#I sincerely hope that you will cry too

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 5 (15th Dec)

loss | sacrifice | despair

Word count: 4,573

Boromir’s steps echoed in the stairwell of the Tower of Ecthelion as he descended them at a careful pace. Plunged in the obscurity and left out from the cast of moonlight, there was little light filtering through the sparse windows. One missed step, and he would surely shatter his neck and back on the marble. Clinging to the wall with one hand, he aided himself further, calculating each motion. The halo of his torch enhanced the furrow on his forehead and the dark rings under his tearful eyes. A lump had long settled in his throat, stifling his hitched breath and rendering him incapable of producing a single sound. His aching heart pounded within his chest forcefully enough that he expected it to tear itself asunder at any second. His thoughts plunged into despair, surrendering to the relentless tumult of his mind.

Earlier that night, hurried footsteps and hushed voices outside his door had dragged him out of his slumber. People came and went, the heaviness and recurrence of their steps even causing his bed to quiver. Every so often, the familiar clatter of armour would follow suit. He would have dismissed it without a second thought if not for the maidservants’ peculiar words echoing in the hallway and retaining his attention.

‘Any trace of the little one?’ one voice, which he recognised as that of his father’s housekeeper Tíriel, urged to another.

‘None. Ivorwen and Orodreth have searched the kitchens, but the child is nowhere to be found.’

‘Eru, protect him!’

Lighting up the extinguished candle on his bedside table, Boromir had kicked off his legs from the bed and emerged from underneath the covers. He had risen and marched to the door, yawning and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Something was afoot, and his instinct had predicted that this would be a very long night.

When he heralded his presence by opening his door, the two servants had started and bowed.

‘What is the matter?’ his groggy voice had inquired.

‘My lord, you should be in bed,’ Tíriel had spoken with the fondness in her tone she reserved for children. Yet this had not sufficed to conceal the alarm that gripped her voice and tensed up every muscle in her frail body.

‘I was until I heard you and the others running about. Now tell me, what is the matter?’

Tíriel had regarded Damrod, the chamberlain, with a discerning gaze betraying her uncertainty. Despite his pursed lips and the vehement shaking of his head, the housekeeper had found herself drawn to revealing the situation to the steward’s older son. If he had awoken at this particular time, then he deserved to know, she deemed.

‘My lord, is your brother in your room with you?’

His heart had stopped. The child they could not find was Faramir?

‘No, he is not,’ he had responded, now wide awake and seized by dead. ‘Is he missing?’

‘Well, he is not in bed, and we have yet to find him.’

Leaving no room for hesitation, Boromir scurried back inside his chambers, placing his candleholder on his dresser, snatching his trousers from the back of his chair, and jumping on one foot as he slid a first leg in it. Dumbfounded at the door, the two servants turned their heads to give him some privacy. A frown marred Damrod’s countenance as he cast a disapproving glare in Tíriel’s direction.

‘Fetch me a torch,’ the young lord called out as he slipped on a warmer shirt and a vest. ‘Tell me which places have already been searched.’

‘My lord,’ Damrod pleaded, ‘it is unreasonable for you to come with us. Please remain in bed; we will notify you once your brother is found. You have an important evaluation tomorrow morning; you cannot miss it.’

Without bothering to put socks on, Boromir laced up his boots and snuffed out his candle. He reappeared at the frame, buckling up his sword at his hip.

‘There will be other evaluations. I have only one Faramir.’

As he set out for the hallways, Damrod had departed in the opposite direction, leaving Tíriel to accompany Boromir. Traversing the lofty corridors of the citadel, he had observed the conspicuous absence of most guards. He could only imagine — and hope — that they were on the same quest as he was.

On their way out, Tíriel had handed a torch from the wall to Boromir, whose fingers had instantly clasped it until his knuckles turned as pale as his face. Although aware that none of her words would ease his anguish, the housekeeper revealed everything she knew about the situation.

As soon as she had noticed that Faramir’s door had been left open, the passing governess had peeked inside the bedchambers, only to find the bed unmade yet unoccupied. After looking around for the boy, suspecting that he might have snuck into his playroom, she had found herself at a loss over the child’s whereabouts. She had questioned the guards in the hallway, but none had seen him leave, having taken their posts only a few minutes prior. One of them, however, had indicated having heard agitation and crying inside the room.

Crying… Boromir’s heart ached at the mere mention of it. What had Faramir gone through that had warranted his sudden disappearance?

Spurred by the guard’s statement, the governess had felt compelled to sound the alarm among her fellow household workers. Most abandoned their duties to join the search for the child, but success had thus far eluded them. The palace, except Boromir’s chambers, had been scoured from stem to stern. No trace of Faramir, whether in the kitchens, in the garderobes, the guest rooms, the offices, or the hall. Not a breadcrumb.

Once Boromir and Tíriel had exited the citadel and stood near the White Tree, five guards on horseback had urgently trotted up to them. Bowing their heads to the young lord, the latter had gritted his teeth, having no use for such triviality at this dire hour.

‘Sentinels, what news do you bring?’ he had queried, resting his trembling hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Nobody has seen Lord Faramir, and neither have we,’ one of them replied sternly.

A knot had tied in the pit of his stomach. But there was still hope. If his younger brother had not been seen in the city, there was a chance that he was much closer than they had thought. Boromir had drawn in a sharp breath and given orders to the sentinels.

‘Guard the path to the citadel and send one to the gates to notify the guards there. If anybody enters or departs the city, I want to be notified promptly before they do. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘It matters not to me who goes. Decide it between yourselves.’

With a last nod towards the guards, Boromir turned to Tíriel and beckoned her back towards the citadel.

‘Has the library been searched? I believe my brother’s newfound obsession for books now that he can read is known to all.’

‘Yes, my lord. The archivist was awoken and is now watching the library. He vowed to alert us if your brother is seen there.’

‘Very well. Now, we must think of our next step.’

Tumultuous waves of thoughts had coursed through his mind as he internally reiterated every place that had been combed, every post occupied by those who helped. It had left them with few options to consider. Pensive, he had instinctively raised his gaze towards the magnificent Tower of Ecthelion, and an idea had burgeoned in his mind.

‘I must search the Tower,’ he had muttered. ‘I doubt that he bothered to go inside, but if I could reach the top and have a better view of the upper level in case Faramir is outside, I will see him immediately.’

Before the housekeeper could object, Boromir had run off to the doors of the Tower. Climbing the stairs in a hurry, peering through the few windows on his path to the top, he had ignored his erratic breathing, burning the little energy left in him. Despite the burning sensation in his calves and thighs, he had pushed forward, skipping steps if necessary.

In hushed prayers, he beseeched any listening ear for Faramir’s well-being, fervently hoping that his beloved brother had not fallen into the clutches of vicious hands. With each step nearer the top of the stairs, his plea grew louder. His quivering voice yearned to witness his sibling blossoming into a formidable man, partake in a ride to Osgiliath with him, or even share a pastry torn in halves between them.

Battling the urge to collapse on his knees, Boromir had pledged to the Valar to cultivate greater patience for Faramir. He had committed to indulging the child, reading him tales and letting him read others in return, and lending an eager ear to his enthusiastic banter about the new knowledge he acquired. He cared not about their differences. All he wanted was his brother back.

Once at the summit of the stairs, he had flung open the door with an abrupt burst of strength. The guards stationed there had jolted at his sight, clutching their spears and the hilts of their swords. Upon recognising the steward’s oldest, they had eased yet attempted to dissuade him from remaining where he stood, urging him to return to the citadel. Stubborn and much too worried to listen to any of it, Boromir had circled the Tower’s peak, leaning over the marble guardrail, his eyes scanning the city and the Pelennor Fields for possible movement. All he had seen were the scarce figures of adults, no child to be seen.

‘FARAMIR!’ he had called out from the top of his lungs, clutching the guardrail until his nails and knuckles felt as though they would shatter. Gripped by an uneasy foreboding, he had screamed his brother’s name again and again until his voice grew hoarse. There was no reaction besides the guards covering their ears.

One of them had approached the young lord and squeezed his shoulder to pull him back as he nearly bent over the void beneath him in sheer despair.

‘Lord Boromir, you must return to the citadel. I will escort you there myself. If we see Lord Faramir, we shall blow the horn.’

The boy had dropped his hand on the side of his body in defeat, nodding in obedience. Holding his torch still, he had allowed the guard to direct him back into the stairwell of the Tower and to escort him to the terrace below.

And there Boromir was, descending the stairs with tears brimming his eyes, threatening to fall at any second. His legs wobbled underneath him, weakened by his erratic climbing and running, threatening to give in. Before they would, the guard caught him by the arm and held him up.

‘There, there, my lord. Fear not, we will find him.’

Boromir wanted to believe him; he truly did. But something did not sit right with him. How did nobody see Faramir leave his room, alone or in the company of another? Were there no guards stationed at his door? How had the disappearance eluded them?

Before he could delve deeper into the thought, they reached the bottom of the stairs and exited the Tower of Ecthelion. At its foot, Tíriel had waited for his return, and the guard mumbled something that he did not make an effort to hear. He felt the housekeeper’s arm encircle his shoulders, but he gently put her arm away.

The search had to continue. He could not give up.

‘Has anybody asked Ioreth at the Houses of Healing whether Faramir has been seen or brought there with any injury?’

‘Damrod has just done so, but none of the healers saw any child in the Houses.’

‘Let us return to the citadel. We must proceed carefully.’

‘You must go back to bed.’

‘As long as Faramir is missing, I am not.’

They passed the White Tree on their way to the citadel and found the governess leaning against the wall outside the door, pressing a handkerchief to her lips to stifle her weeping. Boromir’s heart sank at her sight. This could not be good. Without hesitation, he leapt forward to meet her.

‘Morwen,’ he hailed, still out of breath. ‘Is there any news of my brother?’

‘No, not yet,’ she sobbed, patting her tear-stained cheeks. ‘It is all my fault!’

Boromir placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it. If somebody was to be held responsible, it certainly was not her.

‘There, there, brave Morwen,’ he whispered, taking out his clean handkerchief from his pocket and helping her dry her skin. ‘You did well. You were the one to notify us as soon as you saw something amiss.’

‘It is not that, my lord. I should have said something earlier. The poor child… He has not been himself as of late.’

His ears perked up at the governess’ revelation. As his brow furrowed, he clutched her arms, perhaps tighter than he meant to.

‘Not himself?’

‘Oh, no.  For the past year, he has been a troubled soul since the passing of Lady Finduilas. His mind is elsewhere, his eyes sorrowful… So young, so young!’

Something snapped into place inside Boromir’s mind. A gasp rolled off his lip as he shot up, releasing Morwen from his grasp.

‘This is it! This must be it!’

Without explanation, Boromir shouldered his way through the citadel's doors. Resolution and hope rekindled in his heart as he hurtled across the Hall of the Kings, startling the gathered soldiers and servants. Clad in his evening robes, Denethor snapped his head, only to behold his older son, not knowing that he had left his bed.

‘Boromir!’

The boy did not cast so much as a glance over his shoulder as he continued his course. A sharp pain tore through his calf as though the muscle threatened to tear in half.

‘I know where he is!’

And he cursed himself for not having thought of it earlier. How could he have been so daft?

The agitation and the crying in Faramir’s room… He had jumped to the worst conclusions before reasoning. What the governess had said was true. Their mother’s death had inflicted a more profound toll on his younger brother than it had already on him. Faramir had been much closer to Finduilas than himself, much to his regret, and the child was too young to process his grief.

Boromir darted across the bridge behind the citadel, his hair blown back by the night breezes. He placed his torch in an empty sconce at the crypt's entrance and solemnly entered, not allowing his anguish to desecrate the place. He bowed to the tombs in their alcoves before advancing, his hands brushing against his thighs.

Silence reigned in the hall. Even the torches’ flames licked at the air noiselessly, dancing upon the stone slabs and the walls. Their flickering accentuated the traits of each recumbent effigy of the kings and stewards that had once served Gondor and were now laid to rest and immortalised in statues, if not in scrolls and the memories of the living.

Carved into the mountain's flank, the crypt was devoid of warmth. Not even halfway through, Boromir regretted not having taken his cloak on his way out of his room. The cold nipped at him and sunk into his bones, stiffening his joints and reddening his hands.

Nevertheless, any discomfort became trivial when he caught a glimpse of a curled-up form upon one of the slabs ahead. He hastened but abstained from running, approaching the tomb with a measured stride — a place he had not visited often enough to his liking.

Boromir crouched beside the grave and offered a warm smile to the shivering figure facing away.

‘There you are, Fari,’ he murmured, his voice bereft of resentment or anger. ‘Everybody is looking for you. You gave me the fright of the century, little brother.’

There was no reaction from the little boy nestled against the breast of his mother’s effigy. Only stuttered breaths reached his ears as a visible hitch marked his brother’s every inhalation. He was so lightly dressed; Boromir could well imagine that he was chilled to the bone if even he could feel the frost despite the layers upon his back.

His fingers unbuttoned his vest and placed it across his bent knee before pulling his warmer shirt over his head and enveloping Faramir’s frail body. Having slid his vest back over his thin nightshirt, he patiently awaited movement from his brother, a word perhaps, but none came forth.

‘You had a nightmare again, mh?’

This time, Faramir nodded and peered over his shoulder at his brother. His blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen from incessant weeping. Boromir would have struck himself with his own sword at the sight for his stupidity. He should have known long before where his brother would run to for comfort. He would have been there for his brother and held him to ease his fear for as long as needed.

The younger boy rubbed his eye with his tiny fist and spoke at last, his voice feeble and broken.

‘I was so scared.’

Boromir’s eyes softened as they crinkled at the corners, his smile widening. He ran his fingers through the dishevelled curls on his brother’s head in a gentle motion.

‘And father’s scolding for the broken glass at dinner certainly did not help it.’

‘No.’

The older brother sighed.

‘Forget about him, little brother. As long as I am around, you have nothing to fear,’ he intoned, earning a soft smile from the child. ‘Let’s get you back to bed, shall we?’

When Faramir acquiesced, Boromir turned his back to him, maintaining his crouched position with his heels firmly grounded for balance. Gone was the weight that had lingered in the air between them. It had been replaced by the shared and unbridled affection that now enveloped them in its unseen mantle.

‘Come here,’ he instructed with a smile. ‘Hop on, little froggy!’

Faramir’s giggle resonated through the Houses of the Dead, insufflating some joy into its hallways. In other circumstances, Boromir would have seen it as a celebration of life in gratitude for those who were long stripped of theirs, who had rendered the miracle of their sole existence possible. For now, he only wanted to bring his brother back to his warm bed and reassure all who were worried to death about the child’s disappearance.

Having slipped his arms into the shirt's sleeves kindly lent to him, the little boy climbed onto his brother’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck. Much to Boromir’s amusement, the sleeves dangled way past his hands, a comical sight which applied balm to his previously aching heart. He hoisted himself up and carried Faramir, holding him under the knees. Before leaving, he bowed his head to the tomb beside him.

‘Good night, Mother. We love you.’

Faramir nodded, burying his face against his shoulder blade as they exited the crypt. Boromir did not bother retrieving the torch from the sconce, leaving it to burn in peace.  They headed towards the citadel in silence as exhaustion gained them both. He dragged his feet across the stone, unwilling to let his brother walk. The poor thing needed to regain warmth, and their proximity enabled just that.

Before his eyelids unconsciously drooped, Boromir flinched at the sight of the sleeve poking his nose. A sharp exhalation swirled out of his nose as he glanced over his shoulder with a grin.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you angry with me, Boromir?’

He patted the side of the child’s calf with the utmost tenderness.

‘I could never.’

‘Not even if I broke your wooden sword?’

Boromir regarded him with suspicion, although the smirk plastered on his face served as a silent understanding that there was no trace of irritation in his heart.

‘Why? Did you break the wooden sword?’

‘Maybe?’

A chuckle escaped his throat as he readjusted his brother upon his back whilst crossing the bridge back to the palace.

‘Ah, that is quite alright. Think nothing of it.’

‘But you love that sword!’

‘Perhaps, but I love you much more than I do a toy.’

Faramir smiled and tightened his grip around his brother, crossing his ankles against the older boy’s stomach. As they entered the citadel again, the first guards and servants to behold the reunited brothers sighed and exclaimed in relief, spreading the word to their colleagues to end the search.

When Boromir entered the Hall of the Kings to notify his father, Denethor stomped in their direction, his traits distorted by an unmatched fury. He pointed a finger towards the younger boy, who tensed up and flinched before a single word left his mouth.

‘You little brat! What foolishness has come through your head for you to disappear so?!’

‘Father, that is enough!’

Denethor halted at once, his wide eyes turning to his older son and yielding to the boy’s authority. Boromir put Faramir down and held him tightly against his side.

‘Faramir was found, and that is the end of the story,’ he scolded his father, scowling at him. As Morwen entered the hall and burst into tears of elation at the sight of the child, brought back safe and sound, Boromir held his brother’s hand. ‘Morwen, will you please take my brother to my bedchambers? I shall keep him company tonight. Please fetch his pillow and his stuffed horse from his room. Go with her, Faramir; I will be with you shortly.’

‘Yes, brother.’

Faramir took Morwen’s hand and followed her away until she picked him up out of sheer joy and carried him to the royal quarters. Boromir smiled as he watched them, sensing the lump in his throat fading at last. Yet when his father spoke, his frown was quick to return.

‘You waste far too much energy on this child,’ Denethor spat. ‘He has spoiled your rest with his antics. Tomorrow is an important day for you, with the master of arms’ examination. Now that you have spent half of the night outside by Faramir’s fault, he has ruined your potential. So do not make things worse for yourself, Boromir. Send the boy back to his room and have him locked up there, or you will not be able to even stand in your armour in the morrow.’

‘Then, tired I will be. But do not ask me to forsake my brother when he is in pain, for I will not obey.’

Denethor’s eyes glimmered with a spark of rage. Nevertheless, he did not lash out at Boromir. No, that was a treatment he usually reserved for his younger son. His father paced up and down in a futile attempt to quiet the thunderous words threatening to escape him, not helped by the older son’s defiant scowl and raised chin.

‘You cannot let the child lead you around by the nose, Boromir. He must grow up, and it is about time.’

‘Father, he is six years old, give him time! Mother’s death has scarred him deeply; do not blame him for his pain.’

‘He will be the death of us both, do you not see it? You cannot possibly care for him all his life to the detriment of your potential and virtues. You have much to achieve, my son, so much to accomplish. Do not let a brainless little boy waste any of that.’

‘I am his older brother, and if it is a burden, it is one that I gladly accept,’ Boromir retorted, leaving time for Denethor to respond. When the latter struggled to find his words, the boy bowed. ‘Good night, Father. I shall see you in the morning.’

When Boromir reached his bedchambers, he found Faramir already in bed, his curls a blond halo around his head while he pressed his yellow stuffed horse to his heart. Finding the sight most endearing, the older boy readjusted the cover on top of his brother, carefully tucking him in. He pressed a kiss to his temple before stripping down to his nightshirt and loincloth. When he slipped back under the blankets, Faramir stirred and sighed.

‘I miss Mother.’

Boromir turned his head with raised eyebrows and smiled softly.

‘Me too, Fari.’

Seeing the tears welling up in his little brother’s eyes, Boromir pulled him against his chest and held him close, rubbing his back to comfort the child. It had been long since he had mourned their mother. Not that he had not loved her. For years, he had enjoyed his father’s favouritism, finding comfort in the knowledge that Finduilas spent most of her time raising and coddling Faramir. But now that she was gone, Denethor’s spite towards the younger boy had been unleashed and had reached greater extents than ever before.

Thus, Boromir had done all he could for the past year to never let his brother alone in their father’s company. He had found countless excuses to lure the younger boy away or distract his father by doing something as simple as handing the maidservant his empty plate with the cutlery neatly laid on top of it to earn his praise and give some respite to his brother. But such moments were never to last, and he was more than aware that it was only the beginning.

Under the palm of his hand, he sensed the shaking of Faramir’s shoulder as the child began to weep again. Wishing to deflect the night's pain and emotion, Boromir chuckled and kissed the top of his head.

‘Hey, Fari, do you remember that day when Mother let you style her hair?’

Faramir’s sobs swiftly turned into stifled chuckles.

‘I got her brush stuck in her hair and couldn’t get it out.’

‘Exactly,’ Boromir responded with a hearty laugh, the happy memory filling him with joy. He could see it all again: Finduilas’ luscious black hair matted around the wooden handle and the boar bristles on one side of her head.

‘She wasn’t even angry at me.’

Boromir chuckled and pressed another kiss to his brother’s hair.

‘No, she wasn’t. You were not there to see it because you were with Morwen, but Mother kept the brush in her hair the entire day, pretending that nothing was afoot. Father commented on it, but she retorted that it was all the rage in Dol Amroth.’

‘She did?’ the little boy gasped in amusement.

‘Yes, she did,’ he confirmed, his smile slowly fading. ‘You know, little brother, Mother loved you with all her heart. And I love you all the same. Never forget that.’

And forget Faramir never did.

One evening, the younger brother entered the crypt again, bowing to the alcoves and following the trail leading him to his mother. He bent to place a kiss upon her statue’s brow and rested a hand upon the slab.

‘Good evening, Mother,’ his solemn voice echoed throughout the halls. With a sigh, he stared down at the cloven horn between his unsteady hands. ‘I fear that I am a bearer of unfortunate news.’

He lay down beside the effigy, no longer tiny next to it, but his head and legs reaching beyond those of the bronze figure. His chest heaving with sorrow, Faramir clutched the horn to his heart and wept for his brother.

#This idea made me cry #Writing it made me cry #I sincerely hope that you will cry too #You have no proof of me being obsessed with Faramir #He was SO never mentioned in any of the prompts this week #Naaaaaaaaah #lotrweek #Boromir and Faramir #More like Broromir #Faramir #Boromir #Denethor #Denethor's A+ parenting #brothers #siblings #family #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #brothers being brothers

[crescentfool]

guys. isn't being alive so cool. there are. so many swag people in my life. some of them don't even know i exist but i know that they exist and they're doing cool shit and i look at them with fondness that's enough for me.

the people who do know that i exist are also wonderful and i cherish them so much beyond human comprehension its unreal to me that in another lifetime i wouldn't know such splendid souls but they are here with me now and i think that's all that matters.

and there's so many cool little creatures and animals and plants and whatnot and even if i don't know shit about them i think its so cool that somewhere out there these things spark whimsy and joy and breathe life into people that their brain is like a cozy little library of encyclopedia knowledge.

the way in which life can take us on so many fun journeys and paths even if it may not look like anything to us in the moment i think it's so fucking neat to be able to walk this path and that even in hardship there will be good for us eventually and stories to tell for getting through these things.

guys i love being alive im so happy i love life and i'm so glad that i can feel a depth of emotions because it means i can be grateful for so many cool things like this.

i hope you all have something to love in life too you are so epic and swag for reading this and i think you will absolutely be able to skyrocket out of the universe to do the thing you want to do. keep on keeping on fellow humans!!!

#lizzy speaks #i needed to get this out somewhere #today on lizz exists i am feeding my brain nutrients #i have been neglecting to give my brain positive messaging so i put myself in a rut on an accident :c #i hope everyone can be compassionate to themselves! you are so cool. tell yourself nice things u deserve it #there is so much joy in being niceys not only to others but to urself #i think being alive is so beautiful sometimes i feel so strongly about things it makes me want to cry from how wonderful life is #do i need to post this? no. but i want to. this is a moment of lizz brain to be preserved methinks #and it makes me very happy when other people can enjoy being alive. i sincerely hope the people around me and the ones that i may not be- #able to see in this instant can be happy too. happies for everyone!!!

[happyfeetfuryroad]

Also you know what's fucking bizarre

I've seen a couple people nitpick Ed and the crew's reaction to his death saying that they didn't think they looked sad enough (?????)

Like I understand they're all still processing their favorite character dying and emotions are still running high but like. I don't think these people understand how grief works outside of hollywood movies

(and also Edward was literally bawling his eyes out as he was dying in his arms what the fuck are you talking about)

#like not to get too personal about this but #ive had to grieve a number of people i loved deeply #and i did not shed a single tear or show any outward sign of despair #because that's something that happens sometimes!! #how much you cry isn't necessarily proportionate to how severe the loss was #i've cried for ridiculous things and i've been completely stoic during massively traumatic events #the brain just does that sometimes #of all the things you could be nitpicking this is one of those that worry me because like #i sincerely hope you don't scrutinize people irl like this #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers

[arthur-r]

hi so this started as a life update and then turned into a major vent and i am very sorry so i am putting it under a cut. content warning for medical stuff and surgery and also college and also generally being upset

oh hey arthur update the medical issues i’ve been vaguing about for the past like week are officially not life threatening or anything and will be getting resolved in a surgery this tuesday. so recovering from that will be a super fun way to spend the last three weeks leading into my senior year, which i really badly overbooked with babysitting nearly every day and working my pizza job extra hours, both of which jobs are the kind where just calling in sick for one day causes actual problems for real people in ways that other jobs maybe wouldn’t. so i’m taking off both my jobs on the actual day of the surgery but otherwise i’m just. powering through it all

#starting on monday i’m taking on a whole other family to babysit on top of everything else!! wasn’t planning on a surgery in the midst #on the bright side maybe the money i make from the extra work will maybe possibly kinda sorta make a dent in the fees for all the #surgery and appointment costs even my fifteen minute visit at the cvs pharmacy cost a hundred freaking dollars #so umm let’s hope that the working i’ve been doing this summer amounts to a little more than just. not being in debt #also the family i babysit for hasn’t texted me back after i told them i had to schedule the surgery during a time i was supposed to be #babysitting. and i think they will understand but i feel terrible because they’re supposed to be able to count on me #and i also don’t want them to know i have a surgery because then they will ask me questions and i want my relationship with this family #to start and end with how i do puzzles with their kids. i don’t want to talk to them about scary personal stuff #plus what if they try to send me a care package or something they think i’m a cis girl named ari they wouldn’t know they have to be discreet #and i don’t want people irl to know about the surgery before it happens because then they’ll ask to see it and i don’t want them to see it #because at work i’ve been wearing a mask and nobody knows i’ve had a potentially cancerous growth for a freaking month #and anyway it’s not cancer or anything it’s just my stupid macrophages but i don’t want people to see it or talk to me about it until it’s #gone. in other news my older sister starts college on monday at the local community college that i will probably go to despite my efforts #so. no anxiety here tonight why in the world would i be terrified about anything right now what are you talking about how could there ever #(/s) #i sincerely hope everyone here is doing okay. i am sorry for kind of venting but i have been holding this stuff in a little bit too long #two people total outside from me and my family know what’s going on and i’m not looking to have any more irls find out #but i am bursting at the seams and a little bit terrified. not to mention the stupid college everything piling up on me right now it’s just #a little bit much. anyway the medical world is ridiculous and stupid and if i have to be on hold with one more surgeons office i will cry #and i’m just kind of here. i’ll put a thing at the top so that nobody has to read this. and trigger warnings and everything #and i really hope everyone is okay i am sorry for being a little too much right now #vent tw #medical tw #ask to tag #anyway i’m going to bed really soon i just. really really needed to yell about how much everything is. even if it’s going to get fixed #me. my post. mine. #delete later

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

#yandere jjk #yandere #yandere gojo satoru #dark content #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #gojo satoru #reader insert #afab reader #bullying #harassment #forced relationship #tw: dubcon #tw:noncon

[xiax]

#PRAISE !

;feat. gepard, jingyuan, blade, welt, dan heng, + luocha/afab!reader

;cw. praise kink, sexual content, no gendered prns used

a/n. i didn't get the welt fic done but i hope that this will make up for it <3

contents on individual characters parts!

all characters presumed to be 18+. minors do not interact.

cw: pussywhipped!gepard, wet&messy, squirting

! GEPARD — heady, slurred praises babbled out in the heat of pleasure.

The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your wet little pussy was intoxicating. Every time he sunk balls deep, you would gush messily around his cock. Just the sight of that creamy ring around the base of him had his head spinning, making him feel like he was drunk.

All the exhaustion that he had come in with from a hard few days of work completely evaporated the second he walked through the door and had you pawing eagerly at him. You whimpered and whined so sweetly, telling him all about how you had been wet all day, making a mess in your little panties and that you needed him to finally satiate you. 

He knew you had been playing with yourself long before he had come home. Your pretty pussy was so sensitive and messy, swollen and open from your own fingers working you open in hopes of achieving an orgasm even close to the kinds your precious boyfriend could give you. 

He was all too eager to pin you down to the bed, a firm hand around your throat to keep you still as he bullied his fat cock into your needy little cunt.

“O-Oh, so perfect…” he mumbles, words slurred. He supports his weight over your body with both hands on either side of your head, trembling fingers digging into the silken sheets. His head head between his shoulders, gaze locked onto the sight of his thick cock filling you up over and over again, “Y-You’re so…so good…fuck…oh my god…you’re perfect, sq-squeeze me like that again. Oh, please! Fuck, it feels so good, you feel so good…”

His mouth runs endlessly, eyes rolling back until only the whites are visible when he feels your cunt seize around him in yet another orgasm that he eagerly fucks out of you. Drool runs down the side of his mouth as he whimpers, hips swinging erratically as you continue to cum and cum around him.

“Th-That’s it…” he babbles, “f-fuck…so good…you’re doing so good. C’mon, gimme another one…please…”

Your voice raises even higher in pitch and you tremble beneath him as works another orgasm out of you with terrifying ease. Every thrust had him bumping against your clit, the sensitive little bud not able to take much more as you messily squirt around him with a sweet cry of his name. 

“That’s what you needed, right?” he whimpers, cheeks flushed red as he continues to fuck every little jet of cum you have to squirt out for him, “N-Needed me to make you cum like that? C-Can’t make yourself squirt, can you? Fuh-Fuck, you’re so good for me, oh god!” 

It’s all he can do as he finally reaches his own end, filling you up perfectly with the load you earned. 

cw: slow n deep :pensive:, dacryphilia, wet&messy, a lil orgasm denial, squirting as a treat

! JINGYUAN— sincere praises through gritted teeth

Sex with Jingyuan was never fast and rough. He took his time. Slow, deep agonizing thrusts that knocked the breath out of your lungs with every downward thrust of his hips. He filled you to the brim and then some. His heavy, aching balls snug against your ass as he had you pinned beneath him with your legs spread nice and wide so he could get as deep as he could. He gripped your body ferociously, blunt nails digging into your thighs where he pinned them down so he could have full access to your needy little cunt.

You were panting, a sheen of sweat coating your body. You were a mess compared to your lover who still looked as put together as he had when he had barreled his way into your home, eager to get his hands on your soft skin. He had already fucked two orgasms out of you while he hadn’t even had one – the stamina of a general was nothing to scoff at. 

“Oh, you feel so good, huh?” he pants, his clenched jaw and tense tone the only give away that he was feeling as much pleasure as you were, “I know you do. You’re doin’ so good for me, honey. Taking everything I give. So sweet for me.”

You whine and thrash beneath him as he nudges that tender little spot deep inside you that only he could reach with such mind-numbing accuracy. He was the only one who could have you teetering on the edge of orgasm without touching your clit. It makes you cream around him, a milky little ring around his cock that has the breath stuttering out of his chest. 

“Are you gonna come?” He pants, eyes briefly rolling back before he gives you a soft grin, “Go on. Feel good for me. That’s it, sweetheart.”

You dazedly nod your head, reaching forward to cling to him -- needing him to ground you through the almost painful pleasure. You were wound taut, eyes wide and teary as he fucked you. 

He knew you were close but made no changes to his pace. Those same, slow, deep thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs and allowed him to graze every nerve ending inside you. He kept you hanging on, each deep swing of his hips burying himself to the hilt in your creamy little cunt. You were making a bigger mess with every passing second. 

He chuckles, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’ve already cum around my cock. You haven’t, have you? You’d tell me if you came, right?”

Such teasing words had your cheeks burning hot but you whined, “D-Didn’t cum. I-I’m close. Please, Jingyuan, make me cum!”

He chuckles softly, a charming little sound that makes you feel like you have a crush on your own boyfriend, “I’m working on it, sweetheart. All you have to do is let go, c’mon. Don’t you want to be good for me again?”

You sob, still teetering on that edge that you can’t seem to fall over. You find yourself reaching towards your clit, trembling fingers dangerously close to the bud -- all you would need is one little touch and you would cum so hard around him. 

But your boyfriend intercepts your hand and shakes his head, fluffy hair jostling around his face as he does.

“None of that, honey. You don’t need that, do you? You can cum just around my cock, you did it before!”

You wail and sink back into the bed, tears overflowing your eyes as your boyfriend basically torments your oversensitive body. But he was right, you could cum like this. You just needed to be a little more patient and he would get you there. He always did.

A few more deep, well-aimed thrusts (a show of mercy on you when he realized just how hard you were trying to cum for him) finally had you gushing. Your pretty little pussy squirting all around him, soaking the general’s chest with your cum like a little badge of honor that only he could wear. 

“Good, see? I knew you could do it!” he breathes, adjusting his position so he hovered over your body, pretty hair falling like a veil around the two of you, “Now give me another one.”

cw: mean!blade, secretly soft!blade, a lil hurt/comfort, riding, a lil choking, minor degradation 

! BLADE — earned praises that he makes you work for.

You sat on his lap, stuffed nice and full by his fat, heavy cock. His sharp eyes looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you clumsily bounce on his lap. You were dripping down his length, strings of your cum sticking to his skin, making a mess that he had yet to even comment on. 

He could tell you were getting tired, a little furrow in your brow as your thighs burned from the work of moving yourself up and down without his help. Without so much as a supportive hand on your waist. He knew he was being a little mean to you today. But how was he supposed to resist when you looked so pitiful and hopeless as the ache in your body began to overtake any pleasure you were able to give yourself.

You were never able to fuck yourself as good as he could, after all. 

Just as your pace started to slow, your morale plummeted when all he did was stare blankly at you – as if you weren’t even there. As if he wasn’t even feeling any pleasure from your walls squeezing and drooling around him…

“What’s wrong?” he teases, faux disappointment apparent in his tone, the first thing he’s said since he pulled you into his lap telling you to ride him, “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already, hm? But you were doing so well.”

Your pace falters immediately and you drop down onto his lap a little too hard, making him bump your cervix. You whine and wince, the deep ache not at all pleasurable. 

Blade can’t keep up the cruel façade he’d been tormenting you with in that moment. His hands leave from where they had been laid across the back of the couch and quickly grabs your waist, jerking you up further so he’s not buried as deep in you anymore. You let out a little breath of relief when he’s not pressing painfully against your cervix any longer. 

He hums softly, keeping his hands on your waist. His thumbs stroke against your soft skin and he tilts his head to the side as you stare at him with wide, affectionate eyes.

“Look how cute you are...do you like being praised that much?” he asks, smirking when you eagerly nod your head, placing your hands on his shoulders for balance before you begin eagerly fucking yourself on his cock again – with renewed vigor. He lets himself groan at the feeling, head falling back against the couch, “That’s perfect. You’re doing so good now, look at you. Keep going, make us come.”

Your orgasm washes over your suddenly and violently. He almost lets his mask slip at the shock of having you cum so suddenly. He grips your hips and forces you to grind against him through your high, your head falling back as your entire body twitches through the high. You almost lose your balance, teetering backwards on his lap before he cups to back of your head and pulls you to his chest, letting his cock pop free before you settle against him, panting and trembling. 

“Did you cum from me praising you?” he asks, raising a brow when you nod your head shyly, “Well...isn’t that just precious?”

He bares his teeth and with a surprising show of strength, he flips you over and pins you by your throat against the cough, eagerly stuffing his cock back into you. You’re so sensitive that having him back inside you suddenly makes your thighs jump, attempting to push him out. But he lays his body flush against yours, chest to chest as he slowly begins to work his hips against yours. 

“Be good and cum for me again, yeah?”

You sob and with a few more thrusts and whispered praises, you’re seizing around him again. He glances between the two of you, seeing the sticky, creamy mess you’ve made against him that sticks to him in messy strings.

“You’re so pathetic,” he sneers, “Cumming like that all over me. You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

cw: size kink, reassurance, soft!welt. spit as lube, a lil pain

! WELT — reassuring praises when you struggle to take him

The tears in your eyes made his heart ache – especially because he knew he was the cause of your pain. He was just too big, a little too long to nestle comfortably within you and too wide to avoid that burning, stinging pain that came with being stretched far past your limits. 

Your hands shoot out suddenly, pressing against his chest to stop him from moving any closer. He could feel your walls twitching and struggling to open up around him. 

“T-Too much!” you whine, voice tight and slurred.

He sighs and pulls back, the feeling of his cock pulling out leaves you winded but you relax against the bed when he sits back on his heels. His hands gently hold you beneath the knees, keeping you spread open for him as he waits for you to catch your breath. 

“Would you like to stop for the night?” he asks, no hint of irritation or impatience to be found in his voice. 

It wasn’t like this was uncommon. There had been plenty of nights where it had just been too much to take him and you both found other ways to get off. He didn’t mind it, he understood that sometimes it hurt more than it felt good. He was patient and understanding, always making sure to put your comfort before his pleasure. 

But you shook your head, a sheen of sweat covering your body, “N-No…want you, Welt. Please, l-let’s try again.”

He sighs softly, pretending like he doesn’t feel his cock throbbing at you whining for him. You didn’t want to go to sleep tonight without that soreness between your thighs. You knew once you got over the pain of being stretched, once you got used to him, it would feel incredible and you would be able to cum around him as much as you needed. That’s what you wanted tonight and you weren’t going to give up like you had the last few nights. 

He reached over to the bedside table, and you whined, shaking your head.

“W-We’re out…” you mumble, knowing he was going for the lube the two of you kept stashed away. 

Hearing this, he sighed again and sat back, gripping you beneath the knees before tugging you closer. You squeaked when you found your lower half perched up on his thighs, leaving you completely open and exposed to his piercing gaze. 

His thumbs spread your folds apart, giving him a perfect view of your drooling little hole and swollen, throbbing clit that he feels he’s neglected for far too long. 

He puckers his lips and you almost moan out loud when he spits noisily onto your cunt. He does it twice before gripping his cock, using the head to smear his spit around before he’s carefully pushing in once more. 

You whine, grappling onto the sheets as he ever so carefully inches in. He’d already stretched you a bit from his attempt to penetrate you earlier so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

Still, the burning sting was as present as ever and you couldn’t help but cry out as he reached halfway. 

“Sh-Shh…” he breathes, brows furrowed in concentration as he works you wide open, “Y-You’re doing so well. Slowly…” he whispers the last thing, mostly to himself as the pleasure of your warm, wet walls wraps snug around him, “Good job. J-Just a little more…be good for me…”

Despite the way you squirmed and whined, trying to run from the overwhelming sensation of being fucked open, he didn’t stop until he was buried as deep as he could go. If you wanted it so bad, then who was he to deny you?

As he carefully worked you open, he stroked your hard clit with a rough thumb. Your thighs jump at the stimulation and you whine, wide eyes finding his stern gaze.

“W-Welt...” you gasp, biting your lip as you find your orgasm creeping up on you. You knew what was coming -- the tactic he resorted to when he was particularly resolute in getting his cock inside you.

He grunted softly at the call of his name, gaze focusing back on the sight of your greedy cunt swallowing down a cock far too big for you. Your clit was slippery and hard under his touch, painfully neglected in favor of stretching you open with his fingers earlier during foreplay. 

He always felt a little bad leaving such a pretty little part of you without attention. Perhaps he should do it more because the way it had you squeezing around him made your walls suck him in much easier. 

And as you finally came around him, allowing him to reach the deepest part of you, he watched and felt as your pretty clit twitched under his thumb with every spasm of your walls through your orgasm. 

He was truly enamored with you. 

cw: shy!dan heng, possessive!dan heng?, love making tbh 

! DAN HENG — shy, sweet praises whispered for you and you alone

You were in his room, on the little futon he had set up right there in the archive. What had turned into a sweet little session of spending time together morphed into sharing sweet kisses. Those kisses became more and more heated until you were practically teary eyed and grabbing his wrist to shove his hand into your wet little panties. His fingers eagerly played with you, stroking the firm bud of your clit and working your walls open to prepare you to take him.

You were just so sweet for him, how was he supposed to deny you when you wanted him so earnestly?

His body was draped over yours, your legs wrapped snug around his lithe waist. One hand was laced with yours as he slowly rocked in and out of you. You were so wet, noisy squelching noises accompanying his movements. The sound was so lewd that he felt his cheeks heating up. The thought that he was the reason you were so worked up was enough to make his head swim.

He leaned down, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. You whined into his mouth, wrapping your feet arm around his neck to tangle in his soft, dark hair. He gasped at the taste of you on his tongue when you eagerly licked into his mouth. 

“D-Dan Heng…” you whisper, tossing your head back when he touched that sweet little spot within your walls, “Oh please, I-I wanna cum.”

He nods, his cheeks burning hot at the feeling of you clinging so sweetly to him. It brought out a soft, protective side of him when you let your walls down in this most vulnerable of moments with him. Your cute little voice as you begged for him to give you pleasure. He was purely and completely enamored by you. 

“Y-You can…” he whispered, wincing when he heard how his own voice wobbled, betraying just how flustered you had him, “W-Whenever you want. However much you need.”

You just whine softly, blunt nails biting into his shoulder blade. He winces at the feeling but doesn’t make any moves to stop you – he would proudly wear any marks you left on him in this moment with pride.

The fact he was here with you, sharing this precious, intimate time together was enough to make his heart race. He was so in love with you. Completely overtaken by everything that was you. He had your face buried in his neck, your fingers laced between his, your arm wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible, and he was buried in your body as deep as he could possibly be. 

Everything about this moment was to be cherished and if he could take a mental snapshot of how you looked he would. You were something to be worshipped in his head. The only one to get past his highly built walls. The only one he would ever allow himself to have in this special way.

“N-need you to make me cum!” you whine, thighs twitching around his waist as he slammed into you harder than he intended at those words. He bumped your cervix, making you wince but he carefully kissed your forehead in apology. 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and adjusted his stance on his knees, making sure to grind against you with every deep thrust he delivered, catching that swollen, neglected little clit in a way that had your eyes rolling back and your cunt creaming eagerly. 

He loved that the most, seeing the way your body so clearly responded to him. He liked to imagine that you could never make yourself drool and gush the way he could -- though he would never gain the courage to actually ask. For now, he was content with believing that he had the biggest effect on your body; the only one who could have that pretty ring of milky white wrapped around him.

The squelching of your pussy got louder and louder the closer you got, drooling messily around him to let him know just how close you were – as if he couldn’t feel how tightly you clenched and spasmed around him. Little, sticky strings stuck hos his thighs and hips, breaking away every time he pulled back only to reappear when he stuffed himself back inside you.

“G-Good…” he breathes, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it, “You’re doing so good. Go on, let go for me. I-I’m right here. Be good for me, sweetheart.”

You come around him with a loud cry that has him quickly slapping his hand over your mouth so no one would hear. This moment was for the two of you and you alone. He wouldn’t let anyone be a part of it.

cw: mating press, mean!luocha, lots of clit attention smh i am who i am, little one as a pet name, dacryphilia 

! LUOCHA — teasing, condescending praises that make your eyes teary and your cheeks hot 

“Oh what’s the matter, little one?” he coos, tone dripping with condescension. It makes you want to curl up and hide away. You would if your lover didn’t have you beautifully pinned down with your knees against your chest. His cock was buried as deep, to the base with his balls firmly pressed against your ass. 

He wasn’t moving, however. Completely stationary as your pretty pussy sat stretched and stuffed with him.

“You must tell me what you want before I can give it to you,” he says, pretty, blonde locks framing his face perfectly with the light behind him making it look like he had a halo. 

He was truly a thing of beauty. Coincidentally, he thought the same as you as you laid beneath him completely naked and vulnerable with an open, drooling little cunt wrapped around him making a mess of everything around it. 

“P-Please!” you beg softly, tearily staring up at your lover. 

He cocked his head to the side and grinned, a teasing, cruel little smile that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Please what?” he asks and you practically sob.

“M-Make me feel good!” you cry in frustration.

He felt so big and hot inside, twitching you filling you so well. But he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t giving you what you needed. Instead, he played dumb and acted like he didn’t know how to make you cum your brains out night after night. 

“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so?”

You sigh in relief at his words, thinking he was finally going to properly fuck you. But instead, all you felt was a firm thumb pressing down on your clit. Your legs twitched and your toes curled as he slowly worked the bud under his finger, the hard little bud slippery and so sensitive as he strokes it with practiced precision. 

“L-Luocha!” you wail, eyes rolling back in your head.

The feeling of simply being speared open on his fat, heavy cock while he worked your tender little clit to orgasm was mind numbing. Luocha felt dizzy – he could feel your walls flexing and drooling around him as he carefully played with your clit. 

“What is it, hm?” he coos, meanly tapping the bud with his thumb to make your body twitch. It was like he was playing with you like you were just a little toy, “Isn’t this what you asked for? For me to make you feel good? And it does feel so good doesn’t it? Go on, tell me.”

Tears drip down the side of your face as you mindlessly nod, wanting so badly to squirm to stir that precious cock inside you just a little but he had you completely pinned at his mercy.

“Feels so good! Oh, it feels good, Luocha! I-I’ll cum! Please make me cum!”

“Ah,” he sighs happily, “That’s my good little darling. You know how to behave so well don’t you? So good for me. Go on, cum for me. Make me proud and I might just make you cum again…all over my cock.”

His words set you off and before you knew it, you were wailing his name and twitching beautifully on the bed as you covered him in sticky cum. His mouth fell open, unable to hold himself back from moaning as he watched you lose yourself so sweetly all from him playing with your pretty little clit. 

“Oh, you are such a perfect little thing for me.”

@xiax // do not modify or repost.

#hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gepard smut #gepard x reader #jingyuan smut #jingyuan x reader #blade smut #blade x reader #welt yang smut #welt yang x reader #dan heng smut #dan heng x reader #luocha smut #luocha x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard landau smut #welt smut #welt x reader #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

the things you do for love ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?” he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

and it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him. 

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time. 

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips. 

he can’t be serious. 

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly. 

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice. 

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week. 

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it. 

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him. 

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could. 

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package — 

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt. 

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit. 

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards. 

but no — he wanted you to wear it. 

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?” 

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too. 

”— because you love me?” 

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly. 

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?” 

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble — 

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak — 

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer. 

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?” 

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly. 

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows. 

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t. 

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love. 

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all. 

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh. 

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant. 

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this… 

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate. 

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry. 

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.” 

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings. 

it’s a perfect fit. 

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit. 

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves. 

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute. 

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?) 

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

 ”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses. 

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together. 

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer. 

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear. 

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected. 

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.) 

”… why aren’t you saying anything?” 

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet. 

he’s completely stunned. 

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck. 

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy. 

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal. 

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears. 

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens. 

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle. 

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration. 

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look. 

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression. 

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.” 

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear. 

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted. 

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters. 

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet. 

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all. 

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips. 

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins. 

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. 

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin. 

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying. 

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink. 

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile. 

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!” 

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible. 

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there. 

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful — 

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

#satoru ”my girl look so good today im abt to scream and moan and throw up” gojo #he is so husband coded to me. so unbelievably babygirl #he would absolutely wear a maid dress if u asked him to btw. and he would rock that shit so hard. #just……. gojo in a dress………….. breathe if u agree #im a firm believer in flustered satoru also….. #it wouldnt happen often but if u act cute enough i just think smth in his brain stops working #and he grins rly wide and tries to cover his face w his hands so you wont see how much hes blushing. if u tease him more he squeaks #who said that. #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

[massacredkitty]

hi kitty could u pretty please write clit slapping with abby … she’s so heavy handed and it makes me crazy !!!! i hope u have a lovely day

female reader x abby anderson nsfw under cut

oh my god her hands are so biiiig and heavy like they'd cover your whole cunt so easily

so when it suddenly comes down with a hard slap, you cry out and clamp your thighs around her wrist, tighten around nothing.

abby huffs, "keep your legs open." you whimper but obey, letting your shaky fall back against the bed. she had been teasing you for so long, her touch only ever ghosting over where you desperately needed it.

you don't whine or beg, knowing it'll only provoke her to further your torture. you just hope she'd get bored or take pity.

you roll your hips against the palm of her hand, fisting at the bedsheets as she applies more pressure to your achey cunt. n all you can do is pant and rut against her.

abby is amazed by you, always worrying that her roughness would be too much, or would scare you off.. and yet you let out a sob when she pulls them away from your warm skin. her hand is covered in your slick, some running down along the veins on her wrist, and it washes all her worries away

maybe you'd be embarrassed if not so horny, instead you just lose all morals and promises. "abby— please, please baby..." it's not much, but god does it turn your girlfriend on like crazy.

she leans down to press a little kiss to your knee, catching you off guard when her hand comes down on your clit again. you wince, hips raising off the bed as your head rolls back into the pillows.

she hums, rubbing small circles onto the swollen button of nerves to ease the burning pain. "my poor baby, i'm sorry."

it's not sincere, you can just about hear the smug smile displayed across her face. but all you want is for her to keep going.

#MASSACREDKITTY .ᐟ #🐾 rqs ྀི #abby anderson fic #abby anderson imagine #abby tlou smut #abby anderson x reader #abby smut #abby is a lesbian #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x you #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou drabble

[joonsytip]

Only for Love || Mingyu [Teaser]

Pairings: Mingyu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Husband!Mingyu, Cold Wife!Reader, Arranged Marriage au, Contract Marriage au, Divorce au

Synopsis: When an accidental discovery has your perception of happy married life crumbling down, you do what you think is the best for everyone involved. Naturally, your opinion of the best doesn't cater to your husband's. So what happens when things spiral out due to unforeseen events?

Warnings: Reader is cold but also shy, Mingyu is gullible and impulsive, lack of communication, misunderstanding, miscommunication, reader is objectified once, hurt, crying, profanities, mentions of divorce, sexual intimacy, mentions of pregnancy, rest will be specified under the part when published

Main story out now checkout here!

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

"Let's get divorced."

When Mingyu came home late at night to see you awake and waiting for him, there was an uncanny feeling that settled within.

Your hands are crossed, face void of any expression. If not for your next words, Mingyu would think he's hallucinating.

"We can decide on the terms and clauses, all as per your convenience.", you stress, "I do not expect any trouble from your side."

Mingyu finally registers everything you have said till now and everything hits him all at once.

"W-What are you talking about? Why do you want a divorce all of a sudden?"

Your monotonous tone rather asks him another question, "We have been married for over two years, nearing it's third anniversary. Do you want to be tied in this marriage?"

Though Mingyu thinks he doesn't know you well enough but he knows you enough to catch the wind of your words.

His gaze turns towards his office room and his suspicion confirms to be correct when he sees the door opened ajar.

"Why did you enter my office? I had clearly warned you about not doing so.", he says in a strict voice.

"That doesn't answer my question.", you say getting up, "Anyways it doesn't matter anymore, I want you to move out of our shared bedroom right now and shift to the guest room. I'll get a lawyer, you get one too and proceed with the divorce."

As you turn back, you feel your husband's hand wrap around yours.

"How are you so calm? Why are you not asking me anything? Do I really mean nothing to you?", you hear a string of questions falling out of his lips, "We are married for almost three years now and your cool headedness after, I'm assuming, knowing everything makes me aware of the fact that I really don't know you."

You jerk your hand out of his grip and turn back to look at him, "And how is that my fault? Maybe you've never tried to know me.", your voice drops another octave, "You can stop with the doting husband act, now that I know the truth."

Mingyu doesn't miss the way your eyes show vulnerability for a moment. Your words strike a chord within him.

"I'll sleep in the guest room.", Mingyu says in defeat, "And we're gonna talk it out tomorrow morning.", he sounds sincere when he says, "I'm sorry. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain everything."

But little does he know, you've already closed the room for any diversions, that you've decided to part ways with the person who has betrayed your trust.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

#only for love #kim mingyu #mingyu #seventeen mingyu #svt mingyu #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x y/n #kim mingyu x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #mingyu smut #mingyu angst #mingyu fluff #mingyu fic #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fanfic #seventeen au #svt au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt x y/n

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

[natsarrownecklacx]

New Friend Of Mine

Natasha Romanoff x Reader Venom Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 2,557

Summary: Natasha goes for a walk to cool down after a conversation with you doesn’t go the way she way she wants it to, while out she makes a new friend.

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, venom Natasha, degrading kink, oral, fingering, forced breeding, heaving breeding kink, choking.

2K Follower Celebration

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

Natasha sits in front of you, a heartbroken look on her face as she tries to take in your words.

She’d come into your shared apartment only moments ago, nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement, telling you that Tony had finally found a way to make it so you could carry Natasha and your biological child.

She was ecstatic, hopeful, damn near on the verge of tears with overwhelming joy. Now tears well in her eyes for another reason, one that has her feeling betrayed. 

You’d both made this plan together, had this dream together. The both of you, parents. Having your own little family to love and care for. Natasha wanted that with you more than anything. More than she thought she was even capable of wanting. She thought you wanted that too, you made her believe you wanted that to.

“It’s just not the right time.” You tell her, gently, as though talking to someone going through their first brush with grief or heartbreak. 

“I don’t understand.” Natasha sniffs, her teary eyes looking into yours and pleading with you for an explanation. “You said you wanted this. You- it was your idea to go to Tony with this. For us to have a child of our own. Do you not want kids anymore? Or do you just not want them with me?” 

Your eyes widen in shock, worry and guilt. She shouldn’t have to be upset because of your fears, you love her way too much for that. “No, baby. That’s not it at all.” You say, moving to straddle her and hold her face in your hands, knowing she needs your body close to hers for her to truly believe you in your next words.

“Natasha, I want nothing more than to have your babies. To spend the rest of my life with you. To raise and love our children together.” You say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. 

“Then why are you doing this? Why can’t we have our baby now, like we planned?” She asks, running her hands up and down your hips and holding you against her as if she’s afraid you’ll get up and leave. 

“I’m afraid.” You admit quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so afraid that if we have our baby now something terrible will happen and we won’t be able to protect them.” Your bottom lip threatens to tremble, a sure sign that tears are not far behind, but you bite down on it and will the tears to stay hidden. 

“I can protect you Detka.” Natasha pleads, barring her heart to you through her eyes and the way she wraps her arms around you so tightly, pulling you flush against her. “I would- I will protect you both with my life.” 

“And I would do the same for you, Nat.” You say honestly, hoping she can sense the truth in your voice. “But that might not be enough, from either of us and I just can’t- I can’t bear the thought of having a baby, our baby who we will both love with our whole hearts and then have them taken away from us.”

You can see the tears in Natassha’s eyes about to spill over, the sight making you want to cry with her. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, running the pad of your thumbs over the swell of her cheeks. “I just need time.” 

Natasha nods despondently. She’s trying to be understanding, she knows where you’re coming from and how you feel, she feels the same way herself. She just wants this so badly. “I understand, sweetheart.” She says, trying to put on a brave face but her voice still comes out dejected. 

“Nat, I-“ You try to explain yourself further, to comfort the woman in some way, but what else could you do, you’ve said everything you need to say and nothing she says will change how you feel. “I’m okay, Detka. You’ve not done anything wrong, I just need a minute.” She says, gently pushing on your  hips, signaling you to get up. You do and she moves towards the door, missing the look of panic on your face. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back soon.” 

She leaves. She just walks out the door. She doesn’t even look at you before she goes. You can’t help but feel hurt. Neither of you are in the wrong. You didn’t have a fight. But you can’t help but feel slightly abandoned, left sitting alone in your shared apartment. 

All the lights on, noise from the movie you’d abandoned when Natasha came in still playing in the living room, giving the impression of the place being full. 

The second you turn it off the silence is defining. You're alone. She left. She said she’d be back, but god only knows when that would be. So you go to bed, move one foot in front of the other on autopilot until you’re dressed in one of Nats big T-shirts and buried under a comfortable blanket. 

Natasha makes it about half an hour into her walk before she comes to her senses and decides she needs to go back home to her wife. She turns on her heel mid step, intent on making her way back home, when a russell in the bush beside her catches her attention. Just as the black widow would be, she was on guard straight away, ready for whatever would jump out at her

Something does, a mess of back and gray and so fast she can’t stop it before it goes right into her chest. 

—------------------------------------

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, silent, slow tears leaking down your cheeks and Natasha’s pillow held tightly to your chest and between your legs, trying to trick your brain into thinking she’s still there with you. 

It’s not until three hours later that you're woken to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the noise barely rouses you from your sleep, knowing it’s Natasha by the way she locks the door right behind her and walks toward the room with a barely audible footstep.

You groan quietly into the dark room and coil tighter around the pillow in your arms, you just want to sleep. Natasha opens the bedroom door quietly, stepping in and making her way over to the bed. She doesn’t say anything as she peels the blanket off your body, nor does she say anything as she takes in the sight of you beneath her. 

It takes no time at all for her enhanced eyes to adjust to the darkness, her green orbs drinking in the sight of you wearing nothing but her black oversized T-shirt. The pool of inky black in her orbs grows, spreading like the hunger, the need, she feels for you.

“Nat.” You complain, turning away from her and burying your face against the pillow beneath you. “It’s cold, gimme back the blanket.” She takes in a deep, greedy inhale through her nose, her heightened senses allowing her to smell the result of you rubbing your bare pussy against her pillow in your sleep. 

The lack of response from her frustrates you, the feeling of her bone chilling cold hands sliding up your warm thighs shocks you, the icy feeling making you jump and turn toward her with wide eyes. 

“Natasha!” You gasp exasperatedly. Usually you’d be all for a late night fuck with your wife but right now is not the time. Not when she just walked out and left. Not when ye haven’t talked at all and NOT when she’s so damn cold. 

Natasha’s body drops onto yours faster than you can perceive the movement. Her hand is covering your mouth, her thighs tight on either side of yours, tapping you against her as she pulls off your shirt. She’s so cold. 

Your eyes widen at her, confused by her actions. You can’t see her, the darkness of the room prevents you from doing so. Her free hand trails up the outside of your thigh, moving up ward slowly until and across until she’s cupping your wet folds. You moan against her hand, your hips squirming against her.

She lowers her head to be aligned with yours, her lips grazing your ear as she finally speaks to you, her voice coming out somewhat strained, deeper. “I’m so cold, Detka.” She whispers, moving her body between your legs, preventing you from closing them. “But you’ll help me warm up won’t you, sweetheart.” 

Your words are muffled against her hand as you try to ask what the actual fuck is going in, what’s gotten into her. But she cuts off your mumbles by sliding her, somehow seemingly longer and thicker fingers, into your wet heat. 

Your head slams back against your pillow, your back arching off the bed and into her body. It feels as if you’re burning, the one and only source of heat in this whole universe and she needs you. Needs to claim you, claim that heat, to keep her from freezing to death. 

“I need you, baby.” She groans against your ear. “I need you to thaw me out.” 

She moves her hand from your mouth, bringing it down to rest on your hips, using it to guide you to fuck yourself on her fingers. 

Her words confuse you beyond belief, but they all but go unheard as she slides her fingers in and out of you, moving her mouth to place open mouth kisses to your neck, down the valley of your chest and down your stomach until she’s taking your clit into her mouth. 

“Jesus C-Christ, Natasha- fuck.” You all but scream out, the added stimulation from her tongue swirling expertly around your clit driving you to a fuzzy headspace. 

One of your hands scrambles to grasp at the sheets as the other winds its way into Natasha’s hair, pulling on the stands in an effort to keep yourself grounded. 

The red head groans at the action and something’s about it sounds more primal, more animalistic then normal. 

“Natasha?” You pant, confusion and arousal clouding your brain, along with the remnants of sleep. 

“Shh detka.” She answers, pulling away from your clit as she nuzzles against your tummy. “I just need you to be good and let me fuck you.” She says firmly, yet somehow softly. 

Her actions along with her words sends your brain into a frenzy, a flood of arousal pouring onto her fingers and she moves her mouth back down, removing her fingers and allowing her tongue to slide its way inside you. 

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s long and wet and feels so, so good. You scream out at the intrusion, feeling more full then you thought could ever be possible just from her mouth. 

“Oh god.” You cry out, your hands gripping desperately at her shoulders, trying to find something solid to ground you. 

Natasha only pulls you closer to her, her hands gripping your ass and holding you against her as if she's afraid someone will come take her last meal from her. She fucks you with her long tongue, thrusting it in and out of you and alternatings to suck on your clit until you cum with an arch of your back and a scream. 

Natasha pulls away and trails kisses feverishly up your abdomen, nuzzling her head against you. “Now you're all ready for me.” She says, lifting your legs under the knees to stand them, your ankles resting only a few inches from the back of your thighs. 

“What?” You ask, panting, still out of breath from your previous orgasm. 

When Natasha doesn’t answer you furrow your brows, tilting your head up to look at her, your slightly adjusted eyes allowing you to see her outline as she unbuttons and unzips her pants. Before she slides them down her attention snaps to your face, her hand coming to wrap around your jaw and force your head back against the pillow. 

“Natasha!” You gasp, never having seen this side of her before. 

She brings her mouth to your ear, her hot breath hitting the side of your face, her hand still firmly around your jaw. “Stay down.” She orders and it's all you can do to nod in response as you hear her remove her pants and boxers. 

You feel her bare thighs press into the sides of your own, her fully naked body now positioned between your forcibly spread legs. You flick your eyes toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of what she's doing, only for your eyes to roll to the back of your head when you feel her push inside you. 

She's big, bigger than she's ever given you and so cold. The contrast of her cold cock sliding into your warm core sets your nerves alight, a whorish moan falling past your lips. 

“That's right.” Natasha says, pulling out and thrusting inside you again with more force this time. “Just take whatever I give you, like a good little whore.” She says, but it doesn’t fully sound like her, her voice different, deeper. 

You feel your stomach tighten at her words nevertheless, she's never spoken to you like that before and you didn’t think you’d like it, but you do. Your legs move from their standing position to around her body, the cold of her skin still shocking you a bit. 

Natasha quickens her thrusts, moving her hand on your jaw down to your neck, her movements stuttering when you moan and clench around her. “Fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, put a baby in you.” 

You don’t have a second to process her words before a hot thick spurt of cum shoots inside you, Natasha moving her free hand to your hip to hold you down as she uses you to ride out her high. 

It's not even seconds later that your own height crashes over you, sending your body through too many loops, your vision fades to back and your body goes limp on the bed. 

Natasha pulls out of you and stares down at the mess between your legs, using her fingers to push her seed back inside of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of it. 

She looks up and notices your unconscious state, a smile sliding over her face at the view. 

“Will it work?” Natasha speaks into the room, a black slimy, tendril creature emerging from her shoulder and materializing into a head next to her; venom. 

“I will work.” Venom confirms, nodding to the red headed woman before moving his gaze over to your sleeping form. “She’s so pretty when she’s asleep.” 

Natasha hums and nods in agreement. “I should have told her.” She mumbles, half ashamedly. 

“No.” Venom says, sliding back into Natasha’s body then taking his full form to hover over you. His big slimy hands run over your bare stomach, gently, hopefully. “She doesn’t need that kind of stress right now. We can tell her after the baby is born.” 

Natasha hums in agreement again, watching through venom's eyes as he tucks you into bed, one thought on her mind as she does so. 

Now nothing can stop her from protecting you and your child.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

A/n- I’ll be honest it’s not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but venom Nat is HOTTT so imma forgive

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #Natasha romanoff smut #venom natasha romanoff #venom Natasha romanoff x reader #venom x reader #venom #venom natasha romanoff smut

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞 the aftermath

✰ pairings: ot8!skz x gn!reader

✰ genre: fluff, a bit of angst and romance

✰ warnings: cursing, tears, aftermaths

✰ word count: 2k+ words

part 1

౨₊ৎ chan

it’s been a few days since the fight. and chan hated himself for saying those things which he shouldn’t have. regret was an understatement. even the members were aware of the fight since chan kept overworking and refused to go home out of shame. he promised himself that he would always protect you, and he felt himself collapse every time he remembered the fight.

truthfully, you weren’t much better as well. you missed him, you did. and you wished he would come back home sooner but you couldn’t muster the courage to say that to him. you knew he would be beating himself up for the fight, even though part of it was your fault as well. you agreed with it.

your heart leaped out of your throat when chan stood on the door, holding a bouquet of roses. and although he tried to do his best to smile, it immediately turned into a sob when he saw you.

“i’m so sorry baby. so so sorry,” he hiccuped, and rested his face on your shoulder and closed his eyes in relief, when he felt your familiar arms wrap around his torso and held him close.

“it’s not your fault entirely. it was mine as well,” you hushed out and pressed a kiss on his head, feeling him cry harder at this.

pulling away, he leaned his forehead to yours and let out a weak chuckle.

wiping away your tears he muttered, “god i love you so much.”

you giggle softly and press a kiss on his nose, “i love you more mr bang.”

౨₊ৎ minho

you laid face down on the bed, with hot tears spilling down. it had been two hours since the fight, but yet minho didn’t once dare to apologise. your eyes burned so much that it hurt.

a knock breaks you out of your session. with a hesitant step minho enters the room and feels his heart ache upon your state. gulping the lump forming in his throat he walks closer but gets shoved away when you stand up and push him out of the room out of anger. and he lets you. knowing he deserved it. his eyes show pain but he doesn’t stop you and finally looks down at you in the eye.

“minho you’ve said enough, please leave me alone for some time,” the moment the door slammed in his face, he dropped to his knees and let his tears flow.

“i’m s-sorry. i really am,” he whispered, leaning his head against the door and wiped away the tears but they kept flowing continuously.

“i didn’t mean to i swear,” his voice kept cracking but he tried to continue in hopes you could hear the despair and desperation in his tone.

“i feel horrible for hurting you kitten, i mean it. and even though i tend to appear closed off, i love you so much, i really do,” upon hearing his voice you had to bite your lips to muffle the sob threatening to escape.

sure you were angry at him. but you couldn’t just let him cry his eyes out on that cold floor. about 15 minutes later, with soft steps you opened the door and looked down at him. he was hugging his knees close to his chest, and looked so. . . lonely.

his eyes practically shone upon seeing you, but it disappeared when reality hit him that he was the one who caused this. he raised himself up, and slowly and very hesitantly wrapped his arms around you. he pulled you in his embrace and tucked your head in his chest, letting you cry. letting you release your anger at him.

he would do anything if it means he gets you back. if he can erase the mistake he made.

“i won’t ever let my anger control me. i promise,” he mumbled and you smiled softly. you believed him. his words held sincerity and so did his eyes.

you were just glad to know he would try his best to not let this occur again.

౨₊ৎ changbin

the next few days passed by a blur. you were doing your best at ignoring changbin and hoping he would realise his mistake. which he did all too soon.

“hey,” he greets you with a soft smile but receives silence which makes his smile falter but he tries to stay happy for you.

then he proceeds to tell you about his day but the moment you begin to get up, he can feel those silver tears dripping down.

he clutches the hem of your shirt in your hand, and backhugs you. leaning his forehead on your back he mutters, “don’t punish me like this anymore. i can’t t-take it. i’m very sorry baby. please. i promise to take you on dates weekly now, will that work?” his clutches your shirt tighter and forces you to turn around.

he lets out a soft scoff when he sees the tears on your face as well. cupping your face he mutters, “i’ll plan the dates from now on. you don’t need to. and i’ll reach an hour early if you want,” your chuckle makes him smile as well. with a soft sigh he presses his lips on your forehead making you breathe out in relief. war is over. finally. and you couldn’t be more thankful.

౨₊ৎ hyunjin

every day of his tour, hyunjin video called you for at least 2 hours. and you almost felt guilty for taking up that much time but then he reassured you that nothing’s wrong. wrong turned right. and his sincerity turned stronger if possible. he began showing you his love subtly and more often.

“i really am sorry,” he murmurs, twisting his head a bit to kiss the skin of your arm closest to him. “i hate fighting. didn’t mean to make you upset.”

he sat on the bed with you in his lap and hugged you tightly as if you would disappear if he let you go.

“hyunie, i’m not going anywhere you can let go of me now,” you laughed when you saw him whine and childishly shake his head in denial.

“no. never. do you not love me anymore?” his dramatic tone almost makes you laugh out loud but you decide to play along.

with a soft gasp you mutter, “that’s impossible! i love artist hyunjin so much.”

he blushes upon the nickname and looks at your hands intertwined with his.

raising it in the hair he smiles at the sight, “doesn’t this look like a perfect sight? which means we are perfect for each other.”

tackling you down to bed with hands poking your sides you giggled, and maybe it was just time he needed to take out for you.

౨₊ৎ han

“look what i got!” he yelled out loud, wiggling the plastic bag in his hands as he made his way over to you.

passing him a blank stare, you turn your head and continue watching the drama. you feel him sit beside you. you feel him stare at your face. you feel him shift closer to you till his knees are touching your. you also feel him grab your hand, delicately. you let your eyes wander over your hand and watch him touch your index finger, trace patterns which are out of nowhere and suddenly you’re snapped back by his soft sigh.

“i’m terribly sorry– i’m not asking you to forgive me, not that you would this sooner as i may or may not, no i may have committed the biggest mistake of my life by treating you that way. and i swear it may sound funny to you but i literally panicked when those words left my mouth. i felt like beating the shit out of myself because i still can’t believe that my own mouth could even utter words like that–” his words get cut off when you wrap your arms around his neck, practically choking him but he doesn’t care. a huge grin spreads across his face as he brings you closer to him.

he looks into your eyes as he says the next words, “i promise i’ll be a better version of myself. for you.”

౨₊ৎ felix

you drag yourself into felix and chan’s dorm building and sigh for upteempth time. it felt weird to come here with this unexpected reason. but you had to. you had to apologise to him and mend the things between the two of you before the matters took a toll for the worse. the door opens and there you see hyunjin, still rubbing his eyes. he must’ve probably woken up now, you let your gaze wander behind him, trying to find any hints of lee felix. but there’s none. though you do wonder what hyunjin is doing here. you bite your lip to stop yourself from asking that question and instead focus on felix.

“he’s in the kitchen,” hyunjin rasps out after having seemingly read your thoughts which makes you flush about how you were like an open book to him. walking into the kitchen you find felix whisking the eggs with all his strength and even managing to spill some out.

“lixie,” your voice comes off even weaker than you expected. but felix’s head snaps in your direction and only then do you notice his state. his dishevelled hair, flour stains on his cheeks and dried tears that break your heart. without letting him speak anything you crumble into his arms and hold him tightly.

“i’m sorry! i’m so sorry, my sunshine. i misunderstood you entirely. and i– god i just did the biggest mistake letting you walking like that,” and when you don’t feel his arms wrap around you, you pull back just to see him trying to control his tears. he doesn’t want to appear weak in front of you and that breaks your heart even more.

“it’s okay lixie,” was the last straw before he buried his head in the crook of your head and let himself go. lose all control of his emotions till he doesn’t have anything to hide. and at that moment, you swore you could feel at utter peace.

౨₊ৎ seungmin

you feel the bed dip beside you but you stay still, laying on your side with your eyes closed and pretending to be asleep. he lets out a soft sigh at something you can’t see and you resist the urge to turn around and observe him.

slowly, you feel arms pull you close to his chest and although you try to struggle, it’s of no use. he just hugs you tighter.

“i’m sorry. i really am,” his breath fans your neck as you speak and you try your very best to stay still and forgive him. but that wall cracks the moment you feel something damp against your shoulder.

you turn to look at him as he tries to hide himself but he’s too late. and now he’s afraid whether you’ll forgive him, judge him or throw him out. but he’s surprised when he feels you hug him and whisper it’s okay. his arms automatically wrap around you and he truly feels it. it’s okay.

౨₊ৎ jeongin

your phone keeps vibrating from jeongin’s texts and you try your best to ignore him until you see him walk on the road, looking like a lost kid searching for his mother. his eyes are red and puffy from crying and his throat probably aches too from asking random people about you.

you frown at the side and for some reason you can feel your heart ache. why? you’re not sure why. weren’t you supposed to stay angry at him until he begs for forgiveness? then why are your legs taking you to him? until you’re standing right in front of him and panting.

his eyes shine, but with sorrow and remorse. he tries to wipe his tears. tries to hide the fact as if he wasn’t just searching for you all around like a desperate person, but he fails. he looks down at his feet, unable to meet your eyes and feels the tears drip down his chin and on to the floor.

various words escape his mouth, some stuttered, some muffled while some he chose to say in his mind. but the only sentence you were able to understand was that he is sorry. and that he loves you and will wait until you forgive him.

he finally looks up, and he swore that he could’ve seen your lips lift and finally he could breathe normally again.

#ॱଳ͘ #k labels #straykids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #skx angst #skz scenarios #skz x gn reader

[lyv-writes]

OKAYY WE NEED DAD!SPENCER REID‼️

okay so Reader is going out for the day for like a little girls day with her best friends and says bye to Spencer and the cute little toddler! Buttt then the toddler starts missing reader and Spencer isn’t sure how to handle it at first, but then he gets the hang of it! <33

AAAA this is so cute omg thank u for this!!! i hope i was able to do it justice <33

spencer reid x mom!reader

words: 1,395

warnings: none really! just spencer being a good step-dad to your daughter, fluff, baby crying, that’s it!! :]

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

“Thanks again, Spence,” you say, pressing another sweet kiss to his lips before tugging your coat off the hook and making for the front door. “Remember, Lila is allergic to kiwi. And her bedtime is 8, no exceptions. She has to go to daycare tomorrow morning.”

You had spent the morning holding Lila, playing with her and soaking up her laughter as much as you could. Spencer knew you had never really been apart from her—going to work was one thing, but there was a guilt that came with taking the day for yourself. He watches with a fond smile as you ramble through the list that you had already repeated to him twice and does his best to reassure you, nodding along despite having already memorized it.

Pre-made food in the fridge.

Medical information on the fridge in case of emergencies.

Call if she gets too fussy.

“Oh!” You say, halfway out the door before turning back to Spencer, a smile gracing your face. “And don’t let her convince you to give her sweets after dinner. She’ll ask you for fruit snacks, all cute, then she won’t sleep and it will be hell in the morning.”

“No fruit snacks after dinner, got it,” Spencer said, following your line of sight to Lila sitting on her plush rug in the living room, toys surrounding her as she played. Your face softened, affection swimming in your eyes and he could practically hear the thoughts going through your head. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he gently guides your face back to meet his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, tone soft as your shoulders sag at the understanding behind his words. “You deserve to have a day with your friends. I think Lila can handle playing dolls with me for a few hours.”

His phrasing made you giggle, picturing Lila’s pouting face, wagging her little finger at Spencer when he takes something too literally, or doesn’t do it the way she wants. For some reason, Lila is never happy with the voices Spencer does, and after a year-and-a-half she still gets that same little pinched brow whenever Spencer holds a doll in his hand, high-pitched voice mimicking a princess’s until she yanks the toy out of his hand with a firm, yet cute, “No, ‘Penth.”

Without fail, hearing his name in her little voice makes his heart soar, pride filling his chest even if she’s scolding him, wagging her little finger as she says it. He’d always been hesitant at the idea of being a father, whenever he pictured his future that was always a blurry part, but now he couldn’t imagine not having you and Lila in his life.

Searching his face, you finally come to the conclusion that he’s being sincere and a bright smile covers your face. Spencer had come to terms a long time ago, far before the two of you were even dating, that he would do anything to make you smile. A sense of pride wells in his chest knowing that the smiles you give him are just for him, a special glint in your eyes every time.

Between work, and Lila, there was hardly any downtime to just relax. Your evenings were often spent wrangling Lila into bed, usually with Spencer if he’s not away for work. Spencer made it a point to be home in time to have dinner with both of you as much as he could, slowly getting involved in her night time routine. She was 6-months-old when you and Spencer began dating, and while it took some getting used to at first, Lila began reaching for Spencer with a giggle and a giddy squeeze soon enough.

When your friends suggested a girl’s spa-day, Spencer was quick to encourage you to go. Having a toddler made it hard to have a social life, especially when your friends weren’t moms themselves. Lila had warmed up quickly to Spencer, which was the biggest relief, and it was hard to find a reason to say no when Spencer offered to babysit.

“She’s gonna be my daughter,” Spencer said, a fond smile on his face as the two of you spoke conspiratorially in the kitchen. “I already think of her as mine, I’d be happy to watch her for the day.”

Your heart swelled hearing his words, and you couldn’t help but say yes when he put it like that. Spencer, you, and Lila being your own happy little family was all you could ever ask for, and it meant more than Spencer could ever know that he had been so welcoming and understanding. He was a dream.

With a final glance at Lila and a sigh, you’re pressing another unhurried kiss to Spencer’s lips, that same lil dazed smile on his face that he got after every kiss, even after nearly 2 years. “Thank you, Spence. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your forehead—you were gonna be gone all day, he had to get his fill while he could. “Now go before you miss your appointment.”

With a final kiss, Spencer watches as you walk down the front steps, drive away, waiting until he can't see your car anymore before he’s turning around and closing the door behind him. When he looks up, Lila is already looking at him, eyes glancing between the door and him before her small voice is heard over the cartoon playing on the tv.

“Mama?”

“Mama went to the store,” Spencer cooed, lowering himself down to sit on the floor in front of her and her array of toys. “She’s coming back, don’t worry.”

“Mama s’ore?” she whispered in her small voice, her wide eyes blinking slowly at him before her lip began to tremble. It broke his heart to see her eyes, which looked so much like yours, gloss over with tears.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Spencer said, scooping her up in his arms. “She’s coming back for you. She’ll be here soon!”

With a sharp wail for her mom, the tears that had been welling up began falling in big drops, hands gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt as she cried. Hurriedly, he began to bounce her in his arms, mimicking the way he had seen you do it countless times. He’s shushing her in a soft voice, whispering soothing words in the hopes that they’ll at least calm your crying.

Spencer wracks his brain, trying to sift through the information he had gleaned from the parenting books he had been reading for the past two years—he had started as soon as he came to the conclusion he would ask you out. Would showing her pictures of you work? He didn’t want to make things worse by making her miss you more, but maybe seeing your face would soothe her.

Transferring Lila to one hip, he fishes his phone from his pocket and opens the album of your photos, showing her various selfies, focusing on pictures he has of the two of you. After a couple of minutes her sobs quieted to sniffles and soon enough she was swiping through the pictures herself and giggling every time she saw your face.

With her swiping, it landed on a video, one he had taken of you reading a story to her before bed. At the time he had thought the voices you were using for the characters were so funny, hiding his own laughter behind his hand so that he could capture the sound of Lila’s giggles.

Spencer watches as she giggles along with herself, laughing at the way she reacts when you tickle her tummy. Spencer cant help the fond laugh the slips from his lips at the sight, bright grin tugging at his cheeks at your rosy smile.

When you arrive home that evening, only the kitchen light is on downstairs, the faint light from your bedroom guiding you as you softly push open the door. A warm smile paints your face as you slip your phone from your pocket, taking quite a few pictures of Lila, fast asleep atop Spencer’s chest, her favorite book lying next to his relaxed hand. His soft breaths rustle the hair at Lila’s scalp, her hand loosely gripping the edge of his sleeve as she sleeps.

Tip-toeing around the room, you shed your clothes from the day, slip on some pajamas before placing Spencer’s book on the nightstand. Slipping softly under the covers, you curl yourself around Spencer’s side, hand resting on Lila’s back as you fall asleep, comfortable with the people you love the most.

#theres a lot of firsts in this for me #but dad!spencer is so cute and sweet #thank you for this request!!! #my writing #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x mom!reader #criminal minds #lyv answers!

[billysgun]

forgiveness

billy the kid x cowgirl!reader..pt2 of loyal |requested!|billy finds you after you ran from the gang, and falls apart in your arms|

the dimly lit cabin warmed your bare feet as your nightgown tickled your ankles, hand running down to your bloated belly, a tiny bump only you'd notice.

you're in arizona territory. the trail was hard with throwing up the little food you had and protecting yourself and your horse from thieves and murderers.

you've been here before, the abandoned cabin way out from civilization, a one-in-a-million find.

so how did he find it?

you should have known. the heavy thumps of a horse you prayed would pass you, and the running to your door with frantic knocking.

you crept toward it, already knowing it was him from his newly stolen horse tied next to yours through the window. you took a breath and then opened it.

his eyes were red and swollen, tears rimming the edges. he flew towards you into a back-breaking hug, and your body melted as his scent enveloped you.

"I thought you were goin' to clear your head- I didn't know. I'm sorry I'm so sorry" he babbled into your hair, your gown wetting at the shoulder from his tears, but you didn't want them.

you didn't want his tears, his apologies, and certainly not his presence

"billy stop-" you whispered, but he shook his head as he faced you, hands still wrapped around your frozen body

"no, I went 2 weeks without knowing if you were alive." he stays adamant. your hands slowly push his off of you as his touch is too much to process, your hands find your stomach to try and calm you but his eyes follow and his shoulders relax at the sight of you showing

"billy, I'm not with them anymore." you reference the gang, trying to find any way on why this wouldn't work.

he said it wouldn't. he didn't choose this but you're the one pregnant, so, obviously you did, right? you haven't forgiven him.

"I'm not either. I'm not doing that anymore" he picks up your hands

"we can do this. we can get a cabin like this or a ranch. raise our child together" he talks like it's so simple. just forgive and forget. he's ready now, so what's the issue?

you stare at him dumbfounded. yes, you know maybe that entire last argument was a little reactive and reckless, he did just find out that second. but you found out that day, too. and the last thing you needed to hear was how he didn't want it.

"billy...why?" you whispered, head too full of different emotions of wanting to hug him, slap him, and cry. you end up doing the last thing as tears softly fall down your cheek and he drops your hands slowly

"...what?"

"why are you just saying this now?"

"because before I was scared. I didn't want you to get hurt and I didn't want some outlaw father raisin' our child."

"but I'm not just an outlaw. and I'm not a cowboy. I'm here, and I want this baby" he whispers sincerely, teary eyes never breaking with yours

it was honest, and it was real. and how the trail is 2 weeks travel, and you only got here late last night, he would've had to leave hours after you did.

"please, love. I'm so sorry" his thumb brushed your tears before hugging you gently

"ok." it was a small sob, but it was all that billy needed. he scooped you up and took you to bed where you both laid. recovering your love as your child grew.

an: you guys really wanted a part 2..so here it is! I hope you guys enjoyed it <3 ilysm!! THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH 💞

#billy the kid #tom blyth #billy the kid x reader #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #billy the kid 2022 #the hunger games imagine #william bonney #billy the kid imagine #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #corio snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coryo snow #coryo #president snow #coryo x reader #coryolanus snow #snow lands on top #snow x reader #tbosbas #thg fanfiction

[cheapshrimpysheep]

You Will Stop the Wedding! - Azul Ashengrotto

SUMMARY: YOU were the one being kidnapped by Princess Eliza to marry her. How would he react and how would he save you? With the aggravation of he already having a crush on you.

CHARACTERS: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Declaration

WORD COUNT: 1.110 words

Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia

Rescuing You - Deuce Spade; Jack Howl; Floyd Leech; Kalim Al-Asim

COMMENTS: What have I done? Why did I commit to writing this? And why did I write so much? Why was I so inspired? There were seven of them! Why do I do this to myself? So yeah, this took me a long time. But I hope it was worth it, for me and for you.

CONTEXT: Someone was kidnapped to marry some ghost princess and might end up turning into a ghost too. And he just found out that someone was you.

Azul had already offered to help if he had something in return. So when he heard your name, he managed to cover up his concern with that excuse.

When rescue groups are formed, he asks to be in the last one. He first needs to analyse the behaviour of the ghosts to try to figure out the best approach. He is extremely cautious, so he needs all the information he can get first. After all, it's your life that's at risk and he doesn't like to leave things to chance, especially something like this.

When it's the last group's turn, whenever someone needs to stay behind to tie up the ghosts, Azul asks one of the others to do so. And when they ask him why he doesn't stay behind, he starts bargain and trying to make deals with them. He manages to be the only one to reach the ceremony hall.

He followed the plan. He analysed the other teams' data and came up with the perfect approach by the ghost's standards. He even managed to reach her with a bouquet of roses in perfect condition.

He is a man of words, of many words, perhaps even too many words. At a certain point the princess asked him to stop talking. She says everything he says is very flattering. And you even recognize that way of speaking, it's very similar to the way he speaks to potential valuable clients. And perhaps because of that, the princess had realized that it was not sincere.

She was about to rejection-slap him when he asked for one last chance because he had a song to sing for her. She decides to give him this last chance because she was curious.

Surprisingly, there was a piano in the ceremony hall. He sat down, placed his fingers on the keys and began to play. It had a clear, bright, and uplifting sound. He really was talented at the piano. He started to sing, a love song, of course. However, more than in speech, it is in singing that his lack of sincerity would be even more easily captured. The song was a clarion love song, about strong feelings of love, joy, and hope. And the others could tell he didn't genuinely believe in what he was singing. He realized this too. That was his last chance.

Then, when the guards were preparing to take him away from the piano, he subtly changed the melody. And his own way of singing too, now it was starting to sound sincere. It got slightly sadder and in the lyrics he admitted he didn't believe what he had sung until that moment. That he never understood those songs, but that he always hoped that one day he would understand. And then he met “you”. He was singing in second person. The song talked about how the two of "you" had started off on the wrong foot, but that didn't stop "you" two from overcoming it. That didn't stop you from seeing something worthy in him, and from giving him a second chance. And it ends on a note of hope, but uncertainty. And it ends on a note of hope despite the uncertainty.

When he finished, the princess and some of the guards were crying emotionally. She starts to say how beautiful that song was, and he turns back to her, as if he had woken up, as if while he was playing he had forgotten what was around him. But he quickly regained his composure, and he went back to his act.

And one of the guards notices this. The guard who is in love with the princess. And he accuses Azul that that song wasn't for the princess. She starts to defend Azul, and this almost makes the guard take back what he said. But he said that Azul should prove it by saying some of those words looking directly into the princess's eyes. You, because you know him, noticed that Azul was slightly apprehensive, but accepted with a charismatic smile.

He went in front of the princess, took her hands, looked into her eyes and said one or two of the phrases from the song. And the tone was completely different from what he sang. Proving that music really wasn't for her. Shocked, she slapped Azul. But... he was still able to move.

Everyone gasps, including the princess. When the guards ask what's going on, the princess says it can only mean one thing. The thing is that her slap is capable of petrifying anyone, except those who have already found their true love. The reaction from all NRC students is like "What the F-?!" And Azul’s reaction was blushing, as if he had been caught.

The princess became even more depressed about that. His song was actually true, but it was for someone else. She starts to feel sorry for herself and that's when the guard starts to consulate her. Saying that she also has someone who feels that way about her. Him. And that whole ending of the princess realizing that she loved him too happens, they get married and happily ever after.

After everything and while the first-years were getting ready to tidy up and clean the cafeteria, you asked Azul to wait a bit. You leave the room so you can talk alone. You tell him that song was very beautiful and ask him who it was for. After all, that slap thing revealed that it was true and for someone. He blushes a little and acts like he's admitting something, reluctantly.

“I know I made the song more ambiguous so the princess would think I was singing about her, but I know you are more insightful than this.” You wonder out loud if he was singing about money or Mostro Lounge. “Wha-?! Who do you take me for?” He wasn't doing the act of acting offended, he genuinely seemed a little offended. “Do you really think I would love money as much as I love you?” and then, realizing what he had just said, he shuts up. And blushes even more. “N-No, w-wait, I...”

You laugh. He says, extremely embarrassed: “I just saved you, don't laugh at me like that!” You explain that you're not laughing at him, but more at the situation. You say that the way he spoke, in the heat of the moment, only revealed how truthful he was. And it was cute that he declared himself like that.

If you also tell him that you feel the same way about him, how you loved the song, eventually you will have to prove it with a kiss.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Ghost Marriage #The Phantom Bride: Love at First Fright #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader

[lipglossanon]

Kiss & Tell

Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

✨ and now its sequel: Infatuation ✨

for @nvoirs 💜 I hope you enjoy 🫣

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, stepcest, condescending Leon, muscle kink, teasing, kissing, dirty talk, grinding, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, spit kink, biting, creampie

not proofread ✍️

title from Kiss & Tell by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me

It’s so unfair! 

You glare at Leon as he wipes his face and neck with a towel before setting it on his shoulder. He’s been working out in the garage since one of his friends gave him their old weight bench. 

You’re going to combust. It’s insane how hot you find Leon all sweaty and shirtless, especially his abs. You find yourself staring at him every time he finishes up and makes his way through the house and upstairs to shower and change. 

He’s caught you staring before but this time instead of smirking at you, he stops at the arm of the couch, wiping the sweat off with a gym towel.  

“See something ya like, princess?” His mouth ticks up into a half smile, eyes trailing down your body. 

“Shouldn’t you be showering?” You counter, voice laced with irritation, pointedly keeping your eyes on his face. 

“So mean to me, little sis,” he teases, tossing his sweaty towel at you, “was gonna ask if you wanted to join me.”

Arousal buzzes hot and heavy in your blood as you deflect the towel, batting it into the floor. 

“What makes you think I’d want to be invited?”

He steps around to stand in front of you, leaning forward and bracing himself by placing one hand behind your head on the back of the couch. 

“Because I can see those cute little nipples, sis,” he murmurs in your ear, free hand coming up to pinch one of your stiff buds and making you gasp, “thought I’d be nice and offer you a chance for me to get your tits all nice and soapy when I play with’em.”

“You’re so lucky we’re home alone,” you finally grit out, body betraying you as your back arches into his hand as he tugs roughly on your nipples. 

He laughs down at you, pulling away to stand up straight, “So is that a yes?”

You shake your head, “Why should I? I’m not the one who’s all gross and sweaty.”

“That’s an easy fix, princess,” he bends down and grabs you, hoisting you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. 

“Leon!” You thrash in his hold but aren’t able to really move, “put me down!”

Your thighs rub together making you realize how wet you’ve become, the gusset of your panties sticking to your cunt. Bringing you into his room, Leon shuts and locks the door before dropping you down onto his bed. 

“Take your clothes off before I do,” he says, shedding his own shorts, but leaving his briefs. 

He watches as you slip your clothes off, eyes greedily watching while you pull your panties down, clear strings of slick clinging to the crotch of your underwear breaking when you pull them completely away from your cunt. 

“Fuck, so wet already,” he reaches down to palm himself through his briefs making your thighs press together. 

“Big brother,” you whine, eyes moving up from his bulge to his sweaty abs, “I hate you.”

He laughs low in his throat making you drop your head back with a moan. 

“I sincerely doubt that, princess,” you feel the bed dip with his weight, making you look back up at him, “this little pussy is crying for my attention too much for you to hate me.”

He grabs you around the waist and flips you both over, his back now pressed to the bed with you straddling his hips. 

“Look at how wet she is,” he coos mockingly, thumb pressing against your slippery clit, “fucking soaked, mmm my baby sis’ got the wettest little pussy.”

“Leon,” you mewl wantonly, grinding against his pelvis, smearing slick all over his skin. 

“I know,” he lowers his voice into a condescending tone, making your cunt clench around nothing, “rub that needy little princess pussy all over me, let me feel how wet you are.”

Your nails dig into his pecs as you slide upward, seating yourself across his twitching abs, cunt dripping all over his muscles. 

“Good girl,” he reaches up to grab the fat of your hips, “c’mon, show big brother how much you like this.”

Whimpering, you swivel your hips and grind down against his tight abs, pussy lips parting to drool slick directly onto his stomach. 

“I’ve been watching you,” he gloats, eyes moving up your body to meet your own half lidded gaze, “I see how hot it makes you after I work out. Always staring at my six pack, like you wanna lick the sweat off me.”

Your nails dig into his chest as you moan, “Nooo, that’s not it.”

“Then what? Hmm? Tell me or I’m gonna spank that hot little pussy til you’re screaming.”

Your whole body shudders, hips bucking erratically as white hot arousal blazes through you. 

He laughs derisively, “What a slut. Need that princess cunt spanked, baby? Need big bro to show her who’s in charge?”

“N-no, wanna cum like this,” you finally gasp out, body thrumming like a live wire. 

“Yeah?” He smiles with too much teeth, “what a dirty girl. I’ll let you get off this way, but that means I can do whatever I want after.”

Nodding quickly, you agree, “Whatever you want.”

“I’m gonna enjoy myself tonight,” he sighs out, eyes bright, “gonna pound your little pussy til she’s sore and dripping cum.”

“Leon, please,” you mewl, pressing your clit against his flexing abs as you rub against him. 

He guides your hips into a circular motion, helping you hump against his muscles. 

“Wanna see that messy little pussy cream all over me, baby,” he goads, “show big brother how much you love this, how much you wanna soak my stomach with that slippery cunt.”

The way he’s pressing you down into his body has your clit grinding perfectly against him. Spreading your legs wider lets you drag your slit against his stomach more easily, barreling you head first into a toe curling orgasm. Your back arches as you choke out a moan, pussy gushing slick all over Leon’s abs. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he murmurs, fingers flexing against your hips, “cumming all over me baby sis, feels so dirty.”

After the tremors of your orgasm slow to a stop, you finally blink open your eyes to see Leon staring up at you, pupils blown until only a faint ring of blue can be seen. He helps you lift up onto your shaky knees, eyes flicking down to his stomach. 

“Goddamn, what a slimy fucking mess,” he growls, “come up here and sit on my face so I can lick that messy pussy clean.”

Cunt dripping, you shakily climb up Leon’s chest and broad shoulders until you’re kneeling over his face. 

“So hot,” he groans, “such a fat wet cunt.”

With a firm grip of your hips, he makes you sit your pussy down onto his face. Groaning, he rubs your cunt all over his mouth, tongue licking up the slick that’s still coating your pussy. His moans and grunts send vibrations up through your cunt, making you whine and grind down against his mouth, clit throbbing at the attention. 

Leon, gripping your thighs tightly, lifts you up to pull in a quick breath before lowering you back down onto his tongue, spearing you open and licking into your hole. 

“Big brother,” you whine softly, “s’too much.”

Groaning deep in his chest, you feel it vibrate through your body. He nuzzles his face even deeper into your pussy, nose grinding and bumping against your swollen clit. 

“Fuck,” you moan, carding your fingers through his hair to grip tightly, “so good.”

Easing yourself down more, you slowly ride his face, rubbing your pussy against his lips and tongue as he moans appreciatively. 

“I’m g’nna cum again,” your body curves inwards, thighs tightening around his head, “Leon, fuck!”

Feeling as he fucks his tongue up into your pussy, he shifts his hands to grab your ass, guiding your hips into a dirty grind against his mouth. His tongue slides out of your hole to tease across your clit with soft circles. Your hips rock down, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan loudly, cumming all over his face. 

Pushing you up, he helps you lay down against his side. 

“Now it’s my turn,” he grins, face covered in slick as he climbs on top of you.

You glance down to see a damp spot on his underwear from his leaking tip right before he tugs his briefs completely off. Whimpering, you softly glide your hand across his swollen cock. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” he humps into the loose tunnel of your fingers, “but wouldn’t it feel so much better in your pussy, little sis?”

You nod quickly, “Please, want it so bad.”

With a groan, Leon notches the head of his fat cock against your hole and bottoms out inside your pussy with one slick thrust. His fat dick grinds against your g-spot as his tip kisses your cervix, making you clench repeatedly around him. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, pulling on the sweaty strands as he ruts deep in your pussy. 

He leans down and kisses you, settling his body weight against you and pinning you in place. Mewling into his mouth, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside to lick across yours, sucking on your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“Pussy’s just sucking me in, princess,” he grunts against your neck, wetly sucking on the skin, “greedy cunt just needs big brother’s cock, huh?”

Crying out as he sinks his teeth into the same spot on your neck, your hands claw and scratch at his back while he laughs. A mewling sob escapes your lips when he pulls away to bite you again. 

“Big brother, I-I can’t,” your nails sink into his skin, leaving a hot scorching trail in their wake as you drag them up to his shoulders. 

He rocks his hips in and out of your pussy as he kisses and bites across your neck.

“But I can tell how much you like it,” he taunts, fucking his cock deeper into your spasming cunt, “and I told you I wanted to use your pussy til it’s sore and dripping cum. Don’t you want that? Want big brother to feel good and use your fat, needy pussy?” 

He coos at you when you cry out from how deep he’s bullying his cock into your sopping wet cunt, the pleasure almost overtaking your senses. You babble out something that could pass as agreement, eyes fluttering as his thumb starts up a tight harsh circle on your pudgy clit. 

“There you go. You can be such a good girl when you wanna be,” he praises you, his eyes staring down at you dark and mean, “you’re so fucking hot, princess. Cumming all over my stomach like a fucking slut.”

“S’good, big brother,” you cry softly, cunt fluttering around his dick as he grinds against your cervix, “too big.”

He groans, bending forward to kiss you messily, tongue licking into your panting mouth. You whimper, hips bucking up to help Leon fuck into you faster and harder. Slick gushes from your hole when he pinches your clit softly between his thumb and forefinger. 

Eagerly, you suck his tongue into your mouth while he softly circles around your clit, mewling and whining when he pinches it over and over. He pulls away from you, propping himself up on one forearm as his gaze sears into you. 

“Open up,” he smirks down at you, “show me your tongue, princess.”

Shyly opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out. A hot glob of spit falls from his mouth to land in yours. Humping your pussy, he slowly drips his spit down onto your tongue, watching as you struggle to keep it from slipping out of your open mouth. 

“Swallow.”

Moaning, you swallow the spit collected in your mouth. Before you even finish, he’s pressing a messy kiss into your lips, tongue licking into your mouth to share more spit with you. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, such a slutty fucking sister,” he pulls away from your mouth, burying his face against your neck, “fuck, ‘m about to bust a nut in your hot little pussy.”

His hips snap harder into yours, cock thrusting in and out of your sopping wet cunt again and again, until he’s drilling you into the mattress. You squeeze his shoulders as he rubs your clit in fast harsh circles. 

“I’m g-getting close,” you whisper, “I’m gonna cum again, big brother.”

His eyes are blown out and wild, “Do it. Want you creaming all over my cock, always squeeze me so fucking tight.”

A few more rough pinches to your swollen clit has your back arching up into him, electric currents fizzing through your blood as he fucks you through your orgasm. He growls and drops his weight into you more, hips pistoning into your cunt so hard and fast you feel like you can’t breathe. 

“Fuck me,” he grits out, “so tight, I’m—“

With a cut off moan, he buries himself balls deep into your fluttering walls and cums, filling your pussy with hot, sticky jizz. Your sore cunt milks his cock as your own orgasm slowly tapers off. 

“Take it, take it,” he chants in your ear, hips rutting into you softly as his cock finishes spurting the last of this thick cum in your soft cunt, “so good.”

He finally pulls out with a hiss, flopping down onto the bed next to you. His arm wraps around your middle and tugs you into him, his legs tangling with yours. 

“It’s too hot,” you whine, cunt feeling sore as you feel it drip a mix of cum and slick onto the bedspread. 

“Mmm now you have to take that shower with me,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Rolling your eyes, you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, “You're such a dork.”

“And you like it,” he teases, kissing the shell of your ear, “c’mon, join me, and I’ll eat you out in the shower.”

Goosebumps race across your skin as he helps you sit up. 

“I think I can make an exception then,” you grin, letting him help you stand. 

His hot palm cups your pussy, eyes dilated as they stare into your face, “You're being so messy, baby. Dripping all over my sheets.”

You gasp as he fingerfucks the cum back into your leaking hole. Leon then scoops you up into a bridal carry and makes his way out of his room to the neighboring bathroom.

“I’m going to carry you, princess,” he smirks, “no mess to clean up.”

#lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #stepbro!leon #stepbro!leon s kennedy #stepbro!leon kennedy #stepbro!leon kennedy x reader #stepbro!leon s kennedy x reader #fem!reader #stepcest