyes sting as you set the water can gently on the counter. And then you look at him. “Thank you, Satoru. I—You’ve done a lot for Koji and me when you didn’t have to. This means a lot to me and I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he sighs, looking off toward the living room where Koji is already making a mess of his excessive number of toys. “I know our…situation is different, less than ideal. But I still have an obligation to my son and his mother, which starts with a safe home. One where his mom can get back into her old habits.” He gestures to the watering can, looking back at you.

You nod, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter behind you as if bracing yourself. “It’s a beautiful gift. Koji must’ve had fun painting it.”

“He was insistent that I draw myself taller,” Satoru chuckles, gaze softening. “I told him I’m already the tallest person he knows. He said I needed to look more like a tree.”

You smile, genuinely this time, but there’s still that ache behind your ribs. Like a door that was supposed to stay locked has started to creak open again. Silence settles between you for a moment, filled only by the muffled sounds of Koji’s playtime.

Then, more quietly, you say, “Can…Can I give you a hug?”

Satoru looks at you for a beat too long, the kind of pause that says he wasn’t expecting that. The kind that makes you immediately regret asking. But then his mouth twitches, softening into something you remember—something warm, steady, like the way he used to reach for your hand in the middle of the night without even waking up.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says, already closing the distance.

You meet him halfway, arms wrapping around his middle as his come up around your shoulders, firm and gentle all at once. He holds you like he’s afraid you might disappear, like he’s only just now realizing how long it’s been since he got to do this. And for a moment—just one brief, fragile moment—you let yourself lean into him. Let yourself be held.

You breathe him in. That familiar, dangerous cologne with faint traces of Koji’s toothpaste on his sleeve. The warmth of him against you brings you boosted levels of serotonin. Your hands tighten on the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into his chest.

His arms tense, then relax again. “Don’t be.”

You pull back slightly to look at him, and his hands linger at your waist like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. “I mean it,” you say. “For the way things ended. For keeping him from you. I thought I was protecting Koji. But maybe…I was just trying to protect myself. I don’t think I can ever apologize enough for what I did.”

Satoru’s smile falters, his eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing every part of this version of you, this quieter, softer one shaped by years apart and everything unspoken between you.

He exhales slowly, thumb brushing against your side like he’s grounding himself. “You were scared,” he says, voice lower now. “You had every right to be. I was reckless. Arrogant. Hell, I didn’t even know what I wanted until it was too late.”

You shake your head, guilt pinching at your ribs. “No, don’t make this about you. I made choices too. I chose to run instead of letting you try.”

Satoru leans in, forehead nearly resting against yours. “And now?”

You hesitate. The weight of everything hangs between you. The years, the pain, the distance, the child just in the living room.

“Now…I’m trying to stop running. At least from you.”

That’s when his hand rises, gently cupping your cheek. “Then let me catch up,” he whispers, the plea in his voice trembling at the edges.

Your breath stutters in your chest. This moment, it’s too much, too intimate, too soon. And yet you don’t move. You can’t. But just as his lips barely brush your forehead, a loud crash erupts from the living room, followed by Koji yelling, “I didn’t mean to!”

You both freeze, the air between you crackling with what almost was. Then Satoru pulls back with a quiet, rueful chuckle. “Sounds like our son just broke something valuable.”

You blink at the words—our son—the way he says it so naturally now. You offer a soft smile. “I hope it wasn’t your expensive Lego set.”

“Please. Those are a business investment,” he grins, already heading toward the culprit.

As he walks off to check on Koji, you’re left leaning against the counter, heart thudding. The watering can still sits beside you. A little crooked painting of your family stares back at you. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like a dream you don’t deserve.

It feels like the start of something you might be brave enough to hope for again.

“My buddy Nanami says these are good for kids.”

You blink down at the box he’s holding. “Those are literally dried seaweed snacks.”

Satoru shrugs, tossing them into the cart anyway. “They’ve got iron. And they’re crunchy. Kids love crunchy things.”

You roll your eyes, amused despite yourself. “Your buddy Nanami probably meant for kids who don’t gag on anything green.”

“Koji eats crayons, I think we can get him to chew some seaweed.” He rolls his eyes before strolling ahead, pushing the cart like he owns the place.

You follow, biting back a smile. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, and shelves are packed with items that seem way too expensive. Luckily, it’s not your bill.

“Do you even know what I need?” you ask as you catch up.

“I know you need snacks, juice boxes, and something for dinner that won’t involve me setting the kitchen on fire.”

“So, takeout?”

He gasps dramatically. “Have some faith in me, woman. I can make spaghetti. With meatballs. That’s like…parenting level five.”

You laugh softly, reaching for a can of tomatoes and dropping it into the cart. “We’ll see if Koji makes it past one bite.”

“Mama! Can we get this one?!”

You turn just in time to see Koji waddling over, arms wrapped around a neon-colored cereal box that definitely wasn’t on your list.

“Koji, that’s all sugar,” you warn gently, crouching down. “We talked about this, remember? Something with less…rainbows.”

“But it has marshmallows shaped like planets!” he insists, eyes wide, shaking the box for emphasis. “And a rocket ship toy inside!”

Satoru leans over your shoulder with mock seriousness. “You’re outnumbered. Planet marshmallows are a once-in-a-lifetime culinary experience.”

You sigh, standing and fixing him with a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m building morale,” he says, taking the cereal from Koji and dropping it into the cart with a wink. “Also, I want to see what the Saturn marshmallow tastes like.”

Koji cheers, scampering ahead toward the snack aisle like he’s won a war. You watch him go, shaking your head with a reluctant smile. “You’re spoiling him.”

“He’s a kid,” Satoru replies, casually tossing a pack of onigiri into the cart. “Isn’t that our job?”

You hum, thoughtful. It’s strange, standing here like this—shopping for dinner, bickering over snacks, making tiny compromises. It feels…normal. Too normal. Like the calm before a storm. But even as you brace for it, there’s something comforting about how easily he fits into this picture.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur as you walk beside him.

He smirks. “What gave it away? The cereal or the emotional intimacy?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Definitely the cereal.”

“Not the meatballs?” he grins.

You roll your eyes. “Go look for the rest of the stuff on the list, please. I’m gonna go make sure Koji isn’t raiding the snack aisle.”

Satoru offers a lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am. Anything to avoid being guilt-tripped over cereal.”

You shake your head as he strolls off, already distracted by a wall of oddly-shaped pasta. Turning on your heel, you make your way down the bright aisles, eyes scanning for that familiar mop of messy, white hair and sticky hands. It doesn’t take long to find him—Koji is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by three open bags of chips and a very confused store clerk hovering nearby.

“Koji,” you sigh, walking over. “Baby, you can’t open things before we pay for them.”

“But I was taste testing!” he beams up at you, crumbs all over his shirt. “This one is too spicy, but this one tastes like pillows.”

A poor teenage employee glances at you, clearly panicked. “Uh—ma’am? Should I—do I need to…get someone, or…?”

You gently place a hand on Koji’s head and offer the boy a tight smile. “It’s fine. We’ll pay for everything.” Then, to Koji: “And you’re not supposed to eat things that taste like pillows. We’ll talk about that in the car.”

You usher him to his feet and start dusting crumbs from his pants. You grab the bags he’s opened with one hand, using the other to hold his hand. “No more snacks, Koji. We need to go to the other aisles now.”

Koji pouts but doesn’t protest as you guide him over to the produce section. Diligently eyeing your next few purchases, ensuring the produce looks right. As you’re leaning over a bin of apples, testing for firmness, Koji clings to your thigh with one arm and gnaws the corner of the chip bag you couldn’t pry from his hands. You’re too focused on choosing between Gala and Fuji to notice the man approaching until his shadow falls over the fruit.

“They really upped the price for these.”

You startle a bit at the nonchalance of the newcomer. Looking to your left, a tall man with brown hair is picking up one apple, inspecting it. He sighs, then gives you a polite grin. “Inflation, am I right? Remember when they were just a couple bucks.”

You offer a polite smile, shifting slightly so Koji is tucked closer to your side as his tiny hands cling to your skirt. “Yeah… everything’s gone up lately.”

The man chuckles, tossing an apple into his basket. He’s good-looking in a clean-cut, office-worker kind of way. Nice watch, rolled sleeves, the faintest whiff of designer cologne. “They say it’s the economy, but I’m convinced it’s just a clever way to make me pay more for mediocre fruit.”

You let out a soft, polite laugh, already glancing back toward where Satoru wandered off to.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the man continues, taking a casual step closer, clearly encouraged by your response. “New to the area?”

You tense, but keep your tone neutral. “Kind of.”

He nods, glancing down at Koji. “Cute kid. He yours?”

You nod, placing a hand gently on Koji’s back as he reaches toward the display of grapes. “Yep.”

“Well,” the man says, smile widening as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, “If you ever need help navigating the neighborhood—best parks, cafes, good wine shops—I’d be happy to give you a tour. I’m Mark, by the way.”

You hesitate, blinking. He’s not being aggressive, just… confident. And that somehow makes it worse. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I don’t need a guide.”

Mark chuckles, undeterred by your polite decline. “Sure, sure. No pressure.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender, still holding that easygoing smile. “Just figured I’d shoot my shot. Hard not to when you’ve got such a lovely face.”

You force another tight smile, your fingers brushing over Koji’s tiny waves, grounding yourself. “Thanks. But I’m really not looking for anything.”

“Fair enough,” he says, but then—he lingers. His eyes drag a bit too long across your face, down to your hand on Koji’s shoulder, then flick quickly to your left hand. No ring. His smile flickers with something a little more interested now. “So uh…how old's the little one.”

“Kindergartener,” you reply cooly, looking away and stepping over to the celery and avocados.

“Ah,” Mark nods, subtly following your side, pretending to look at the same things you are. “Is he albino?”

You stop and look at him, head tilting slightly. “No,” your voice is steady, “his father just has very light features.”

“He said we can’t talk to strangers,” Koji’s mumbled voice speaks up, but he clears it and grabs your hand, leading you a few steps away.

“Is that so? Well, your daddy must be a smart man.”

“Yep, and daddy’s around here somewhere.” You nod briefly, a silent marker that you’re heading your own way now.

“Daddy’s right here.”

You jolt slightly at the sensation of a warm arm sliding around your waist, Satoru making his presence known as he stands between you and Mark. Nonchalantly ripping the avocado out of Mark’s hand. He hums and tilts his head before tossing it back into the pile. He feels around for a ripe one. “And who’s this?” He gestures with his head towards Mark.

Mark blinks, momentarily thrown off. His smile falters just a little—but not enough. “Just saying hi,” he replies, straightening up. “Didn’t realize you were…uh, together.”

Satoru hums, tone light but razor-edged. “Yeah, easy mistake. Not everyone’s bold enough to flirt with a mom while our kid’s holding her hand.” He smiles as he lifts a ripe avocado to eye level. “But hey, you gave it a good shot. Ten points for confidence.”

Mark’s smile falters again. “Wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

“Mm. That’s good,” Satoru says with a nod, finally releasing the avocado he’s selected and dropping it into the cart, you didn’t even notice him roll over. “Because I’d hate to cause a scene. Produce sections are sacred.”

“I was just making conversation,” Mark says smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Like I said, I didn’t realize she was with someone.”

“Yeah, well,” Satoru says airily, squeezing your hip for emphasis, “Now you do, yeah?” He offers a bright, toothy grin—one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You huff a quiet breath—amused, relieved, a little embarrassed—but you don’t pull away.

Mark, for his part, seems to pick up the shift in tone. His smile vanishes into something tight. “Right. My bad.”

Satoru hums, finally facing him completely. He’s taller than Mark, having to angle his neck down slightly. “No harm done. Just don’t go getting too familiar with other people’s families.”

Mark meets his gaze for a long beat, the air thick between them. Then he lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “Sure. Good luck with the shopping.” He takes a careful step back. “Nice meeting you both.”

Satoru raises his fingers in a lazy farewell. “Likewise. Try the bananas next time.”

You watch Mark retreat down the aisle, and only then does Satoru sigh, turning toward you with a casual lean.

Silence lingers for a second. Then:

“I was gone for five minutes,” Satoru mutters, leaning against the cart with a sigh. “I leave and some discount finance bro tries to slide in?”

You exhale, still holding Koji close, trying to shake the edge of unease that lingers. “He was… persistent, to say the least.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “You attract the weirdest types. Like moths to a flame.”

“I think it’s the fact that I don’t walk around swinging like a wrecking ball of intimidation,” you mutter, heart still beating a little too fast.

Satoru leans in with a grin, brushing a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Nah. It’s ‘cause you’re hot and look like you need saving.”

“I don’t need saving,” you grumble, adjusting Koji’s sleeve.

He shrugs and pulls back, pushing the cart as you follow. “Yeah, but it’s more fun when I pretend you do.”

Koji tugs at your shirt. “Mama, who was that?”

“A stranger, baby.” You move some hair out his face.

Koji frowns in thought. “That man was weird.”

“He was,” Satoru agrees, dropping iceberg lettuce into the cart. “Probably sells fake crypto courses online.”

You sigh heavily, pausing by the parsley. Satoru stops with you, noticing your expression. His voice grows quieter, hand gently patting your lower back. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching to grab a bundle of parsley. “I’m fine. Just weird.”

Satoru watches you for a second longer, his teasing demeanor slipping into something more careful. Protective. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts closer, hand still on your back like he’s anchoring you.

“Let’s get out of here soon,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear it. “We’ve got most of what we need. Spaghetti’s easy. You, me, Koji—one normal night.”

You glance up at him, grateful. “Normal sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiles, giving your back one last pat before going over to the checkout with you and Koji in tow.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he responds, opening the cupboard to put the new pots and pans he bought for you away.

You’re currently storing all the food that could probably last you an entire month in the pantry. You hesitate, unsure of how much of a sensitive topic this could be, but you bite the bullet. “How’s Suguru?”

He pauses, not sparing a glance over at you. He clears his throat and continues. “Fine, I think.”

“You think?” You look at him.

“Yeah, I think. I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

Guilt shoots up your spine, a frown pulling at your lips. Memories flood you of that dreadful night. The one where you almost kissed his best friend, and you thought you’d have to break up a man fight. Knowing you’re the cause of the small hiatus put on their friendship makes you wish you could turn back time. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps arranging the pans, movements slower, more thoughtful. The air feels heavier now, less like home, more like a pause neither of you wanted to admit was coming. Finally, he exhales through his nose, closing the cabinet gently before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “It’s not your fault,” he says, voice even, but his eyes flicker with something more tired than usual. “Suguru makes his own choices. Always has.”

You swallow. “But if I hadn’t—”

He cuts you off gently, shaking his head. “It wasn’t about almost kissing him.” His voice is softer now, but there’s something unspoken threading through each word. “It was about the fact that he didn’t stop it either.”

That stings. You look down at the box of granola bars in your hand, heart thudding with that old familiar guilt. “I didn’t want it to happen. I just… I was in a bad place.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know that now.”

You nod slowly, setting the box down and bracing your palms against the counter. “I just wish you two could fix things. You’ve been friends since forever, and now it’s like—”

“Like we’re strangers,” he finishes for you, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Trust me, I feel it too.”

Silence stretches between you for a beat, and you gauge his expression. “You should talk to him. He’s already set a boundary with me after it happened. But I don’t want to be the reason you guys aren’t close anymore.”

Satoru watches you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched like he’s holding back words he doesn’t want to admit. Then he drags a hand through his hair, sighing hard as he drops his gaze to the floor. “I’ve thought about it,” he says finally, voice low. “More than once. But every time I get close to reaching out, I think about that night… and I don’t know what I’d even say.” His fingers drum anxiously against his bicep. “Like, how do you come back from that?”

You step closer, hesitant. “Maybe it’s not about fixing everything in one conversation. Maybe it’s just… showing up. Letting him know you still care.”

He doesn’t answer right away. You can tell he’s deep in that mental space where his pride and pain wrestle with each other. Eventually, he mutters, “We were supposed to be unshakable, you know? Like, no matter what. And then it got real messy, real fast.”

You nod quietly. “It did. But you’ve forgiven me. Maybe part of forgiving him is just… letting him know that.”

He finally looks at you, eyes softer now, tired but warm. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”

You finish putting the groceries away. “Just call him, it wouldn’t hurt, right?” A gentle suggestion.

Satoru watches you close the pantry door and wipe your hands on your skirt like you’re trying to wipe away the tension, too. You look over your shoulder at him with that soft, hopeful expression, the one that always makes it hard for him to say no.

He shrugs one shoulder, casual in appearance, but you can tell he’s still turning it over in his head. “Wouldn’t hurt,” he echoes, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Might hurt a little, actually. But maybe that’s the point.”

You step toward him, closing the distance just enough to gently nudge his arm. “Even if it’s awkward at first. Even if he doesn’t pick up. At least you tried.”

He gives a breathy laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “You always make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admit. “But neither is letting someone you love slip away.”

That lands. You can tell by the way his mouth twitches—like he wants to say something else, something deeper—but instead, he pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up in a silent offering.

You blink at him. “You’re calling him now?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he smirks, though it’s a little shaky around the edges. “I’m impulsive, remember?”

The dial tone fills the space between you.

“Stop stringing her along, okay? I want no drama.”

“I’m not, cousin!” Naoya huffs childishly.

“Really? So what do you call using her for information on Gojo for our own personal gain?” Toji raises a brow, buff arms crossed over his chest.

“Look,” he rolls his eyes. “Hana’s a nice girl, what if I like her just to like her?”

“You have higher standards than any woman I know.”

Naoya snorts, shaking his head with a grin. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just lowering the bar for once.”

Toji smirks, stepping closer, voice low but teasing. “Careful, or you’ll end up stuck with a lifetime supply of disappointment.”

Naoya laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Better than being stuck alone, right?”

Toji raises his hand, flicking his cousin’s forehead. “End it. We don’t need you playing secret agent.”

Naoya winces at the flick, rubbing his forehead with a scowl. “You act like I don’t know how to handle her.”

“That’s the problem,” Toji retorts, stepping back and leaning against the counter with a look that borders on both exasperation and warning. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, but she’s not just some pawn. If she finds out you’re using her—”

Naoya scoffs, but there’s a flicker of unease in his eyes. “She won’t.”

Toji levels him with a sharp look. “You sure about that?”

A beat passes.

Naoya looks away first, lips tightening into a thin line. “She trusts me.”

Toji snorts. “Then all the more reason to quit while you’re ahead.”

The silence that follows is heavier than either of them wants to admit. Naoya doesn’t respond right away, instead pulling his phone from his pocket and glancing at a message from Hana—something innocent, casual. A little too kind for the way he’s been treating her.

A pitter-patter of tiny feet is heard against the polished tiles. Toji’s attention is immediately torn away from his idiotic cousin to his six-year-old son. A smile graces his lips, his scar stretching up. “Sup, buddy. How was school?”

Megumi’s black spiky hair looks messier than when he left, taking off his school backpack. His uniform has splotches of green paint, arms reaching up for his father. “Okay,” he mumbles back.

Toji bends down and scoops Megumi up with ease, holding him against his hip like it’s second nature. “Green paint, huh?” he teases, brushing his thumb against a streak on the boy’s collar. “You wrestle an art project or something?”

Megumi nods with a serious little frown. “We painted frogs.”

“Frogs?” Toji grins, walking toward the kitchen table with him. “Lemme guess—yours was the coolest?”

“No,” Megumi says flatly. “Mine looked like a blob. Teacher said it was ‘expressive.’”

Toji chuckles, setting him down on a chair and ruffling his hair. “Well, expressive blob or not, sounds like a masterpiece to me.”

Naoya watches the scene quietly from the side, arms crossed, lips pulled in a tight line, though there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clears his throat, forcing a grin. “Kid’s got more personality than half the people in this house.”

Toji shoots him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Megumi blinks at Naoya, then turns to his dad. “Is he staying for dinner?”

Toji smirks. “Only if he promises not to be annoying.”

Naoya holds up his hands in surrender. “No promises, but I’ll keep it PG for the kid.”

Megumi huffs, already pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his bag. “I drew a ninja too. Want to see?”

Toji leans over, genuinely interested. “Hell yeah, show me.”

He motions to be let down, and Toji complies. He zips open his backpack for the ninja piece. “Mr. Tanaka said we’re getting a new student soon, I can show him my drawing.”

Toji crouches beside him, watching as Megumi pulls out the wrinkled sheet of paper, proudly smoothing it across the table. “Think he’ll like ninjas too?” he asks, studying the tiny stick-figure warrior with a sword and an oversized headband.

Megumi shrugs, not looking up. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t, I’ll show him the frog.”

Toji chuckles, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Good plan. Win him over with options.”

Naoya leans against the counter, watching with a lazy expression. “You’re already working on your charm, huh? Got that from your old man?”

Megumi looks at him unimpressed. “I got it from TV.”

Toji bursts out laughing. “Smart kid.” He ruffles Megumi’s hair again, softer this time, his voice a bit more thoughtful. “New student, huh? Be nice to him, yeah? It’s tough being the new kid.”

Megumi nods without hesitation. “I will. Yuuji and Nobara said the new student could play tag with us at recess.”

For a fleeting moment, Toji’s expression flickers—something distant and unreadable passing over his face. But it’s gone just as fast, replaced by the usual crooked smile. “That’s my boy.”

taglist is now closed

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins

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@duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee

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hysteria-things · 1 year ago

Note

CAN YOU MAKE A STORY ABOUT MATT AND HIS GF, THEY HAVE SEX AT A RESTAURANT, SHES SITTING ON HIS LAP AND COCKWARMING AND THEN THEY HAVE CAR SEX AND CHRIS CATCHES THEM THEN WHEN THEY GET BACK TO THE HOUSE CHRIS FUCKS MATTS GF VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY SMUT FILLED

PURE ECSTASY (part one)

read part two here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bf!soft dom!matt, pervert!dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a friend throws a birthday party at the club, but the night doesn’t end there. or with your boyfriend.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, p in v, cockwarming, public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), slight spit kink, oral (female receiving), getting caught, fingering, finger sucking, cheating (please don’t!), degradation, spanking, choking, sex tape, hair pulling, daddy kink, dumbification, overstimulation, breeding, begging kink, stomach bulge, ROUGHHH ASF

THIS IS NOT A THREESOME!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3,017

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: THIS REQUEST😟 (i love it) my new favorite fic holy moly it’s also ovulation week and when that happens i become one with the smut.

hope it’s okay that it’s at a club except restaurant!

for @sturniololovers :)

chatter fills around the booth, and the group gets ready to sit. it’s your friend’s 21st birthday, and of course she chose a club. the volume of the music and drunk people around make it extremely loud that you have to scream to talk to somebody.

purple, blue, and pink lights illuminate throughout the place, and the dance floor is packed with people. most of your friend group already made it to the bar or by the DJ, including nick, madi, and nate. chris sets his jacket down by everybody else’s stuff.

“i’m going to get a pepsi and join the others on the floor. you guys staying here?” he talks over the music, pointing behind him.

“for now.” matt replies, for some reason shimmying in his seat slightly. you shake it off as he tries to get comfortable, waving at chris as he walks off.

the two of you talk, some friends coming and going from the booth to put drinks down or mingle with you guys.

you lean into matt’s side, smiling at what he’s saying. he places his hand on your thigh, making you nuzzle into him more. “sit on my lap.” he says abruptly.

you’re confused, but lift yourself off of the seat to slide yourself to hover over your boyfriend’s lap. he guides your hips down, and you gasp from the sudden stretch.

he smirks. you’re not wearing any panties.

his pants were just past his dick, the thing that your sitting on right now. you feel it growing inside you, cockwarming him in the middle of the club. “matt, we’re in public.” you whine.

he only shrugs. the dress you’re wearing is long enough to cover your sides, so if somebody looks over it seems that you’re innocently sitting on his lap.

“love the way you feel.” he groans in your ear, subtly squeezing your tit.

you glance around mortified, wondering if people can see you. the spot you guys chose is against the wall in the back, but it’s not like you’re invisible. “ride my cock, baby.”

this is crazy you think, but still grip onto the edge of the table anyway. you’ve learned your lesson multiple times before whenever you disobeyed matt, and if you did this time, he’ll likely spread you out on the table and fuck you so everybody can purposely see.

you start by grinding, gasping whenever his girth rubs against your walls. the way he feels already has you clenching. your arousal starts to coat his base, a sign for you to start bouncing.

not so hard, but softly. the grip you have on the table help you steady yourself. you can feel your face turning red, still looking around the club through your lashes. you like the thrill of somebody seeing you guys, but it’s also horrifying.

your head falls between your shoulders to hide your face of pleasure. moans lowly fall from your mouth, your eyes rolling back each time his tip brushes against your g-spot. “o-oh, matt, baby.” you moan in a high pitch, biting your lip when somebody walks by.

thank the lord people are too tipsy or distracted to look over here. you shake in his lap, another pitched moan flowing through the air. you exhale, lifting your head so it rests on the side of matt’s cheek.

he kisses your temple. “go ahead, baby. cum on my cock.”

whimpering, your orgasm washes through your body and onto his dick. you sigh of relief, catching your breath at the same time. “gonna cum in this beautiful cunt.” matt grunts when he twitches inside you.

you squirm, mumbling something along the lines of it spilling out of you. “don’t worry about that, honey. i’ll take care of it soon.”

the bottom of your dress is hoisted past your stomach, matt’s hold on your legs firm as you’re spread out in the backseat of the minivan.

by ‘taking care of it soon’, he meant cleaning it up for you.

the club’s music still bumps to the beat of the song it’s playing, even if you guys are in the parking lot.

you twitch beneath him, your eyes crossing and mouth agape. his tongue works wonders between your legs. you still feel sensitive from your previous orgasm from inside the club, the same orgasm that leaks around his lips as he digs into your needy hole.

soft moans and whimpers escape you, the windows fogging up from the heavy breathing and sweat.

he pulls away, bringing his face to hover over yours. he’s smiling foolishly at your trance. your arousal glistens around his mouth, his hair disheveled. “think you can take me again?”

you grip onto his biceps when he starts railing into you, your face scrunching up. you squeeze your eyes shut, but they open as soon as his hand grabs your jaw. “open your mouth.”

you obey, and he spits in it before kissing you open-mouthed. he consumes your sounds, the way your bodies are conjoined causes a slap noise every time his hips meet your pelvis.

bang bang bang.

the both of you jump at the fist hitting against the window, stopping in position. even though the windows are fogged, matt can tell who it is.

he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “what do you want, chris? we’re kind of in the middle of something, here.”

“stop fucking and open the goddamn door. i need my chapstick.” there’s silence. “and don’t be naked.”

matt pulls your dress down, zippering his pants. he crawls to the front seat to unlock the door.

the door immediately swings open, chris leaning on the passenger's side to grab his chapstick that’s in the cup holder.

you tap your fingers on your chest, patiently waiting for this weird encounter to be over. you see chris in your vision, looking at you. you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes scan your body, but you’re not entirely sure.

“sorry to break this up but you guys need to head back in. everybody’s looking for you,” he says before leaving.

what a buzzkill.

lil skies music blasts throughout the house, scaring you awake from your sleep. it’s the early morning, around 3 AM.

you’re spending the night at the triplet’s house, your dress now substituted with one of matt’s shirts. you must’ve fallen asleep on the couch because once you adjust to the dark you realize you’re in the living room.

you check your phone, squinting at the sudden brightness.

my boy💙

went out on a long drive, i’ll pick up some mcdonald’s when i’m on my way back :)

2:47 AM

and you know nick’s staying over at madi’s tonight, so the culprit for the disruption is no other than chris sturniolo.

you groggily lift yourself off the couch, shuffling your way down the hall. you don’t bother knocking, and you make your way into chris’s room. his back is facing you, the tone in his muscles showing.

you clench your thighs without knowing.

he’s doing something on his phone when you mumble, but he clearly can’t hear you.

“can you turn that down? i’m trying to sleep,” you say louder, and he turns his head to you. he pauses the music, walking over.

“what?”

“please lower that. you woke me up,” you say lowly, staring at your feet.

he chuckles. “sorry.”

he takes his finger and lifts your chin so you look at him, his eyes set on your mouth as he takes his thumb and grazes it over your bottom lip. “you’re not as much of a prude as i thought.”

“e-excuse me?!” you stutter shockingly, another chuckle coming from the boy.

“you think i don’t know that you rode my brother in the middle of the club? then you guys went to the car to finish the job, no?”

your face goes pale. you understand how he knows about the car since he caught you guys, but not when you were at the club.

“h-how do you—”

“i observe.” he cuts you off. “i watched the way you bounced on his dick. can’t forget the pretty sounds i heard from the cracked window matt forgot to close.”

your cheeks become hot, your thighs yet again squeezing tight.

“thank you.” chris smiles at the bartender, spinning himself in the barstool to look around the club. this isn’t quite his scene, but he couldn’t miss out on a friend’s birthday.

he sips his pepsi, his elbow resting on the bar’s surface before landing his eyes on where your guy’s seats are.

you’re bouncing subtly on matt’s lap, face turning in different expressions.

chris grabs his crotch, his dick twitching in his pants as it threatens to grow at the sight. he’s not stupid and knows exactly what you’re doing.

his brother whispers something into your ear before placing you back next to him and taking your hand to walk out of the building.

he waits a few minutes before following you guys, leaving a tip for the bartender before doing so.

the van catches his eye instantly, the windows slowly becoming fogged and moans echoing in the air. your moans, the moans he wants to cause more than anything.

his plan to not get hard fails when his pants tighten, the sinful sounds becoming more intense when the car starts to rock.

before he knows it, he’s jogging over and banging on the window.

“you-you pervert!” you shout, wanting to remove chris’ stupid thumb from your lips; but you don’t. he hums, leaning to where his lips ghost yours.

“yet you’re turned on by it.” he whispers. “you’re telling me you’re not dripping between your legs right now?”

“i-i’m not.”

he takes his other hand and reaches under the shirt, his theory confirmed true.

he smirks. you’re not wearing any panties.

the same smirk matt had in the club when he realized you were bare underneath. your boyfriend matt. his fucking brother.

pull yourself together, y/n.

“you sure?” chris says, passionately connecting his lips with yours. he rubs two fingers on your slick slit, your breath hitching.

pull. yourself. together. y/n.

he rubs once more before inserting the fingers into you, making you break the kiss and moan pathetically.

the thumb that was on your lip now goes into your mouth, and you suck on it. your hands bunch on his chest.

he lifts one of your legs to make his fingers plunge deeper into you, curling to hit the right spot. the leg he’s holding quivers desperately. “is the needy bitch going to cum on my fingers?”

you hum approvingly on his thumb before he removes it, your eyes never leaving contact with his. you tense, smearing your white liquid on his fingers.

brain foggy, you grumble two syllables. he heard you right, but wants to hear it loud and clear. “what was that?”

“fuck me.”

because he certainly doesn’t have to be told twice, he picks you up and props your ass up on his mattress.

he unties his plaid pajama bottoms, grabs your neck, and shoves your face into the pillows. he smacks your ass. hard.

“such a bad girl.” he slaps again, aligning his tip with your entrance. “gonna let me fuck you, even though you’re dating my brother.”

he spanks you three more times, tears building up in your eyes from the pleasurable pain. you grip onto the pillows when he starts to slowly fill you.

you utterly hate to admit this, but he’s bigger than matt. you gasp loudly, your pussy morphing into the shape of his dick when he’s in.

he throws his head back, eyes closed as he smiles smugly. he’s been wanting to do this for months.

his hips start rutting into you harshly, squeals leaving your lips the deeper he gets.

it gets to the point where he pulls out to just the tip and slams back into you. he repeats this action over and over again.

you bite down on the pillow to suppress your loud moans, the headboard banging against the wall.

he squeezes your throat tighter. “you filthy fucking thing.”

his hand meets your asscheek once again, and your body shakes from a sob. “he-e’s coming— back— soon.” you manage to say between whines.

“good.” his tip reaches your spot, your toes curling at the bliss. “maybe he can walk in to see his girl creaming all over my cock instead of his.”

once he said that you smear your release around him. his jaw slacks, quickly grabbing his phone that he threw on the bed the moment you came in.

you came in just as he was about to pull up your instagram — like he always does — whenever he needs something to masturbate to.

this, however, is so much better.

“c-cumming inside you.” he moans lowly, shooting his load deep into you.

his thrusts become slow, panning the camera to the mess you guys just made. “christ.” he whispers, pulling out to watch you leak his cum. “look at that.”

you’re not able to catch your breath when he’s fucking into you again. this time, faster.

hoarsely whimpering, he removes the hand from your neck and instead grabs your hair. he pulls your head up from the pillows, your moans now echoing throughout the room.

chris brings the camera in front of your face so you can see yourself.

you’re completely wrecked, strands of hair that he’s not holding all up in your face. your mouth’s open wide, spit dangling from your bottom lip and onto the sheets below. eyes rolling back when that familiar spot gets hit, spilling tears.

“say hi to matt, ma.”

“mm— h-hi matt,” you say incoherently, chris letting go of your hair, your head falling face down back on the pillows.

he brings the phone to his face, still drilling into you like he’s never going to stop.

he grins at the camera, lips swollen and red. “this pussy’s fucking incredible. thanks for letting me use her, man.”

he props his phone against the lamp on his nightstand, making sure to have a good angle. especially of the shirt you're wearing, specifically matt’s pink shirt with a teddy bear on it. the shirt that he loves on you.

“daddy!” you whimper, too late to take it back. “g-gonna cum, daddy.”

you let out a series of scream-like moans, chris hissing from the back.

“fuck, don’t do that to me.” he exhales, throbbing in your cunt. “you’re so fucking tight. all of this cum for me?”

“ah— mhm!” you choke out.

chris isn’t so far behind, but he wants to hold it for his own sake.

he turns your head on its side so you can look at the camera once again, his hand returning to your throat. “see that? this is exactly what the whore needs to look like.” he says into the phone as if he’s talking to someone. as if he’s talking to matt. “no thought in that brain except the feeling of a cock fucking the shit out of her; until she begs you to stop.”

he knew that the last part of that sentence was coming soon because your eyes were starting to close.

your pussy pulses, another orgasm threatening to escape. you try to crawl out of his grip, but he pushes you back onto him more. this brand new spot he’s hitting has you seeing stars.

“don’t run from me now, my dirty little cumslut.” he pants, looking at the dick imprint inside your abdomen. “holy shit. you’re fucking bulging.”

“please, daddy!” you mewl. “s-stop! it’s too much, chris—” he squeezes your ass, catching your mistake. “daddy! to-too much!”

in all honesty, you’re not exactly sure if you really want him to stop.

“i know, angel. just a few more minutes, okay? i know you have one more. what are we at, four now?”

“gonna cum nice and deep in ya, so you’ll be walking around for days with a swollen belly full of it.” his hand makes contact with your ass, your eyes shooting open. it has to be bruised at this point. “this is exactly how sluts like you should be treated. isn’t that right?”

“ngh— y-yes, daddy. cum in m-me, please.”

your body weakens, becoming limp. you’re in an overwhelming amount of pleasure you can’t even moan anymore. instead, you pant like a dog and stick your tongue out because of the overstimulation. your body rocks at the inhuman pace he’s going. your vision starts to fade, like you’re going to pass out.

pure ecstasy, is what it is.

his thrusts become sloppy, slowing down before coming to a halt. he moans, the feeling of his sticky substance filling your womb. “thank you, daddy. thank you, thank you!” you chant, eyes closing.

he pulls out slowly, the squelching noise music to his ears. there’s a string of cum connecting from his tip to your cum-filled cunt.

he takes his phone, doing a shot of the way your abused hole swallows his ropes of white. “this pussy let me breed you real nice.”

spreading your folds to do one final show of his cum spewing out, you jolt from the sensitivity of his finger pushing it back inside you. poor thing, red and swollen. the flutter of it making it easier for his orgasm to spill out. he ends the video, whispering praises into your ear while kissing your face.

you hear a camera click behind you as he snaps a quick photo of the disgusting mess you two made. the smell of sex floods your nostrils.

chris isn’t that much of an asshole to where he’ll actually send the video to matt. he’s cocky, only having the sex tape to himself to jerk off to. it’ll boost his ego tremendously, that’s for sure.

what’s in the back of his mind is if matt pisses him off in the slightest, he’ll have no problem showing him what his girlfriend looks like clamping down on his brother’s dick.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @rootbeerworshiper @heartlessturniolos @chrisloyalgf @yoinkurnanuhoe @smoothies-are-cool @strtuniolo @1800chokedathoe @sturniolowhore @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

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rafecameronssl4t · 1 year ago

Note

I need more season one rafe fics please! I love your writing!! Also, last fic was amazing! Tbh I'm not a fan of #her ( yes I'm a hater)

Midsummers || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: It was concerning stumbling across your boyfriend and JJ fighting, but what was more concerning was his comment about Kiara.

Warnings: swearing, mild fighting? if there’s anything else lmk

Word count: 1,425

A/n: my summaries are always so shit 😭 anyways…. this was so much fun to write 😭 if u want more s1 rafe lmk and send thru requests!!!

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Rafee,” you squeal, feeling his hands firmly grasp your ass, igniting a wave of pleasure that you struggle to contain. His lips trace a heated path along your neck, only intensifying the sensation and making it harder to stifle a moan. “It’s fine, no one’s coming here,” he mutters against your skin, his breath hot and reassuring as it mingles with your mounting desire.

A sudden knock at the door makes Rafe groan in annoyance. “What? We’re kinda busy here!” he yells out, his frustration evident. Undeterred, you press a trail of kisses along his jaw, your lips trailing down to his collarbone, trying to distract him from the interruption.

Topper and Kelce walk in making you huff in annoyance, pulling away from Rafe, who glares at their direction. “Seriously, guys?” you mutter, irritation clear in your voice. “Sorry—uh—JJ just walked in,” Topper stammers.

At the mention of JJ’s name, Rafe’s expression darkens, and he quickly rises to his feet. “What the fuck is that pogue doing here?” he spits out, his eyes flashing with anger. Without waiting for an answer, he glances at you sharply and commands, "Stay here." With that, he storms out of the room, his frustration palpable. You watch as they leave, leaving you alone. With a huff, you get up and begin wandering around the room, trying to find something to entertain yourself.

Rafe and his friends race through the island club, their eyes sights set on JJ. He darts through the crowd, but they close in on him, finally cornering him in the locker room. Kelce moves swiftly, seizing JJ and locking him in a tight headlock. JJ struggles, but Kelce’s grip is ironclad. "Hold him still," Rafe commands.

Rafe smirks, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "What do you think? A 4 iron, right?" he asks his friends playfully as they all chuckle. "Keep his head still, yeah, Kelce? I'm gonna line this up." Rafe adjusts his stance, mimicking the motion of a golfer about to take a swing. JJ, despite Kelce’s suffocating grip, manages to choke out, "Very Rafe of you. Five on one?"

"If you could please stop talking. It's very disrespectful. I'm trying to hit a ball, alright?" Rafe snaps, his tone sharp and irritated as JJ continues to struggle. He gives a disapproving shake of his head. "Hey, learn your etiquette, my friend." His voice drips with condescension as he lines up his imaginary shot, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second.

As the minutes tick by, your boredom intensifies, and you decide to defy your boyfriend's request. Leaving the room, you set off in search of Rafe. It doesn't take long before you hear his voice echoing down a hallway.

Rafe snorts derisively as he examines JJ's bruised and bloodied face. "Your face looks really bad. Starting to look a lot more like your dad—" His sentence is abruptly cut off as JJ spits directly into his face.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, feeling your heart rate quicken as the scene unfolds before you. "Rafe?" you call out, stepping forward. Your eyes lock onto JJ, who is trapped in Kelce's grip, his expression defiant despite his situation.

As you approach, Rafe wipes his face and slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against him. His grip is firm and almost possessive, a clear display of both his irritation and protectiveness. You can feel the tension radiating from his body.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the room," he mutters against your head, his voice low and angry. You shrug, unable to find the words to explain your disobedience.

You glance at JJ, who despite his predicament, meets your gaze with a steely resolve. His eyes flick between you and Rafe, and for a moment, a silent communication passes between you. The air is thick with tension, a volatile mix of anger, defiance, and barely contained violence.

Rafe’s friends stand around, their faces a mix of amusement and anticipation. Kelce maintains his grip on JJ, his muscles taut with the effort of holding him still. Rafe’s irritation is palpable, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he stares down at JJ.

"Y'know, I never understood why you're dating him, Y/n," JJ says, his eyes raking over you. A scoff escapes your lips as you feel Rafe tighten his hold on you. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, tilting your head slightly in challenge.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" JJ chuckles, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You need a man, but he's high off his ass every fucking day. That's not very manly, don't you think?" His words hit you hard, and your face falls. "Are you trying to get killed pogue?" Rafe growls, pushing past you to storm up to JJ.

“Rafe, it’s not worth it,” you whisper softly, placing a hand on his arm to pull him back. But Rafe’s jaw is set, his muscles taut with rage. Suddenly, the lights begin to flicker, and a man walks in. "Gentlemen!" he announces. Kelce immediately releases JJ, shoving him towards you, but Rafe moves quickly, pulling you out of the way just in time.

"Is there a problem here, guys?" The security guard scans all your faces. "Pardon me, officer," JJ quickly interjects, trying to regain control of the situation. "No, there's not an issue. I just—actually, yes. No, there is an issue."

"Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep! Call it in, right?" JJ continues, his voice trembling slightly with mock seriousness. You watch in amusement as Rafe scoffs at him.

"Blatant disrespect for private property—" JJ starts again, but Rafe cuts in "Yep," his voice dripping with sarcasm. "—I'm in violation of all kinds of shit, sir."

The security guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. "But these young gentlemen..." JJ begins, reaching out to adjust Kelce's wonky bow tie, but Kelce aggressively pushes him away.

"Don't touch my shit," Kelce snaps, his tone sharp with irritation. JJ stumbles back, caught off guard. "...Uh, caught me, sir, and they're about to take me away," JJ continues, trying to regain his composure amidst the tension in the room. Your head begins to ache from the sheer amount of talking he's doing.

"And that's what you should do, escort me out of here. You got me," JJ says, extending his wrists as if offering them up for arrest, a sardonic grin playing on his lips. You all watch in amusement as he puts on a show for the security guard.

"Come on," the guard says, pulling JJ along with him. "All right. Fix that tie, son," he adds, glancing back at Kelce. JJ turns to Rafe with a smirk, "You're looking spiffy too."

"You powerpuff girls have fun!" JJ taunts, addressing Rafe and his friends before being led away. Leaving your side, Rafe hollers out, "Tell Kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue!" The words hang in the air, and your jaw nearly drops to the floor at the audacity of his comment.

In a split second, JJ breaks free from the guard's grasp and charges towards Rafe, but Kelce is quick enough to stop him from getting any closer. "You think I'm afraid of you, bro?" JJ shouts, his voice filled with defiance as the guard yanks him away once more.

"Hey! Safe travels back to the cut," Rafe calls out with a smirk on his face, clearly unfazed by JJ's threats. "This ain't over!" JJ shouts as the guard shoves him through the door, his voice echoing down the hallway.

"Hey, hey, it was really nice seeing you again, JJ!" Rafe's voice echoes down the corridor, breaking the tense atmosphere that hangs thickly in the air. He turns, a grin playing on his lips, only to catch your unimpressed expression.

"What, baby?" he questions, his smile faltering slightly as he moves to embrace you, but you push him away with a firm hand on his chest. "The fuck was that for?" Rafe's confusion is evident, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of your sudden reaction. The other boys shift uncomfortably, their eyes darting between you and Rafe.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Rafe's expression shifts from confusion to concern, his brows knitting together in worry. "What?" he responds, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Tell Kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue?" you spit out the words, your tone dripping with venom. "I said that to piss him off, I was fucking joking, wasn't I?" Rafe protests, seeking validation from his friends, who quickly nod in agreement.

"Ha. Ha. Funny joke, Rafe. It had me rolling on the floor," you retort sarcastically, your tone laced with bitterness as you push past him, the fabric of his shirt grazing your fingertips. "Y/n," Rafe starts, reaching out to you, but you cut him off with a sharp glare, your eyes flashing with anger.

"Don't fucking talk to me, dickhead," you say, your voice cold and cutting as you storm away, leaving Rafe and the boys in stunned silence.

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aggroindustrial · 20 days ago

Text

is it really a bad thing to disobey god?

summary. natalie, the stranger who works for your father, makes you question everything you've ever known.

pairing. natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

warnings. smut, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of violence, religious themes, loss of virginity

fic note. i'm honestly not sure if this is even good since it's my first time writing a full fic lol. also my first time writing smut so yeaaa expect some mistakes maybe. and i’m also terrible at writing summaries and the amount of time skips might be a warning as well. anyway please enjoy ^v^

+18. minors do not interact

Longhorn Ranch, located in a forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. Just a name barely hanging onto a rusted highway sign, swallowed by weeds and time. The type of place that feels abandoned, where technology seems like only a rumor, and the sky always looks a sickly shade of blue. The kind of place that truckers speed past without a second glance.

The town had once had promises—a gorgeous train station; wide, thriving and golden wheat fields. Now, the station was long forgotten, only inhabited by rats and insects. The fields were all scorched, victims of too many merciless summers.

It was late June. The sun was high and mean, making the air feel suffocating. Dust from the road clung to the air like a dense fog, crawling down Natalie’s throat with every breath, mingling with the bitter smoke of her cigarette and the old, musty breath of her beat-up truck.

After her latest “incident”, her father pulled the old favor card on her and forced her to offer a helping hand at his friend's ranch for the rest of the summer. It was either that, or spend a few months behind bars for beating up a guy who insulted her friends, Tai and Van, at a bar.

The ranch looked like it had seen better days and only its bones remained. The two-story house, its wood weathered to a dull gray. Wind chimes hung from every corner of it, their eerie jingles the only sound above the distant bleats and calls of livestock.

A sun-bleached and stiff scarecrow standing in front of the house almost seemed to be telling Natalie to abandon all hope out here.

The man met her outside, a rifle slung over his shoulder, his boots dirty with mud and something darker that could've been dried blood. Natalie hopped off her truck, and he greeted her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Your father says you're good with cattle.” He rasped, voice like sandpaper, as he shook her hand.

“I know how not to get kicked by one.” Natalie nodded, shielding her eyes from the sun with the back of her hand.

“That’ll do. You’ll learn.” He nodded. “Hop back in. I’ll give you the tour.”

Natalie nodded again and went back into her truck. He climbed in beside her with a grunt, laying the rifle across his lap.

She caught a glimpse of a person observing her from a window on the second floor of the house, but glanced away without thinking too much about it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

From your window, you saw her arrive. A brunette stranger. Everything about her screamed sin and regret—from the dark makeup around her eyes, to the sleeveless black shirt and ripped jeans she was wearing.

Your father had mentioned someone would be spending the summer at the ranch to lend him a hand, but you never expected it would be someone like her.

Her sharp gaze met yours, and suddenly your thighs tensed, your hands white-knuckling the windowsill. As much as you tried to ignore it all, thousands of images ran through your head, that you definitely shouldn't be thinking about.

She was everything you were always told to avoid—the big, bad wolf to watch out for, who always lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Ready to devour, to take you away from God's side.

It's what your mother always told you, to never talk to the other men from your small town. But then again, this stranger wasn't exactly a man, so did that mean she wasn't a threat? She sure felt like one, but not the kind you feared.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A couple days later, Natalie was laying on a thin mattress in the barn loft, staring at slivers of moonlight leaking through the roof. She had discarded her work clothes long ago. Sweat clung to her like an extra layer of skin. It was too damn hot to sleep.

Below her, the cows stirred. One of them let out a quiet huff. She tried not to think about the rifle the man had leaned against the barn door before locking her in for the night.

“Just in case of coyotes.” He said. Natalie didn't think coyotes came that close to the house, but she decided not to question him

She lit another cigarette and took a swig of her now-warm beer.

And then she heard it—the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

The door creaked open, just a little. Not enough to let in moonlight, but enough to see a silhouette framed in the crack.

You.

Natalie sat up, and she could feel her heart speeding up in her chest—mostly because she wasn't really looking forward to finding out how your father would react if he saw you with her.

“You got chores, and you got rules. Stay outta the house unless I call you.” He told Natalie while cleaning his rifle. “Don't bring mud inside, my wife hates it.” His gaze lifted from the gun and stared at Natalie pointedly. “And keep your eyes off my daughter. That clear?”

“You lost?” Natalie asked, and stubbed out her cigarette.

You didn’t answer and stepped in, and closed the door behind you.

“I heard noises.” You whispered. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity, and the corner of her lips twitched. “And your first idea was to come out of your house and all the way here?"

You blinked, as if you were just now realizing the weight of your actions. It was almost adorable to Natalie, watching the way your innocent, wide eyes filled with nervousness for a second.

“You smell like smoke and beer.” A small mumble left your lips as Natalie took a step closer.

She hummed, and shrugged. “Better than smelling like the shit I have to clean every day.”

You flinched at her words, just a little. But even then, you didn't leave. No, you stayed and observed her like she was the most interesting thing you'd ever seen in your life.

Natalie should’ve told you to go back inside. Your father's rules were clear. That nothing good ever came out of moonlit visits and soft voices, and most definitely out of disobeying a man as scary as him.

But she didn’t. Instead, she watched you like someone watches a flame dancing too close to gasoline.

“My mama says people like you are to be avoided if I do not want to stray from God's path.” Your fingers played with the small, golden cross hanging around your neck.

Natalie stared at you, as if studying you. “What do you say?

Your gaze flickered down to the ground for a moment, but then lifted to look at her again. Even behind that undeniable hint of fear in your eyes, Natalie could notice something raw and hungry, eager to go against everything you've ever known until now.

“I don't know.” You whispered. “I think God is mad at me for thinking stuff I should not be thinking about.”

Her gaze dropped down to your lips, and you seemed to notice. Your shoulders stiffened.

Before Natalie could even think of moving any closer, you took a step backwards immediately, your cross still clutched between your fingers.

“Please don't tell my father I was out of the house.” Was all you said before you hurriedly ran out of the hayloft, leaving a confused Natalie behind.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next few days passed in silence.

Natalie kept her head down—cleaning stables, feeding animals, brushing horses. You avoided her like the plague, as you were supposed to.

Although the discreet, curious glances over meals and the quick nervous smiles were gone, too.

Perhaps it was for the best, Natalie thought while she watched the angry rain falling from the cloudy sky.

Getting involved in any way with the daughter of an eerie religious couple didn't seem like the smartest idea.

She worked until the sun hid itself behind the horizon. The rain hadn’t stopped. Not even after she showered and shared a quiet dinner with your family.

That night, thunder cracked like a whip, and rain sneaked through the cracks on the roof. Natalie lay on her mattress, a cigarette burning between her lips.

Her thoughts unraveled—until they were interrupted by the sound of the hayloft door, accompanied by the electric snap of a thunderbolt.

Natalie turned.

There you were—standing in the doorway, soaked, shoulders trembling. You looked frightened, caught between a nightmare and waking.

“I'm scared.” You whispered, staring at Natalie with an almost begging look in your eyes. “Can I please stay here with you?”

It was a dangerous request. Many, many things could go wrong—from your father finding out you sneaked out to be with her, to the temptation of repeating the mistake she’d almost made nights ago.

But she nodded. “Of course. You can come sit, if you want.”

The ghost of a smile passed over your lips for a brief second, before another thunderclap made you flinch, and you crossed the room to sit beside her.

“Thank you.” The words left your lips with a shaky breath. “I’ve always been afraid of thunder.”

“No problem. I get it,” Natalie said, though her hands sat uncharacteristically stiff in her lap. “I used to be afraid, too.”

“That… seems unlikely.” You let out a quiet laugh that lit your face for a short moment. “You look like you’re not afraid of anything.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I may not look like it, but have a heart, too, you know.”

You giggled again, softer this time. Then silence. It fell between you like a curtain—gentle, yet charged. The kind of silence that trembles with things unspoken, resembling a rubber band wanting to snap with all the tension.

Natalie caught the way you looked at her. The way you swallowed nervously.

“You don't have to be afraid of me. I can tell you are.” She wanted to tell you. But the look in your eyes wasn't fear, unlike she'd first assumed. Not anymore. It was something else—something repressed and caged, practically begging to be set free.

The thought had Natalie's head spinning a little.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, and Natalie’s eyes followed, heat rising in her skin. It felt like you were doing it on purpose to tempt her, but she knew better. You couldn’t possibly be that calculated in that matter.

“Please.”

It was an invitation. A spark. A permission.

It was almost ironic. How your parents had raised you to be their perfect devout daughter, clean of all sin. Only for a stranger to come along and ruin it all by staining your very existence forever.

“You sure?” Natalie asked, voice barely a breath, as she leaned closer—giving you a chance to pull away, to back out and run back into the house like last time.

But you never did.

All you did was nod, and Natalie didn't dare to question you again, selfishly afraid that you would vanish into the night.

Natalie closed the distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a slow, reverent kiss. You were hesitant, unpracticed—but it didn’t matter. She led you gently, her movements careful, tender.

Her hand slid to squeeze your thigh, and you pulled back with a sharp inhale.

“Sorry,” she murmured, eyes searching yours. “Too much?”

“No.” You shook your head, cheeks flushed. “Just… surprised. But I like it.”

Natalie’s fingers danced over the soft fabric of your nightgown, and she kissed you again. This time, there was a hunger behind it. As if she was desperate and ready to consume you whole.

She guided you down onto the mattress gently, her hands coaxing, and her mouth never leaving yours. Only when your lungs screamed for air did she finally pull back.

Small pants and gasps escaped your lips as soon as Natalie moved down to trail her own lips down the column of your neck.

“Let me make you feel good.” She breathed against your ear, taking your earlobe between her teeth.

“I don't know how.” You whispered back while your hands gripped her shoulders. The amount of new sensations and emotions were making you dizzy, heat burning in your stomach and between your legs.

“You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all.” Natalie shook her head and pulled back to look at you. “Only if you want it, too.”

You thought about it for a moment. The cross sitting around your neck was a reminder of how bad all this was. God was probably observing you from Heaven, disappointed that you were so weak for someone you barely knew at all.

“Okay.” You nodded slightly, already out of breath and Natalie hadn't even begun yet.

Perhaps with enough prayers, you could repent for your sins someday.

At some point, her kisses began to turn sloppy and uncoordinated. The desire and passion increased, like a fire engulfing the two of you until all that was left was pure and raw longing for more.

Your forehead rested against Natalie's as her hand gently squeezed one of your breasts. Your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“I'm ready.” The hushed words slipping from your lips almost made Natalie moan out loud. Instead, she nodded and let her hand move down your torso slowly, wanting to engrave the feeling of every curve of your body in her mind.

Her fingers lifted your nightgown slightly, and she caressed your leg tenderly.

“Are you really sure about this?” She asked once more. “We can stop right now, if you want. It'll be okay.”

But the thought of stopping almost felt like a crime to you.

“I want it.” You reassured her, and cupped her cheek with your hand. “Please, Natalie.”

The sweetest lamb she'd met in her entire life, so innocent and pure, begging to be taken like this.

Natalie wondered how many good deeds she'd done in her past lives to earn this.

Her fingers caressed your panties, slowly moving to the apex of your thighs. You had absolutely soaked through the undergarment, and Natalie's eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

She let out a shallow breath, and began dragging the piece of cloth down your legs slowly while she stared into your eyes the entire time.

Your legs instinctively clamped together after your panties were gone, and Natalie's free hand came up to caress your cheek gently.

“You don't have to feel shy.” She mumbled softly. “I think I'm just as nervous as you are, honestly.” A small smile grew on her lips as she showed you how her hand was trembling slightly. “See?”

It was the first time Natalie felt nervous like that. Not even during the night she lost her own virginity.

The action seemed to help you calm down a little and you let your legs spread open again slowly.

Natalie kissed you. Not like earlier, desperate and hungry—no, it was gentle and sweet, guiding you through the moment.

Her knuckles brushed against your wet folds, making you breathe sharply and pull back from the kiss. She was afraid she'd hurt you somehow, but the quiet mewl that escaped your lips said otherwise.

She repeated the action, and her fingers moved against your clit in slow circles. Your eyes immediately shut and your head dropped down on the mattress with a small thud.

Natalie glanced down and let out a shaky moan when she saw the way you were completely drenched and your hips were moving slightly to meet her touches.

“Fuck…” She whispered, increasing the speed of her movements just a little and it immediately earned a whimper from you. “You're doing so great. Do you like that?”

You nodded at the question, unable to form any words at all.

The sound of your wetness reached your ears and it should've been embarrassing, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about anything at all.

If it's a sin, why does it feel so good? You asked yourself for a moment, but the thought disappeared from your mind when you felt Natalie's finger poking your entrance gently.

Carefully, she slipped it inside of you. She gave you a moment to adjust to the new feeling and kissed your cheek several times to distract you from the dull sensation of pain.

Her thumb found your clit again and pressed against it while she slid her finger in and out of you slowly, earning moans and quiet whines from your throat.

Your arms wrapped around her neck and you pulled her closer for a kiss that she returned eagerly. Ragged breaths and pants left both of your lips as she sped up her movements, to the point where you couldn't kiss her back anymore.

“I think…” Your voice trailed off quietly as your nails dug into her shoulders. It almost made Natalie hiss out of pain.

“Let it happen.” She whispered, kissing your lips one last time. “It'll feel so good, I promise, baby.”

Her voice drowned out, replaced by the loud sound of your heartbeat in your ears as you neared your climax, until you couldn't hold it back anymore.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip to avoid moaning out loud and your back arched against Natalie. Your legs shut around her hand and she watched you crumbling down under her.

It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

Natalie helped you come down from your high, whispering sweet words into your ear while her free hand wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek.

She removed her hand from between your legs and wiped your juices on her shirt with a shaky sigh.

“How are you feeling?”

The question drew a breathless chuckle from you as you opened your eyes.

“Great,” You answered, curling into her side as she lay beside you. “It was good.”

She nodded and kissed the crown of your head, wrapping her arm around your shoulders to hold you close.

The rain still fell, but the thunder had moved on.

“You’ll have to go back to the house soon, huh?” Natalie mumbled, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I… kinda wish you could stay.”

“Yeah.” Your voice was quiet now. “I wish I could, too. But you know how he is.” The thought of your father finding you like this with Natalie made your blood run cold. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

Natalie turned her gaze to you and offered a soft smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You began sitting up, reaching for your ruined underwear with a sheepish grin.

“Hopefully there’ll be another thunderstorm tomorrow.” She joked, and you turned to her with wide, scandalized eyes.

“Hey!” You laughed, blushing furiously. “That’s not funny at all.”

She chuckled, biting her lip. “I know. I’m sorry.” She brushed your wrist with her fingers, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Go. Before he shoots both of us.”

You sighed and nodded, heading to the door. Just before stepping out, you glanced back with a small smile and a wave.

Natalie watched you disappear behind the door. She lay back, the mattress still warm, the memory of you already carved into her mind like a secret prayer.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Days pass again.

You didn't speak. It wasn't exactly a problem—you weren't even supposed to talk to each other, anyway.

But Natalie still longed to hear your voice, to see you smile at her again with that sweetness of yours, like you were handing her a sacred secret.

One night, weeks later—after a long day spent beneath the scorching sun—Natalie returned to the hayloft and found something tucked into the hem of her pillowcase.

A torn page, folded neatly. Your handwriting—neat and elegant.

“Even the stars envy us. Even the saints must have sinned once.”

A slow smile spread across Natalie’s lips, soft and involuntary.

And in her chest, something stirred. Sincere hope, soft and fragile. Blooming like wildflowers after a storm.

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you

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