lovelyletterssentatnight

Latest Posts by lovelyletterssentatnight

delicate | king!sukuna x concubine!reader

a rough patch

summary: that one time you and the king get into a fight and you ignore him for a whole month. something you'll never forget about years later. side stories based off of defiance. genre/warnings: established relationship, sukuna and reader have a child together, mentions of suicide but it's a misunderstanding, papakuna, he is extra dramatic in this one, vomit mentioned once

wc: 2k

masterlist

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.” You grimace at the king, the baby in your arms is so blissfully unaware that her parents are arguing right now. 

He scratches the back of his head and holds back on a groan, wondering how he could convince you. “You can't just do that– Sumi’s going to be the queen one day, might as well expose her to this stuff now.”

“She’s a year old!” You snap at him. “She can barely talk and you want to start bringing her to hearings and witness your killings? Tell me, how old were you when your father started bringing you to them?”

“I won’t kill anyone.” He says in return, avoiding your question because he knows it’s a trap. You always do this to him, talking him through it and not in a way that arouses him. 

But unfortunately, you've been with this man long enough to know exactly what he’s doing. Conniving piece of shit, he’s the king of deflection. “How old were you when you started attending them?” You ask again, this time in a more demanding tone.

“Five.” He answered rather begrudgingly. 

“And with how much of a coward you claimed your father to be, it’s safe to assume he never yelled at others, let alone slaughter them, am I correct?”

He shot you a glare as you asked, it was seven in the morning, the last thing he needed was to argue with the mother of his child right now. “You are correct.” He answers in a snarky tone, before muttering ‘unfortunately’ under his breath. He doesn’t even know why he said that, probably because he hates losing arguments and wanted to get the last word in. “She’s my daughter too, you know.” He reminds you, making the room completely grow still. 

This would be the second time he’s pulled that line because things aren’t going his way. 

“Obviously.” You say, gesturing at your daughter's pink hair. It makes her giggle, cutting the thick tension between you two. She thinks you’re playing with her and her laughter somehow makes you and Sukuna grow even more annoyed at each other.

You sigh and begin to bounce her around a little bit, trying your best to hold your composure. You turn her away from her father, you don’t want her to see the look in his eyes right now. 

It’s a look that screams he’s 2.5 seconds away from massacring a village full of innocent people, one you know all too well. He’s eerily quiet now too, which is always worse than his angry outbursts.

“Not only that, you actually have more of a right to her than I do.” You say, this time in a calmer tone. “The only title I bear is a replaceable concubine, after all.” 

He drops the death glare after hearing the words come out of your mouth, “That’s not what I meant and you know that.” 

“And since you have a right to her more than I do–” You continue, ignoring whatever he has to say. “You will receive no pushback from me whenever you try to spend time with her.”

He scoffs at how formal you sound. “So what? You’re just going to ignore me now?”

“Yes. I will have one of my attendants put a bed in Sumi’s room, I will be sleeping there from now on.”

“No you’re not.” He thinks about grabbing your arm as you begin to walk away, but he refrains from doing so, that’ll just piss you off even more. 

“Yes I am.” You turn around and say. “You already got what you wanted, so leave me alone. Enjoy exposing your innocent child to the bloodshed that occurs behind those throne room doors.” 

No one dared to say it, but those who lived and worked at the estate knew how you got when things didn’t go your way either. You were just as stubborn as him, but admitting it would also be admitting he was stubborn too, and talking shit about the king was pretty much a death sentence. It didn’t matter how many kids he had or how in love he was, he was who he was. 

And you were who you were, which meant you spent the next month completely ignoring the man. 

It was blatant.

For an entire month, he didn’t hear you speak, you wouldn’t even talk to your attendants if he was in the same room as you. It got so bad that you’d be in the middle of laughing at something and you’d immediately stop and hold a stoic expression if he walked into your shared chambers. 

You wouldn’t even directly look at him when he asked to spend time with the baby, you would just hand her off and go sit in a bath or something. He actually tried to take that as an opportunity to get you to forgive him, but the door to the spa room was locked and barricaded, so the idea of seducing you and fucking an apology into you simply wasn’t an option.

At one point, he got fed up with sleeping alone and waited for you to fall asleep before carrying you back into your room, but he still woke up to an empty bed because you’d leave sometime before he woke up.

No, he never brought the baby to a hearing, not even once in that entire month. It didn’t even matter if he had a witness tell you that nothing bad happened. It was clear you didn’t want her in such a dark, sinister place– he realized that after taking the time to calm down and reflect on it.

He missed you.

He tried to talk to you, to try work things out, he really did. But you were dead set on the punishment you decided to give him. 

No amount of gifts or sweet words made you budge, he could tell you were enjoying it, watching him grovel over you. His voice cracked the other day when apologizing for the hundredth time and you laughed for a split second because of it, before you scarily went back to being serious.

You made him feel invisible– the worst punishment of them all for the man who basically lived and breathed for you.

And that was hard to think about when he had suddenly grown sick. The king didn’t really have that many stressors in his life, it made you wonder if your treatment towards him was the cause of it all. It was easy to believe, people could grow physically sick as much as they could mentally– it happened to others all the time. 

It started two days ago, when he had woken up sicker than you’ve ever seen anyone before, dry heaving and violently vomiting. He was hard to ignore at that point, but it was too late, he physically could not answer your questions. By noon that day, the doctor has ordered (more like requested) he stay in bed. But Sukuna obliged, he was too sick to do anything but that.

“I believe there’s been foul play.” The estates physician was sad to say, Sukuna paid him so much fucking money, he couldn’t imagine going back to his old salary now. “Someone must’ve poisoned him.”

He stood before you and one of the estate’s managers, Mariko. Uraume was nowhere to be found. 

You were in a state of shock, you never thought that poison out of all things could take the man out. Mariko was fucking pissed, she screens every single attendant, servant, and any other worker in between before allowing them to step foot in this place. 

“We need to conduct an investigation, now.” You urged Mariko. Though you had your doubts, whoever poisoned him could’ve easily ran off right after. But it was worth a shot, it’s only been 2 days– you’ve all kept his condition underwraps too. 

“I'm on it.” She says, looking like she was on autopilot at this point. Not only did she actually care for the king, but she also felt a deep sense of responsibility over the safety of those that resided in the estate. She always thought the man could fend for himself though, given the fact that he was probably one of the most dangerous people in this world, so hearing the news took a big hit to her ego. 

You went on to look for Uraume, who had a thousand yard stare the first time they saw the king in his critical state. They were in charge of preparing most of his meals, so they must have some information that could help you. Maybe one of the cooks has been acting strange lately.

It didn’t take too long to find them, since they were already in your sunroom, waiting to speak with you. 

They immediately bow the moment you step into the room. “Please forgive me.” Their usual stoic nature was replaced by one that was more suited for a mischievous child that had just gotten caught doing something bad. “I tried to talk him out of it.”

You were so confused at first, but it all made sense after they revealed the brief conversation they had with the king just 3 days ago.

—

“Uraume.” The king barged into the kitchen where they were preparing your family’s supper. The room was filled with the aroma of your favorite food, it slightly irked him since Uraume would rather feed you your favorite foods than his favorites.

His sudden appearance slightly startled his young assistant. He’s grown pretty soft after Sumi’s birth, so he isn’t really used to Sukuna’s temper anymore. “Yes, Sukuna-sama?”

“I need you to make poison.” 

Uraume nearly chokes on air, “What?” They sputter out.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” He says, making it seem like they’re the dramatic one, not him, who’s asking for literal poison. “It’s for me, not Dovey.”

“I am sure she’ll forgive you soon.” Uraume says. It was the first time they’ve ever actually showed their master any pushback. 

“Yeah? Well I don’t want forgiveness soon. I want forgiveness now.” He says rather stubbornly. “So get to it, and make sure I don’t actually die, I just wanna be bedridden for a day or two.”

—

You brush his hair back before leaning down to gently whisper in his ear. He wonders what it’ll be this time, he’s been loving the sweet nothings you’ve been saying to him since he put himself in this situation. “I am not above abusing the sickly, so I suggest you heal yourself right now before I slap the shit out of you.”

His eyes shot open at the harsh words, immediately healing himself. It was unbelievable– his skin was practically green just a moment ago and now it actually looks like there’s blood coursing through his veins, his dark circles were gone, even his lips looked plumper.

“What is wrong with you?!” You finally say after staring at the man in disbelief. 

He was quick to defend himself. “I had no choice! You wouldn’t talk to me even after all the times I’ve tried to apologize!”

“That doesn’t mean you can go off pretending to be terminal!” You began to scold him. He crosses his arms, trying to fight off the boyish pout that’s fighting to make its way on to his face. “Really Sukuna?! You asked Uraume to make a poison strong enough to kill elephants?”

“It was strong enough to kill an elephant?!” He immediately freaked out with you.

“Yes! They said that was the only thing capable of putting you down!”

“I am going to fucking kill that child.” He suddenly declares, but you stop him by making him lay back down on the bed. 

"You will not touch a hair on their head.” You sternly say. “You were the one who asked for this and they made it happen.”

“They didn’t mention needing to use anything that strong!” He argues back, averting his eyes away from yours since you’re glaring daggers at him.

“They didn’t get a chance to, you stormed off before they could! Don’t do that again, ever! You made me worried sick.”

And maybe you shouldn’t have said that last sentence, because like the piece of work the father of your child is, he clicks his tongue and smirks. “You were worried about me?” His eyes nearly sparkle as he asks. 

“Un-fucking-believable.” You mutter, trying to get up from the bed, but he stops you and goes as far as to pulling you into his embrace. 

“No, say it again!” He demands through his laughter, clearly happy that he finally got your attention back.

“I said I wish you were still sick!” You nearly hiss at him, this man was going to be the death of you one day. 

He sits up in bed, still holding on to you. “Fine. I’ll go drink the rest of that elixir.”

“You will do no such thing!”

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

sukuna loved going down your throat, whether that be with his fingers, his dick, or his tongue. he loved seeing you struggle, seeing the fight you put up when he just went further and further.

the tears that pooled in your eyes when you gagged but only took more.

“there you go. you know how to breathe.”

as sukuna continued to slide two of his fingers into your mouth and down your throat, your throat only tightened while you gagged and your eyes watered.

the blurry gaze of sukuna's figure taunts you as he keeps going.

“tell me how much you like it.”

he only smirked to himself, knowing you couldn’t answer. sliding his fingers further down your throat, he wanted to see how far he could go before you threw up or clawed at him.

his fingers inching down your throat weren’t the only thing making your eyes water; his other hand was over your pussy, two of his fingers slipping in and out of your wet core.

your essence dripped over your fingers the more he pushed them in and out.

the more he pushed his fingers down your throat and his other fingers in and out of your aching core, the more he wanted to see you lose control.

“i like you like this.”

leaning over you and whispering into your ear, his breath forming goosebumps all over your skin and your tongue swirling over his fingers.

his fingers inside your mouth only went deeper, tickling the back of your throat.

“you’re so good at this; i wonder who taught you.”

his words were muffled from your gagging and the sounds your pussy was making; it was a song he wanted to hear every second of the day.

sukuna’s eyes didn’t know where to look, but they were stuck on your face. strands of your hair glued to your face from your sweat, spit, and tears, and your saliva sliding down your chin.

it was alluring.

you were a mess, just how he liked you.

he only shoved his fingers down deeper, making you gag more. you couldn’t breathe, but the struggle was so intoxicating you only wanted more of that suffocating feeling, and sukuna was happy to give it to you.

it was wet and warm, both your pussy and throat. you were pulling him in so good in both directions he didn't want to slide his fingers out of you.

"you take it so good, like i knew you would."

meanboyfriend!toji fucking his innocent virgin girlfriend :3

your ruffled lace socks are on either side of his head as he rolls his hips against your plush ass, thick cock stretching you past your limits. he looks down at your soft belly, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches the way his cock bulges through it. "am i too big for ya' baby?" he coos, there's so much mock softness in his voice it’s almost sickening, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand like he actually gives a damn. "i can see myself inside of ya'."

a choked whimper is all you can manage to respond with, your fingers dig into his muscular arms as he leans over you to steady himself on top of you, caging you in beneath his heavy body. you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his fat cock sinking itself deeper from the new position, splitting you open and it burns. the stretch forces a high, broken whine from your throat, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.

clinging to his strong arms, your eyes flick nervously to the plushies lined up on your shelf—those innocent little stuffed animals with their glossy plastic eyes all pointed your way. they’re watching.

it makes your face burn hotter.

toji notices. of course he does.

“what is it, princess?” he teases, slowing his thrusts just enough to draw your attention back to the deep ache between your legs. “your little friends seein’ you get fucked for the first time?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, hiding your face in his arm. “d-don’t look at them…” you mumble, humiliated.

he laughs, a low, breathy sound, and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “you’re so fuckin’ cute.”

then he shifts, hips snapping forward, forcing another whine from your throat as your gummy walls flutter around him, trying and failing to accommodate all of him.

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your damp forehead. "does it hurt, baby?"

"n-no... keep going." you huff softly, biting your lip.

you're a mess beneath him, cheeks flushed, sweat sheening your skin, hair sticking to your forehead in damp strands. your lips are kiss-swollen, puffy from the way he's been biting at them. your tits bounce with every sharp thrust, every punishing grind of his hips, pulling ragged cries from your throat.

he knew it was your first time, and he'd actually debated wether he'd be sweet to you, do that cheesy romantic shit he hated, whisper pretty words and take it slow—play the role of the perfect boyfriend only for tonight. or if he should fuck you hard, that would he fuck you so good, so deep, until then only word you could babble was his name. now that he's inside of you, it's starting to feel like a mix of both.

grunting, he hooks his arm under your back and lifts you off of your bed, hugging you against his chest tightly as if you weigh nothing. your arms wrap around his neck, legs locking tight around his waist as he keeps bulling his cock into you, hitting your cervix so hard you swear he's gonna break you.

his breath his hot against your face as he inhales your sweet perfume sharply, furrowing his brows as he keeps fucking you until you start going limp in his arms.

“i’ll love you forever, you hear me?” his voice is rough, almost strained.

a weak, breathless “yeah.” is all you can say.

but toji smirks, knowing you'll remember this for the rest of your life.

TIED TOGETHER — aaron hotchner

In which you find a creative way to show Aaron the new tie that you had ordered for him.

genre smut (18+) cw perv!hotch, established relationship, sexting, sending of explicit content, male masturbation, slight exhibitionism, sexual tie references (the clothing item) wc 1,4k a/n quick lil drabble in between my studying sessions

Aaron Hotchner is absolutely and utterly infatuated with you. He seems like a gruff, stoic leader but turns into putty whenever he’s around you. He often excuses himself in meetings or walks up to an empty hallway in the location the team is visiting when you send him a text or give him a call. The team always suspects it’s business, but no, it’s you. And when it comes to you, he will always pick up, no matter the time or place. 

Most of the time it isn’t an emergency. And most of the time it isn’t objectively necessary to swipe his finger to the right, opening the call. But he can’t help himself. Not when he knows it’s you on the other side of the line. Sweet you who’s calling him as you take your evening walk, sweet you who wants to put him on speaker as you drive to work, sweet you who needs to listen to his voice as he bids you goodnight. 

But sweet isn’t the only thing that you are. And there is no one like Aaron who knows how naughty you can be.

So the next events shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Your ties have arrived,” your voice sounds through the speaker. He can picture the way you’re balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, a box full of ties in your hands as you make your way to your bedroom.

“I faked your signature if that’s alright.”

He chuckled at that.

“That’s alright, thank you. You can leave them on the bed; I’ll be home tonight.”

An excited squeal followed, “Thank God, it’s been too long.”

He agreed with your statement, then asked you how you were, but you didn’t answer. Instead he heard some faint shuffling in the background. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on this tie, the silk navy one,” you answered.

A memory flashed through his mind: how he was lying down on the couch, your figure seated between his legs, head resting on his chest as you had his laptop placed on top of your lap. You were looking through several websites, finding new ties to order. Your eye had immediately landed on a silk navy one, tracing the fabric with your finger over the screen.

“You know what else this tie will be perfect for?” You had purred to him, resulting in him groaning as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, showering you in kisses and bites.

It was a common bedroom activity you like to participate in: using ties. The two of you made a creative team, finding ways to use his ties as handcuffs, as blindfolds, and even as chokers. And what material could be better than soft silk?

“Check your text messages. You can stay on the call,” you instruct him, bringing him back to reality.

Maybe he should’ve thought his next action more through. Maybe he should’ve told you No, I’ll check it when I have the time. When I’m not standing in the corner of a busy police station. But he didn’t. Simply because it was you who asked. 

He exited the call to go to his messages, for a second afraid he had hung up on you, but then he heard your voice again. “Go on.”

To say that you had knocked the breath out of his lungs was an understatement. There, opened on his phone in full screen, was a picture of you. You were standing in front of the mirror, only your upper body showing. Completely bare, besides… his tie.

The navy blue tie decorated your neck, tied perfectly due to the many times you’ve helped him. Aaron looked up for just a second, seeing his colleagues and police busy themselves in chatter, not focused on him. Still, he turned around, shielding himself as he held his phone in a tight grip, like he held the most valuable possession known to man in his hands. 

He swallowed when he took another glance at the picture. Cock swelling as he took in your hardened peaks, the soft curve of your breasts, the way the silk fell down in between them.

“Earth to Aaron,” you spoke after not having heard a sound besides his heavy breathing for the last minute.

“I have to go.”

Call ended.

-`♡´-

Maybe you’ve gone too far. You sit on the edge of your shared bed, letting out a disappointed sigh as you play with the tie around your neck. Worst case scenario he gets home tonight and will punish you. 

The idea sends an excited jolt to your core. But instead, not even a couple of minutes later, you receive a text message from Aaron.

With scrunched eyebrows you open the app, seeing the loading screen of a video. You can vaguely make out some colors: mainly white, and a warm beige color reminiscent of his skin. Then you take in the text that’s attached to it: Had to go to the bathroom while I’m supposed to give a profile in five. Don’t do that again.

Before you could question his message further, the video pops up in HD, fully loaded. You click on the play button.

The white turned out to be a toilet, making sense with his bathroom text. The beige turns out to be his hand, and as the video starts playing, you connect the dots.

Aaron groans, palming the obvious bulge in his pants that’s visible now that he’s adjusted the camera. Your heart stammers as he unzips himself, hands so skilled that holding his phone in the other hand doesn’t slow him down. His slacks fall to his knees, and his thick cock jumps up with a slap against his button-up.

Your throat turns dry as he grips himself in his fist, wrist flicking in slow circles as he moves his hand up and down his length. It felt so intimate to see. He didn’t speak to you, needing to be quiet. He didn’t acknowledge that the video was for you, even though you knew it was. It truly felt like catching him in a private moment of pleasure.

Precum spilled out of his length, and he caught all of it with his thumb, coating the slick around the head in the same way he usually covered your lips before pressing the rest of his thumb into your mouth. You moaned at the sight, and it seemed like Aaron had the same mental image in mind, groaning as he fisted himself harder. 

You held in your breath and turned the volume of your phone up to the max, wanting to catch every sigh and whimper that escaped his lips. He fucked his hand; wet sounds of his fist making contact with his stomach filled the room. He couldn’t lessen those sounds, not if he wanted to keep up this pace, and by the way his breathing was getting heavier, he did not want to slow down.

“Honey,” he groaned, and your cheeks heated. He was thinking of you. 

His hand moved faster, at a speed you weren’t sure you could recreate: up and down, up and down. You’re wondering what he’s picturing, if he’s imagining you on your knees in front of him, tits on display like they were in the picture, tie around your neck as you’re sticking your tongue out, begging for his release.

He moaned your name, and again, and again, until his cock twitched. White, hot ropes of his release spilling out. Some of the droplets are falling into the toilet, like he had intended, but having built up his release for days not being with you and not having had the time to get himself off, he’s adorning his hand, the seat, and even the floor. 

“Shit,” he mutters, catching up after his mind is getting clear.

Then the video ends.

Thanks for the show. Don’t forget to ask Reid for some cleaning wipes ;) You text him, stifling a giggle, enjoying getting a reaction out of him. 

The video replayed in your mind, and you bit your lip. Your legs were crossed, subconsciously trying to alleviate some of the building pressure, not able to wait to get off to that video later on.

Like the devil had heard you, you received a text back.

Funny. Don’t forget that you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I’m home ;)

My friend told me this story about her going golfing with her fiancé and she was like omg he is so attractive the whole time so i assume that what reader feels like all the time being with Aaron lol

a little off course

OMG i'm continuing with the golfing concept because YES cw; fem!reader, established relationship, playfulness and suggestive content <3

"Next time you go golfing with Dave," As Aaron was lounging on the couch, your arms had wrapped around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. "Can I tag along? Please?"

A double take was necessary when you asked, the request far out of your character. You've never expressed interest in golf before, and he was exceedingly surprised. Maybe it was just another way for the two of you to spend time together. Maybe you thought it would be more exciting than it actually was. You were on some kind of agenda.

Regardless, the next free sunny Saturday, you were sat in the golf cart as he and Dave made their way through the course.

But, that's all you did. You had no clear intentions of playing; you plainly sat in observance, and Aaron felt your eyes following his every move. It was almost intimidating; he wanted to do well for you.

Little did he know that while he feared you were bored, you were thoroughly entertained; present for your own indulgences.

"Sweetheart." His eyes were squinting from the sun, Dave teeing off behind him. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

You offered him a smile, and he took a second to admire how cute you looked in your sun visor, casting a shadow across the bridge of your nose. "I'm absolutely sure."

"Since when are you into golf?"

"I'm very," You paused mid-sentence, watching him (or rather, his hands) as he fixed his glove, adjusting and retightening the hold it held. "Into golf."

Only, Aaron playing golf was what you were interested in.

He and Dave played a few weekends ago, and when Aaron returned home, you found yourself regretfully wishing you accompanied them. Just when you thought he couldn't possibly be more attractive; a new genre of Aaron was unlocked and never to be concealed again.

Crisp and clean in proper golf attire - fresh khakis, a polo shirt, a newly produced, light tan gracing his skin. And now being present, the way his broad back stretched and forearms flexed as he lined up for a shot, his chest heaving in a deep exhale after hitting. Could there be a better sight?

His eyebrows crinkled adorably. "But you're just staring at me?"

"Exactly."

"Oh, I see." Aaron's lips pulled into a combination of a smile and a smirk - he should've known. His hand was resting on the cart's overhead as he looked down at you. His voice remained low, to prevent Dave from overhearing. "You're just here to undress me with your eyes, aren't you?"

"Yes and no." You defended, failing miserably at keeping your caught smile at bay. "I'm here because I love you. The undressing is an added perk."

His furrowed brows relaxed in amusement. "Is it?"

"I'll jump at any opportunity to spend time with you. It's a beautiful day, you're within arm's reach." You reached out, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. "And I get to swoon over you being sweaty and strong in the meantime. Besides, I'm also here to ward off any club members who think they may have a shot at you. You're on full display out here for anyone to see."

"Aren't you sweet." A breathless laugh escaped him - as if anyone had a chance when he had you. Aaron leaned down to kiss you gently, craning his neck slightly due to the obstruction of your hat. "Thank you, darling."

You grinned, crossing a leg over the other.

His stare hidden behind his sunglasses, Aaron's eyes involuntarily fell to your legs, seeing that your slightly-too-short skirt had slid up and exposed most of your thigh. Maybe you had a point.

"Do you want to give it a try?" He asked as Dave finished his shot, returning to the parked cart himself.

"Really?"

"Sure, I'll teach you." Aaron took your hand, helping you step off the golf cart before grabbing his driver from his bag.

He guided you to stand in front of him; his biceps were at your shoulders, his arms firmly around you and allowing little to no room for movement.

Caged in, you felt a flutter in more places than one, the weight of his chest against your back intimately familiar. Muscle memory.

A blush filled your cheeks. Not from the heat of the afternoon, but at the rate this innocent lesson (you were beginning to infer, this hadn't been innocent to begin with) had heightened. There was no way you'd successfully hit this ball now, even with Aaron's direction - being highly distracted.

"Hands here," he instructed with quiet command, moving your hands along the grip to the correct positioning. His lips were touching the shell of your ear. "Square your shoulders for me."

"Like this?" Only, you pushed your ass directly into his crotch. Aaron's hold on your wrists immediately tightened.

He barely managed a hum in confirmation, swallowing hard. "Just like that."

"Okay you two," Dave lectured from afar, a mix between amusement and slight disgust visible on his face. "Keep it PG on the green, please."

Look at this bodacious baddie, probably one of the reasons I like staying at my best friend's house I mean. She's so cute.

Why is it so hard for people to use tags correctly??

Why are you tagging your fics with character x oc as character x reader it’s so god damn annoying! I’m not gonna read your fic just bc you used the tag!! If I wanted to read about character x oc I would go in that tag to find it.

It’s really not that hard to tag things correctly so please do that. It’s so hard to find the fics you want to read when the tag used to find them are filled with fics that has nothing to do with it.

This also gos for when you tag A x B when the fic isn’t about those characters.

Sukuna with sensitive tips who will sneer at you whenever you touch them, even if it gives him the most pleasure he can have by having his dicks touched. He’ll try to close his thighs, just for you to seat at his skin and tell him to “don’t be dramatic…” and huffing as he complied. Having to experience the absolute torture that were your fingertips as they stimulated both tips at the same time, thumbs twirling in one direction on one dick and the other thumb in the opposite direction on the other. He really, truly had a hard time of biting back his sounds, even tho the twitches of his hips and the repeated movements of his closing thighs said enough

CW: (heavy self-insert tehe), blast from the past, sukuna is rude, grumpy and sassy (nothing new), domestic man activities that made me tingle, female gaze-y (?), established relationship, some cursing, NSFW, rough sex, kitchen sex, spanking (just one?), angry sex (?), dirty talk, milddddddd degradation, kid(s), mention of nanami.

dilf!sukuna thinks it’s annoying how much you ogle him over the dumbest shit—but the smug tilt of his mouth says he eats it up. he was well-maintained for a man who ate the food for three people and went to the gym whenever time allowed him. infact, his trainer was surprised at his muscle definition, and asked tips from sukuna instead. his sharp words and scowls had mellowed, along with the addition of a few lines on his face, countable strands of grey in pink.

he's bent over the bonnet of his car, white tank soaked through and through, painted to his back. he was a sight for sore eyes, your husband, as he grumbled something about "fuckin' mechanics overcharging for shit—"

every muscle is on display, thick biceps flexing as he props the hood open with one arm, veins trailing down to thick, grease-smudged fingers. his wedding band flashes when he lifts his hand to rub at his lightly stubbled jaw, staring at the dozen hundred engine parts, deep in thought, that did something to you that you could never explain. one of the reasons why some of your fights never lasted for more than 2-3 days.

you hated summer, always whining about the heat and the stickiness that comes with it, but suddenly had a new-found liking for it.

"been calling your name like five times, woman. the fuck you starin' at?" he grunts, huffing as he lifts his top to wipe at the sweat collecting at his forehead. dilf!sukuna, whose abs peek out when he shifts, glistening like a damn oil painting, that stupid tank top riding up just enough to flash his happy trail and that sinful v-line you ached to trace with your tongue.

“if you’re gonna keep eye-fuckin’ me, at least be useful and grab me a cold beer.”

you roll your eyes, already halfway there to the fridge because—how do you say no, especially to a man like him when he's standing there, looking like that?

shirt clinging to his frame, grease staining his fingers and cheek like it belonged there, sweat trailing down his neck like it knew where it was going. you hand him the beer, and he pops the cap on the edge of the car hood like it's nothing. he takes a long swig, jaw flexing, throat working, and the scene before you seems to roll in slow motion. you shake your head to clear yourself of the haze that seems to consume you from head to toe, settling into a quiet ache between your legs.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes catching yours over the bottle like he knows what he's done. he always does.

and sure, this image of him reminds you of your apartment from before, the one you guys had before the bungalow. annoyed yells over the trail of socks he'd strewn around the place, or the way he'd let the dishes dry in the sink for more than two days, which would ultimately lead you to snipe at him, do the dishes yourself, or when you were at your limit, you’d shove at his chest, wild with irritation and sweat-slick fury, only for him to grab your wrist, drag you close, and say “do that again, I dare you."

the last time that happened, the AC had given up mid-argument. the place was already small to begin with, landlord couldn't care less about maintenance, the mess didn't help either. july was a damn furnace and you both were pissed, breathing in each other's heat, too hot and too stubborn to back down. and then, you had yielded when his calloused hands sought purchase on your waist, pressed you up against the counter, kissed you like he was picking a fight with your mouth, pawing at the silly excuses for clothes like he couldn't get it off fast enough.

his name spat out in anger turned into unwilling moans he pushed out of you—thrust after brutal thrust. he bent you over the kitchen counter like he owned it, like he owned you. one hand palming at the fat of your hip, the other in your hair, yanking you back so he could hear the way your voice broke each time he drove into you.

the sharp slap of his hand across your ass had you jolting forward, only to arch back with a desperate whimper. the sting bloomed, made your hips snap back to meet him harder, clenching around his cock, your body was begging for more. it earned you low, smug words and a harsh tug to your nipples.

“where did all the fight go, hmm?"

he'd murmured into your damp neck, the vibrations of his words the last thing you remembered was your cunt clenching around him helplessly till the moment he found release in you, breathing heavily.

now? you’re here again. sweat trailing down your back. his hold, bruising the skin around your waist, pulling you flush as fingers tangled in his spiky, short pink hair while you chase at his lips like he’s your last meal. his hold, tying you to him, to this moment.

you're barely catching your breath when he mutters,

“when did you say nanami’s bringing the lil’ brat back?”

you blink, brain fried. “not ‘til evening."

he grins, his eyes flaring. “good. now get on the hood. haven't even started on you yet.”

maybe you do hate summer. but if this is what it looks like on him, you’ll happily burn for it.

A/N: had to get this out of my system. my ovaries are sobbing. currently summer here, it's soooo hot. and I'm prepping for exams. haven't written or posted in years. hoping this fed you as much as it fed me. might make this a series, based on requests. feedback is welcome!!

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

Can I kindly ask for sukuna to fuck me like that's all I really want but I want the whole sha'bang okay. Like can I just wake up to this grumpy demon cat fucking me to an inch of my life huh too much to ask. Then can I wake up next to him for the rest of my life that can't be much right. If I can't have those then can I just have a little highschool sweetheart romance with this man and the live out everything previously typed, like I'm not obsessed I'm addicted okay I don't think I'll make it till tomorrow like please can we hold hands and walk around in a park, can we watch a movie but just letting play in the background as we kiss, can we just be together this can't be too much to ask, can I just pester and annoy him for hours on end while he works so I can get a proper dicking down. Like I want to do everything with this man OMFG like have kids and live happily ever after. I just wanna sit at the dinner table eating the food he so lovingly prepared for us, or sit on the couch dissing Disney for their shit live actions. This can't possibly be too much to ask right, right. Okay if it's too much can he be my co-worker or like this dude who has the same jogging route as me so that we always intersect and give each other a little smile and wave. I swear that's not too much to ask if we could be friends with benefits I just wanna have some kind of relationship with this man, can we be online friends like at this point pictures and video calls are enough cause let's be for real we're in different continents this has to be the most realistic right right. Anything to be even remotely close to this man. That can't be too much too ask. Or we can be penpals just please.

VERINA'S LITTLE GAME HAS NOW BEGUN.ᐟ

Catherine || Twenty-Two stages in.ᐟ, Female-Status [SHE/HER PRNS ONLY], Writing-Blog, European, Not-So frequently updated...

✶ As for rules being set for this blog, please be kind and respectful to others! No homophobia, racism, sexism, bullying, etc will be taken kindly! Criticism towards me will not be accepted and taken into account. Please be kind and have manners so we can all ensure a fun time on this blog! ❦

FANDOMS AND CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR

✶ Name that are in bold lettering are the characters I'm most familiar with.

✶ I absolutely refuse to age up minors for any smut-like intentions.

KIMETSU NO YAIBA: Sanemi, Giyu, Uzui, Kanae, Mitsuri, Iguro, Akaza, Kokushibo, Muzan. JUJUTSU KAISEN: Gojo, Toji, Geto, Ryomen, Higuruma, Shiu, Nanami. MY HERO ACADEMIA: Hawks [KEIGO], Toya [DABI].

✶ Now, I will write for the minors of these following animes. Although, I will not age them 18+ if it is for smut-like intentions, or any sexual reason.

✶ MENTION: This is not my main blog, so this blog will be used for writing purposes. I will be in the works of a personal blog so I can be in people's inboxes, and just post content not-intended for any fandom of any sort.

@valdetti - This account is my personal blog/account.

✶ I would also like to mention that I am an adult, and 18+ subjects will be talked about on both blogs I have planned. If you are below 16-18 years old, I am not responsible for your actions and what mine have caused.

@ valdette 2025 - Do not republish my work on any other platforms under ANY circumstance. If you do so, you are a thief and shall take responsibility and guilt for your own actions.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . nanami kento is obsessed with you and has a big, fat breeding kink.

18+ MDNI

nanami kento likes to pretend he doesn't and he won’t ever verbally admit to it outside of the bedroom, but he’ll make you feel it—and you’ll feel it good. you’ll feel it in the soft kisses he places all over the skin of your belly, the pleasant graze of his teeth over your hardened nipples and you’ll certainly feel it in his raw and deep thrusts in the late hours of the night.

he’s just so loving. he wants all of you—every inch that he can get. 

nanami believes that you were made for him. every feature of yours crafted so delicately to both tempt and please him. you’re his, and nothing can take that away from him. so what better way to appreciate you than to pass on your precious genes?

“fuck—made for me baby, you were made just for me” kento growls into your ear possessively while slowly sheathing his thick length inside of your warm cunt. you fit him so well, plush walls molding so perfectly around his cock.

you moan at the stretch, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasant fullness sets in. you’ll never get sick of this feeling, you think. 

kento’s pace is slow and deep, pulling out fully before slamming back in with every single thrust. he wants you to feel it—to feel how much love he has for you. 

“ ‘ken mmm” you moan softly into his mouth, letting his greedy lips claim yours in a possessive kiss. he fucks you in missionary to ensure he has access to every part of you, and most importantly, access to your priceless expressions when he fucks into you. 

“yes my love? need it harder? faster? tell me what you want” his soft whisper falls against your lips. your breaths are in sync, rhythmically bound to one another by something so intimate, you couldn't even put into words if you tried.

“mhmmmm” you hum in response, struggling to keep your glossy eyes open. he’s just started and you’ve already been fucked through so good.

“gonna fuck a baby into you if you keep looking at me like that” kento groans at the sight of your fucked out expression, subconsciously quickening his pace inside of you when he sees it.

“d-do it then” you stutter softly, words almost sounding like a desperate plea. you're baiting him—waiting to see if he'll take it.

kento’s face hardens at your words, eyes darkening in a way that almost scares you. “fuck baby, don’t play with me like that or you'll end up with a baby inside you” he thrusts the message into you as if making a promise to do exactly what you asked—to fulfill any wish you may have.

you only moan and whimper in return, mind growing increasingly hazy—too hazy to string together a simple sentence. kento coats your walls in his cum one, two, three times that night, silently praying for your period to disappear for the next nine months :)

hi there, bby!! *paws at you* in your own opinion, which jjk men would still slam or rut into you as they cum and which would go completely still?? 👀 i'm completely normal about that small quirk that men do, ehehehehe.......

🔞WHO SLAMS, RUTS, OR STAYS STILL AS THEY CUM INSIDE OF YOU?🔞

GOJO does both while cumming, but I’d say he usually gets a bit excited and ruts desperately, quickly, and sloppily while whining like a slut.

sometimes he tries to act like the big bad strongest man alive and remain stoic but the pathetic whines peak through and his body shakes as he latches onto your nipple and allows himself to rut. Cute. Calls you mommy sometimes, doesn’t deny he did it after the fact either. Your pussy is just THAT good!! And you make him feel safe like a mommy does for their son! You don’t know exactly how to feel about that lol.

BUT the moments he does go still as he cums, he keeps a lil part of his dick out to watch the base of his dick pulse and jerk while injecting his cum into you, drooling and breathing heavy.

Sometimes, he jerks off and inserts only the tip into you as he cums, it’s so mean, you don’t get to cum at all. you ask him why he does that, and he tells you he’s usually in too much of a hurry everyday to do the whole sex thing, but you suspect he finds it amusing to fuck with you but won’t admit it because he doesn’t want you to think he’s an asshole. the guy even says he’s sorry after if you look extra upset, kisses you on the forehead, and slips into the bathroom to laugh at your expression with his hand over his mouth as you ask what he’s doing in there suspiciously through the door. He says he’s just cleaning his dick up.

TOJI usually drives all the way home in one HARD thrust that gives you a cramp from how deep he penetrates as he cums, with a drawn out throaty old man groan as he spurts into your cervix. he just can’t help that primal need to breed you; he doesn’t want anymore kids, but he just has that animalistic instinct to mate, more than a normal man does.

BUT I could also see him SLAMMING every now and then, but they’re HARD and MEAN thrusts that pound down on you while groaning loudly with every hit. he’s asking if you want to be impregnated, if you like a big man fucking the shit out of you, and so much rambling that you don’t even get a chance to talk back. Says cringe shit lall the way up until he cums and then it’s all drawn out, deep old man groans and grunts.

SUKUNA, similar to Toji, forces all the way, deep inside of you while he cums by shoving it all in at once until his dick and base isn’t even visible and your pussy lips are pressed down on his abdomen.

He WAS slamming before hand though, expect organ rupture. he has the need to shove his balls into you too (what the fuck is that about) but obviously he doesn’t. he stays on top of you, heavy and deep for way too long, 30 minutes sometimes (!!) after cumming, pushing all of his body weight down on you, suffocating you, growling like a tiger into the side of your head and rubbing his skull against yours like a cat. don’t expect him to talk during this process unless it’s to tell you to stop fucking moving when you try to get him off of you; he’s tuned all the way into his primal side so talking doesn’t usually occur.

he licks your neck and entirety of your face with eyes closed as he PURRS, listening to that animalistic primal part of him that wants to groom and thank you for being his mate and letting him breed your cunt, and when the your cute little sounds and convulsions of your pussy walls give him cuteness aggression, he bites your neck, latching on for long minutes at a time as he makes raspy noises like a lion would as it holds its prey in its mouth, proud to have caught dinner.

he takes breeding time very seriously, and gives in to the instinct of plugging you for a good while after cumming— probably to make sure his sperm sticks (even tho he’s not rly doing it to have kids.. just listens to his instincts blindly OR he’s trying to make an heir)

NANAMI stays still, pushed inside a good amount but he’s more so focused on you. He’s caressing your face, admiring you, kissing you and your neck, groaning into you passionately about how good and wet you feel. BUT when you’re a little brat, he fucks you through his own orgasm, hard, as he disciplines you. ‘Are you going to listen now? It’s too much? This hurts me just as much as it hurts you, I don’t want to have to do this to you either.’ he actually can be very mean to you, not name calling or anything but he’s blunt and harsh. you get on his nerves purposely sometimes just so he’ll fuck you really hard— which he suspects.

——

If yall like this I can make a part 2 of the other jjk men!

i feel like i could be completely wrong so take this with a grain of salt, just wrote intuitively without thinking much (I’d love to hear your guys opinions in asks)

Cabin On The Mountain

in which . . . matt and reader decide to go to a cabin for a get away up on the mountains, secluded from everyone and everything else. what happens when they get snowed in their first night and matt decides on how to keep them busy?

content warnings : this is a short little mini series that will explicitly contain smut and mature themes. this whole thing will basically be smut with zero to very little plot whatsoever. this also skips a lot, so they are all different days and things they do each day. length also may very (they will mostly be short, but can be longer).

additional warnings : smut. slight fingering. matt uses the shower head on reader. praising. overstimulating. dirty talk. matt’s a little mean.

intro , one , two , three

SHOWER

day five…

steam curled around you as the hot water hit your back, rolling down in streams against your skin. your head tipped back, running your hands over your hair as you just stood there.

you could feel math behind you, watching as you just stood under the water.

your mind couldn’t help but to still think about his words and what he said, the thought making you wonder if he’d do the same in here—against the wall, pushing your face into the tiles as he fucks you from behind.

the thought had you weak, your thighs clenching without even noticing. but matt noticed with the way he was watching you. he smirked, stepping forward lightly as you were lost in your mind, slipping his arms around your middle, making you jump slightly.

“what’re you thinking about hm?” he whispered against your ear, letting his teeth nip a part of your lobe, making you gasp. you smiled, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. “nothing.” you muttered, face reddening at the fact you may have just been caught.

“uh-huh.” he said, letting one hand move down lower as the other moved up toward your tits. “are you sure? y’look like you’re really enjoying your thoughts here.” and you nodded, not bothering to keep hiding it.

“mm thought so.” his hand came down between your legs, tracing soft patterns into the skin of your thigh. the other hand softly squeezing your tit. “wanna tell me what you were thinking about in your pretty head?” he asked, groaning as his fingers slid up to your pussy, his touch light, feeling how wet you already were.

you shook your head, feeling more shy than you normally would. matt hummed, pulling his hands away which made you whine, before slowly turning you around to face him. “no?” he asked, pushing you back against the tiled wall. you nodded, your body shivering as the cold tiles pressed into your back.

matt grinned, leaning close to you as his arm stretched up to grab the shower head. you hadn’t even registered that he had, your eyes laser focused onto him. “maybe i could do something to change that, yeah?” he whispered, bringing the shower head down between your bodies. “please..” you begged, not even sure what for, but whatever he had planned you knew you wanted it.

he chuckled, leaning away from you before getting down into his knees in front of you, his head tilting up to look at you. his free hand came out, wrapping around your right thigh before lifting it and hooking it over his shoulder—opening you wide for him. you squeaked, one hand reaching out to grab at something to keep you stable as the other came down to grab at his hair.

“mm look at you baby.” he groaned, moving his fingers to your folds, spreading you apart. “such a pretty pussy.” his words made you whine, your hips pushing forward for any sort of friction on your aching clit. matt hummed, his tongue poking out to lick his lips. “so impatient.” he teased before bringing the shower head down between your legs, aiming the stream of water to pulse directly onto your aching bud.

your whole body jolted at the pressure—quick and intense. “o-oh fuck!” you moaned, hips bucking as your fingers tugged on his locks. “that’s it baby, c’mon be as loud as you want.” the sight of you in front of him had his cock hard, his tip red and leaking. he watched the way you clenched around nothing, whimpers and moans slipping past your lips as he increased the speed slightly.

“matt—baby—“ you choked on a moan, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in, his pace already fast and relentless. between the water and his fingers, you body was shaking, already feeling your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm. matt could feel it, the way you were clenching around his fingers like a vice.

your eyes fluttered closed, but only for a second before they opened again when you felt matt’s fingers retreat—along with the water. leaving you right on the edge, a frustrated whine slipping past your lips. “mhm not yet baby.” he said, trailing the water up and down your thighs. “gotta tell me what you were thinking about if you wanna cum.”

he was being so mean, but your need to cum overpowered your frustration. your breathing increased, feeling how your clit pulsed, your release fading away little by little. you gave in. “was—“ you paused, looking down at him as his blue eyes stared up at you. “was thinking about you fucking me against the wall in here..”

matt smiled, bringing the pressure right back to your clit as his fingers plunged back inside you. you gasped, back arching off the wall. “good girl. wasn’t so hard now was it?” he mocked, and you shook your head, grinding your hips down to chase the feeling of your orgasm that was quickly approaching again.

“look at you—gonna cum baby?” he asked, pressing the stream closer to your sensitive bundle of nerves. you nodded quickly, breathy moans filling the room. “yes, yes, yes—matt, m—“ your voice cracking into a sob as your orgasm crashed over you, so intense your knees wobbled, threatening to give out.

but he didn’t let up. just grinned up at you, shower head still working your clit while you gasped and begged and tried to squirm away. “aw is it too much?” he asked, turning the stream up just a bit.

you screamed—a broken, desperate cry that echoed off the shower walls. matt just smiled, eyes dark and hungry. “that’s my good girl.” he praised, pulling his fingers out as he kept the stream directly on you.

“let’s see how many times I can make you cum before the water runs cold.”

a/n : slowly but surely getting this done…i’m sorry it’s taking me so long haha

doctor, doctor

A/N: the things i have planned for them.............

summary: in which the doctor meets the doctor, a doctor meetcute if you will

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, flirting, hospital mentions, set during season 5x01 (spoilers ig)

wc: 1.07k

Spencer hates hospitals.

He’s not really sure who could like being in one of them, but it’s definitely not him. The hospital brings bad memories, near death experiences, a reminder of his impending mortality—things he already has enough of at work.

Yet work is mainly the reason he finds himself laid out on a hospital bed from time to time, waiting to find out how much of the unsub’s agenda is about to be scarred on his body forever. It’s how he finds himself right now, twiddling his thumbs as he waits for the doctor to come give him an update. Today’s incident, ironically, was him getting caught in the crossfire of a vengeful father out to kill the surgeon who couldn’t operate on his son. It was only his leg that suffered, but he knows the recovery for it is about to be a long and boring journey.

Spencer’s ears perk up at a group of voices most likely a few doors down, outwardly sighing knowing the doctor and their team are about to round on his case next. He just wants to go home. Emily had been texting him updates about Hotch who hadn’t shown up for the case earlier that day, and it only spiraled further when Penelope found out he had been dropped off at the ER on the other side of town with Derek’s stolen credentials. No one’s been able to give him an update since and all he can do is sit in this stupid bed while he suffers in agony.

A knock pulls him out of his head, “Good morning Mr. Reid, mind if I come in?”

He nods aimlessly without looking up just yet, adjusting his body on the bed so he can at least look respectful while sitting up to talk to the doctor.

“How are you feeling today?” you say as you click through his chart on the monitor next to him.

Spencer sighs, “I’ve been better. Oh, I’ve been having these chest pains and I was thinking it’s probably a side effect of the Dilitiazem. Maybe it might be better to switch to—“

The rest of the sentence falls flat on his tongue, because that’s when he finally gets a look at his doctor.

You’re not what he’s expecting out of a doctor, and he swears he means it in the least misogynistic way he can think of. Quite the opposite really, as he thinks he’s definitely discovered the living definition of brains and beauty. You’ve been in the room for all of two minutes, all you’re wearing is scrubs, and yet he’s enticed by every inch of you—by the way your fingers type quickly on the keyboard, your brows furrowed whilst deep in thought, how your lips move when you talk.

Wait, your lips are moving.

“Mr. Reid? Everything okay?” you wave a hand in front of his face, “Your chart didn’t say anything about a head injury, are you feeling dizzy?”

“Uh—Um, d–doctor.” he stutters.

You tilt your head in adorable confusion, his heart squeezes in love at first sight, “Yes, I’m the doctor…are you sure you’re okay?

Smooth, Reid.

“N—No, I um, I’m a doctor too.” he winces out.

“I see, good to know,” you smile, “what kind of doctor are you?”

“Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor,” He should have never learned how to speak. “I have three PhDs.”

“Three? Holy shit, that’s impressive.”

He blushes profusely, thankful the heart rate monitor hasn’t picked up his tell.

“What are they in?” you ask with a genuine interest sparkling in your eyes.

Spencer goes bashful, “I have PhDs in math, engineering, and chemistry. Also two bachelors in sociology and psychology…and I’m working on my philosophy degree right now.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, “Are you like a genius or something?”

“Or something. I have an eidetic memory.” he smiles sheepishly.

“Now that would be useful in medical school, surprised that’s not something you picked up while shopping around for those degrees.”

His face reddens deeper. You’re making jokes, and he’s thinking chapel versus courthouse.

“Just wasn’t interested in it, plus I’m sure the medical world is better off with people like you.”

You grin slowly, “Like me? You just met me.”

“I’m a profiler for the FBI, the behavioral analysis unit?” he says it like a question.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you guys! We see you on the news all the time.” you say excitedly, “What’s your verdict on me then?”

He takes a breath, “I think…you’re very good at what you do. The time it took you to get from the previous patient to my room was longer than average which tells me you’re well liked and respected. And I think I’d be more inclined to lie in a hospital bed if I knew you’d be my doctor.”

“Dr. Reid, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you might be flirting with me.” you say cheekily.

“Is it working?”

“Verdict’s still out.” You wink at him, he nearly flatlines, “So, you think the Dilitiazem isn’t working? What do you think we should switch to?”

“Um…Amlodipine?”

You grin, softly chuckling, “Good call, doctor.” You turn back to the monitor to put the prescription in and close out the chart. “Can I just check your lungs really quick?”

He nods and instantly regrets it when you step closer, the waft of gourmand overwhelming his senses. You unravel your stethoscope and lean down to press the face to his chest, “Deep breath.”

Spencer inhales as best he cans but he knows he’s about to be outed the longer you stand so close to him like this.

“Your lungs sound fine, but your heart's beating really fast.” you giggle as you stand up straight again.

“It does that.” Around really, really, pretty girls.

“Not sure if the Amlodipine alone will help that.”

“No I don’t think so either,” he shuffles awkwardly on the bed, “but…your number might?”

“My number? That’s awfully forward, Dr. Reid,” you beam, “but, if in your educated opinion you find it vital to your recovery and well being…” You scribble your name and number on a post it note, sticking it to the flower vase on the side of his bed. Clicking your pen and sliding it back into your pocket, you head towards the door.

“It was very nice to meet you, doctor.” you turn to him, “See you soon?”

He couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “See you soon, doctor.”

“ hidden bots ” a bot for all my shadow banned bots.

derek morgan

babygirl attitude — in which when he tells you good morning, and you don’t reply back with the usual, depraving him of his morning flirt comments. making him oh so bound and determined to dig into what was wrong, because the behavior had to be considered straight out bratty. what else would it classify as? not bratty? no.

real man — after a date stood you up at a bar, one of the worst places to be stood up at, swooped in derek to lift your mood. which if he said so himself, he was better than that other man. you knew each other better. therefore making it way more relaxing then meeting some man off of that shitty dating website.

sweet moments like these — when it came to cases like ones involving children, or any case in general, which you knew took a toll on him mentally because although you weren’t apart of the bau or any law involved system, you understand the depth of the cases. so when he had a particularly long three days in another city, all he wanted to do was to get home to his girl and his dog(clooney)

baby fever — you had this long desire of wanting to have a kid, but derek’s just not ready. the spiking period of wanting a baby usually happened between your ovulation period. except—this time, seeing you so disappointed you looked, he had to tell you something. that he would think about it.

spencer reid

chess — chess was your least favorite board game. but between that and card games, playing chess on a plain ride to and back to a city were one of the most comforting things ever. although spencer made it so miserable. if you thought you were a head, he would pull a move and you weren’t. you couldn’t outsmart him, even with thinking outside the box.

finnick odair

mutts — he could’ve swore the mutts got him. but it was like completely whiplash when he woke up in the infirmary. bandaged up. surrounded by machines he wasn’t sure what they were for, completely relieved when he saw your pretty familiar face

lovers quarrel — just your luck, after winning the games, your back in. which is a nightmare in it’s self. but now your stuck with your once unrequited, mutual pinning love? the one who gave you up to be the capitol’s golden boy. of course you would never be understand why he gave you up. but it never meant it hurt less. and the only reason you in the mess is because you didn’t wan mags getting hurt. because she meant everything to finnick.

eric coulter

stiff — of course you were bound to have a hard time. you came from abnegation, earning the infamous name of ‘stiff’ although eric seemed to have a personal vendetta against you for whatever reason. maybe it was more than that and you couldn’t see that. but that was definitely untrue with the way he nit picked at everything you did.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

tw: fingering, cunnilingus, piv, titty sucking, slight bondage. all characters are 18+. minors and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked.

gojo satoru loves sucking your pretty tits as you ride him. swirling his tongue over your perky bud, lightly biting it to get pretty sounds out of your mouth. your delicious scent evading his nostrils as you move up and down on his thick hard cock. "you ride me so good baby~ fuck... and these pretty fuckin' tits" smooch "...i can do this all day..."

nanami kento eats your sopping wet cunt for hours before he shoves his cock deep inside you. he needs to pull out multiple orgasms out of you. he tells you it's to give you as much pleasure as you deserve, but in reality, he just enjoys the pretty sounds you make, as you whine and moan his name, while you squirt all over his face. "ken-i can't... 's too much, haah..."

"just one more, darling. i know you have it in you. you can hold on longer for me right...?"

geto suguru loves fingering your pussy every morning. his special way of greeting you everyday after a good nights sleep. pulling your panties to the side or taking if completely off, wetting his fingers with his saliva and sticking it inside of you, thrusting his fingers in an out slowly, his cock twitching in his boxers from the wet sound of your pussy and your moans, as your still laced with sleep. "you're so wet for me. and so early in the morning too. but i can it can't be helped. isn't that right sweetie...?", he captures your lips in a gentle kiss.

toji fushiguro cuffs your hands behind your back when you're acting like a brat. thrusting inside of you in a steady rythmn, denying your cries of asking him to go faster. how would you learn your lesson if he just gives in to you. "you've been such a naughty girl, princess", he smacks your ass, your pussy clenching down on his cock. "you have to take your punishment. i'll go faster when you learn to stop being a brat."

choso kamo just loves playing with your pussy, mostly through your underwear. rubbing your clit with his thick fingers, hard and slowly as you let out cute breathes and whines. he could just stick with this without having to be inside you, especially on days where your tired from your daily activities. he comes inside of your panties leaving them wet and sticky with his cum and he makes sure you fall asleep that way. "you look so cute like this, angel. you don't know what you do to me..."

sukuna ryomen who absolutely adores watching you ride him reverse cowgirl. your ass that he loves oh so much so close so he can smack and caress it. the way your pussy takes his thick cock so well. the jiggling of your ass cheeks as you take him all the way to the base like the good girl you are makes the gears in his brain malfunction. "you're taking me so well, baby-ahh- yeah, just like that" smack "fuck-don't stop . don't stop until i tell you to, pretty"

𝐂𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

aaahhh okay wait imagine Emily is away on a case longer than usual and comes home without telling r to surprise her and sees that reader has been like idk wearing her shirt or sleeping with her pillow or idk just like something to feel close to her

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Emily knows you're in her bed before she's so much as opened her front door. She lives in a nice building across from Washington, DC, in an apartment that glows with the lights of the city. It takes time to get home after a case, but the view isn't one you'd find anywhere else. 

She'd fly a hundred hour flight if it meant getting to ch ome home to you. It sounds silly and corny, like a fairytale she didn't believe in, but there's something about you that inspires cliches. Like, your beat up converse arranged neatly so as not to disrupt her tower of high heels and boots. Your coat on the rack with the arms and hood smoothed down, and the way you arrange Sergei's food and water bowls intricately every time you visit because you're aware of Emily's penchant for orderliness. 

She knows you're here because of all of these things, but really, she has a freaky sixth sense when it comes to you, and seeing you curled up on her side of the bed cements it perfectly. 

She locks her gun away in its safe and puts her shoes and jacket away. Quiet, she slinks to where you're sleeping with the sheets up to your nose and bends down to check you over. She knows nothing has happened since she saw you last, but it doesn't matter. She needs to look at you properly. 

You're on your side, face angled down, arm a lump under the sheets. Emily smiles and, despite the singing urge to wipe away the day's faded makeup and brush out curls crunchy with hairspray, lingers, holding her hand up to your face, stroking a short line.

You won't wake from it. Maybe you're a heavy sleeper or maybe you know it's her, but she never wakes you up when she comes home. 

Sergei snores little nosed snores from his fluffy bed. Emily laughs as you do the same, though she frets (and she'd deny it if anyone asked, but frets all the same) that you can't breathe with the blankets smushed to your nose as they are. 

Gently, she pulls down the sheets. 

Her lips fall from their fond smile. Tucked in your arms like a life jacket is a soft white camisole, the last shirt Emily slept in before she left. 

She isn't excessively loud about loving you —she isn't quiet about wanting you, but that isn't the same— and you aren't overly forthcoming. 

Which isn't to say she doesn't feel loved, Emily knows she's loved in the same way you must know it, with the burning, aching sort of desire that has you pinching her hips when she walks by, or begging her to share a shower with you even if it'll make her late for work. But Emily hadn't realised how much you loved her in this sense. The difference between missing her company and missing the intrinsic smell of her skin is unsaid and yet yawning; you love her enough to curl around a dirty t-shirt. This is the kind of love that grows old together. 

Emily's particular about things, but not tonight. Fuck it, she hopes she gets mascara on the silk pillow case as she climbs into bed behind you. Let it be a monument to how she feels, any hint of fatigue replaced with silky soft wanting. 

"'Mily?" you murmur, covering her arm where it curves over your waist. 

"No," she whispers, "axe murderer. Sorry, babe, welcome to your nightmare." 

"I had a good run." You push her back a touch as you roll onto your back, squinting at her through thick-knitted lashes. 

"You can sleep. I'll still be here in the morning, I promise." 

"Y'here now. Missed you, Emily," you murmur, turning more, vying to hold her waist as she holds yours. You sound a little upset, but that could be the sudden wake up call. 

"I'm sorry," she says, smiling at you in hopes of getting one back. "But I'm home early. That's a good thing, right?" 

"Can I put my face in your neck?" you ask. 

Emily tries to say yes. All she can summon is a mute nod and a tight smile —she's happy, yeah, but she feels strangely like crying. It's a scary thing, finding out how loved you are. Suddenly she has to worry about it being taken away. 

You wrap your arms around her, your skin hot with a furnace like heat. Mumbling, your face fits into the curve of her neck, your lips skipping against it as you say, "Love you… you okay?" 

Her smile shocks back to life. She presses it to your forehead without hesitation. "I'm fine now. Love you. You can go back to sleep." 

"I really really missed you." 

Emily feels each word fan against her neck. It's a sensation she's sure she'll remember for years to come. "I missed you, too." 

stop singing, start (s)creaming - poly!marauders

bf!remus lupin, focus on james potter - 1 bf, 3 perverts au! summary: james hasn't stopped thinking about you since he watched you fuck sirius and peter in one night. but he finally gets his turn whilst you're getting ready to hit the pubs. wc: 1.6k+

Ever since the party a couple of days ago, James could not get you out of his head. It was already bad enough that you were one of his best friends’ girlfriend, but he kept on replaying the moment you arched your back with Sirius’s arms around you, moaning pornographically. And now, you were sat on the floor of their dorm, your makeup bag in front of you as you made yourself up to go to a pub with the boys.

You had put one of your records onto Remus’s player, the seductive music serenading the messy boys in the dorm, running around to find a clean shirt or too busy showering. It seemed you could feel a pair of eyes on you, so you turned your head around, smiling when you met James’s eye, pausing your singing. His face flushed, and you hummed in amusement, puckering your lips as you applied lip gloss onto them.

Standing up, you walked in front of the floor length mirror in their dorm, spinning around and posing in a way that accentuated your curves before leaning in closer to the mirror, analysing your makeup. James was caught staring at you in the reflection, but this time he didn’t dare look away. Giggling, you spun around in your heels, walking over to the boy and holding your hands out for him to take. He tugged you closer to him and you took the opportunity to bring your lips to his ear, whispering “Dance with me” as you swayed your hips to the song, beginning to sing along to the lyrics again.

James gasped when you spun around, pressing your back to his chest, curves swaying against him. He gripped your hips, dropping his head to kiss your shoulder softly, beginning to move his hips in rhythm with yours. You giggled, a hand coming up to gently cup James’s cheek, and he turned his face, pressing a kiss on the palm of your hand.

The steady hands on your waist forced you back around so you were facing the muscular boy again. You lazily slung both your arms over James’s shoulders, closing the distance between your faces until you were nose to nose, lips barely grazing each other. “Please.” James quietly begged, tilting his head up slightly to hint at you to connect your lips. Deciding against teasing him, you pressed your lips against his, and he sighed in satisfaction into the kiss, hands tightening on your body.

Eagerly, James tilted his head, parting his lips and licking at your bottom lip so he could deepen the kiss when you opened your mouth, gliding your tongue into his mouth. You gasped as James spun you around, walking you backwards until you hit a wall. One of his hands moved to cup your face as you messily kissed, his other hand trailing downward so he could grope your ass.

“Woah, no wonder y/n stopped singing.” Sirius chuckled as he walked out of the bathroom, wiping his own lips to hide the evidence of his kiss with Remus in the bathroom. “What’s going-oh.” Remus grinned widely as you moaned, hooking a leg over James’s hip so you could grind your pelvis against his, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. James humped his clothed cock into your core, expelling a loud moan from your lips.

“There’s nothing like kissing against a wall. Right Rem?” Sirius teased, turning around to look at your boyfriend. You ignored the goading comments, one of your hands desperately tugging at James’s leather belt, hinting for him to take it off. James let go of your jaw, frantically attempting to undo his belt with one hand as he sloppily made out with you, tongue exploring as much of your mouth as he could. You gripped James’s hair, tugging it back to break the kiss, gasping for breath momentarily before pulling him back onto your lips.

James shimmied out of his jeans, and you took it upon you to push down his boxers, freeing his leaky cock from its confines. You reached down under the skirt of your short dress to push your thong to the side, giving James access to your cunt. He broke the kiss, panting heavily as he looked between you to push his cock into you. It was slow at first, but then James’s arm was wrapping around your waist, pushing you against the wall as his free hand grasped your second leg, pulling it around his waist, lifting you off the ground. Both your arms tightened over his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on you, bouncing you up so he could steady his hold on you, balancing your weight between his and the wall.

“Shit, you two might want to be quick, we’re supposed to leave soon.” Sirius mumbled, walking into the bathroom again to fix his already perfect hair.

“No, they have time. Pete just got in the shower, remember?” “Oh yeah.”

“Fuck James!” You cried, halting the short conversation between your boyfriend and Sirius.

You slammed your lips back onto James’s, and he whimpered into your mouth as he harshly thrusted into you, cock sliding in and out of you with ease. James swallowed up every single one of your moans, pleasure racking through your body at the feeling of his thick cock, nearly splitting you in half. You broke the kiss for a moment to catch a breath before James was pushing his mouth onto yours again in an open kiss, tongue meeting yours in the middle.

The fingers in James’s hair tightened around his soft locks, sending a sharp pain to James’s head that had him thrusting his hips up into you deliciously. James shifted your weight onto one of his arms as he snaked the other hand between your bodies, eagerly rubbing at your clit. You could feel the tears of pleasure forming in your closed eyes, and you suddenly tore apart from the kiss as you threw your head back, banging it onto the wall as you cried out James’s name loudly.

“Shit, Rem, look at that form.”

“Were you expecting any less from the athlete?”

Your ankles connected behind James’s back in your heeled leather boots, pushing James’ cock deeper inside you as you so the tip of his cock grazed the walls of your cervix. James gasped loudly, digging his head into the crook of your neck and biting roughly. You ground your hips down on James’s cock, eyes tightly shut in pleasure as he continued putting pressure on your clit. One of your hands snaked under the back of James’s collar, nails scratching at the sweaty skin of his upper back as you moaned, crying out “Fuck, I’m-fuck!”

You might have gone unconscious for a second, or maybe you were so deep in the pleasure that shot through your body, but all the sound in the room was suddenly put on mute as your orgasm rocked through your body. James’s knees buckled, and the hand that was on your clit slammed against the wall next to your head to steady himself, making sure he wouldn’t fall to his knees as he pressed you against the wall, putting all his weight against you to keep you up. “I’m gonna-need to pull out!” James cried, attempting to loosen your legs from around your torso as he thrusted into you a couple of times.

Remus’s eyes were suddenly trained on you, his possessive nature creeping on him to ensure James would pull out of you. Your legs unravelled from around James’s waist, falling flat on the ground, but James held one of your legs up to stay perched over his hips until he suddenly pulled out, aiming his cock away from your black dress. With his weight suddenly off you, you slowly sunk onto the floor, legs shaking as you recovered from your orgasm. James’s hand was pressed against the wall as he clutched his dick, spurting thick ropes of cum onto the wooden floor of their dorm.

When James finally recovered, Peter was making his way out of the dorm’s shared bathroom, a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. He chuckled, muttering “I knew something was up when I heard screaming.” “Shut the fuck up, Pete.” The blond’s chuckle turned into a full on laugh at James’s respond, slapping a hand on his back as he passed behind him.

“Can I get some help, please?” You asked from your spot on the floor, looking up at the two untouched boys. Remus strolled towards you, bending down to wrap his arms around your torso. Easily, he lifted you up to your feet, and you stumbled, forgetting about the heels you were wearing. You took a step back, but Remus tugged you closer towards him, extracting a squeal from you. “Need to go to the toilet and fix my makeup before we go.” You explained, but Remus only raised his eyebrows at you.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Giggling, you pressed yourself against your boyfriend, kissing him softly. Jealous eyes watched you, because at the end of the day, no matter how much you and Remus fooled around his friends, you were only dating each other. Remus hummed in satisfaction and you pushed yourself off him, leaning in the doorway to the bathroom. Sticking your head into the dorm, you glanced at James, who was still panting.

“You okay, Jamie?” You asked, and the muscular boy nodded silently, putting his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “Knees are shaky.” He mumbled, and Sirius strolled towards him. James stood still as Sirius pulled his boxers back up, carefully tucking James’s shirt into his jeans before buckling his belt again.

“Take a breather before we leave, mate.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @accio-mayachhiato, @ciaocinna

before "hawks", before "dabi"

Welcome To The Family - Series Masterlist

Nesta x Reader

Series Summary: You lost your family in the attack on Velaris by Hybern. Nesta lost her humanity and gained a tremendous amount of trauma. Together you find a grand romance between yourselves, and an unwavering commitment to help each other heal, no matter what the world says.

fluff 💖 | smut ❤️‍🔥 | angst 💔

Chapters:

AO3 Link

Get Cozy Since We're Both Lonely: You and Nesta begin your romance after she becomes a regular in your shop for months, due to a chance meeting at Rita's. 💖❤️‍🔥

Every Family Is A Butterfly - Your first dinner with the in-laws... Does not go well, to say the least. 💔💖

└➤𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈.. 。✑ ─────┐

𝕂𝕡𝕠𝕡

𝔸𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕖

𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

𝔸𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕣

One time ting

ℂ𝕠𝕕

Twilight masterlist

Yandere cullen clan

Volturi’s relationship with reader

Cullen readers discipline

Why cullen reader got her gift

Bella meets cullen reader

Werewolves finding out about cullen reader

Volturi finding out about the wolves incident

Cullen reader’s reputation in school

Crush

Base ball escape

Story time with the evil trio

Murder at the frat party

Alexander Johnson ‘Johnny’ ward

First dance of the night

Plan set in motion

Volturi+ Johnnys reaction to reader running away

The cullens dealing with your absence

Teatime with Jane

Eternity full of heartbreak

Reunion of the damned

Angels encounter

Percy jackson x reader

This is my first fic i write after ages not writing | Information about angelreader is in the tag to find | English isn't my first language<3

The infirmary was quiet, save for the soft rustle of a breeze through the open window and the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, casting golden patterns on the bed where Percy Jackson lay, still and pale, recovering from his brutal encounter with the Minotaur.

He stirred.

A quiet voice gasped. “He’s waking up!”

Percy blinked, eyes adjusting slowly to the soft light. His body ached all over, but something warm and comforting brushed his lips. He blinked again. A spoon?“You’re okay,” you whispered, your voice laced with relief.

His vision focused just enough to make out a small figure perched beside him, holding the spoon with careful hands. your eyes were filled with concern and hair tied back with a white ribbon shaped into a bow. Your expression looked like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

Was he dead?

Because this definitely looked like a scene from heaven.

“You should eat something,” you said, voice so soft it barely carried. “It’ll help your strength come back.”

A blonde girl stood beside you with arms crossed, watching him closely. “Told you he was tough,” she muttered, but her tone was more impressed than annoyed.

“She means she didn’t think you’d make it,” you clarified sweetly, offering another spoonful.

Percy coughed a little, sitting up slowly. “Where... am I?” You smiled gently. “Camp Half-Blood. You’re safe now.” you reached out and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders with motherly care. “I’m [Y/N], and this is Annie. I mean-Annabeth.” Annabeth rolled her eyes but didn’t correct you. Percy, still dazed, glanced between them.

“Did... did an angel just feed me pudding?” You giggled-a quiet, airy sound and your cheeks pinked. “No wings, just ribbons,” you said, tugging lightly one end in your hair.

“She’s always like this,” Annabeth said, but there was warmth in her voice. “Everyone calls her Angel at camp. You’ll see why.” Percy tried to sit up again, but his arms gave a weak shake. You steadied him instantly, touch cool and soothing. “Don’t push it. You were really hurt. I’m going to get Grover, okay? He’ll want to see you.”

She stood and gently smoothed her skirt-white with little gold accents, because of course you looked celestial. Then you slipped out of the room, your ribbon trailing behind you like a comet tail.

Percy blinked at the door you left through, his mouth slightly open.

“You look like you’ve seen Aphrodite,” Annabeth teased.

“I think I saw an angel,” Percy muttered.

Annabeth snorted. “Told you.”

@shootingstargirl2001 (as promised)

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: after finding out you were going on a date with someone new right after his relationship ended, sukuna's left wondering just how bad his luck could get.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, horrible communication, angst, fluff, smut (piv sex, rough sex, hate sex, sukuna getting overstimulated and biting his knuckles, thigh fucking, full nelson, cowgirl, backshots, mating press)

notes: hellerrrrr this is like 7.2k words I think? I also wrote a mini summary at the end of this chapter, feel free to check it out!

*******also poorly proof read, excuse any typos and don't be afraid to lmk of any mistakes I've made, I stayed up until 3 am writing this lol. anyways, enjoy!

part five | part six | part seven

“How are you feeling tod–” 

“Like shit,” Sukuna cuts the therapist off. 

Kento’s not even fazed by it, he already knew there was going to be a lot to unpack just by the look on Sukuna’s face when he walked into his office. He didn’t even say hello or good morning to him— just shot him a glare that was followed by a low sigh, then plopped down on to seat. 

Now he’s pouting as he waits for the next question, his arms also have yet to uncross. 

What a change from their first session. In the beginning he was leaning forward in his seat, looking like he was ready to maul the professional, and now he’s slumped back in his seat wanting Kento to ask him what was wrong. 

“I can tell,” Kento says, holding back a sigh. Not that he was frustrated or anything, he just knows his life has the tendency to randomly take a turn for the worst. He also knows that Sukuna himself can randomly take a turn for the worst due to the fact that luck's never really been on the guy's side. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath for a moment.”

“For what?” Sukuna stubbornly asks. 

“Just— trust me, okay? Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” he instructs him again. 

Without much of a fight, Sukuna follows along. Not like it’d make his week any worse. 

“Alright, good. Now tell me, what's the first thing that comes to mind?” Kento asks after he takes a couple more deep breaths. 

—

“A date?” 

It wasn’t even a question at this point, just one completely unbelievable statement. Not that you getting dates was unbelievable, it was how much life continued to fuck him in the ass. 

“Yeah, can you watch her on Saturday or not?” you ask again. “Sorry that it’s so last minute, I figured it’d be fine since you usually like to have your date nights with Yorozu on Fridays.” There was zero bite in your tone, you weren’t even looking at him when repeating yourself. 

A part of him wanted to spiral from how normal you are about it all, how fast you moved on. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in the past, like always. It’s almost as hurtful as it is embarrassing— all the nights he’s spent just wishing he could have a do-over with you, wishing you felt the same as him. 

“We broke up.” That’s all he has to offer at the moment, that’s what he was planning on talking to you about anyways on the drive here. 

“Wait, what?” you finally turn around and ask. He actually does seem a little sad the longer you look up at him, understandably so. If only you knew that’s not what he was actually bummed out about. “What happened?”

“She uhh– cheated on me,” he mumbles back before opening your fridge. The bottle of beer looks quite enticing, but it’s not even noon yet, so instead he reaches for the redbull. 

Your face immediately drops from a mixture of shock and pity. If Sayomi weren’t babbling on the other side of kitchen island, it’d be dead silent right now. To be completely honest, the last thing he wants or needs from you is pity.

...Unless if it were enough for to drop your fucking date, but he highly doubts that’ll ever happen. 

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” he says in response, closing the fridge door a little too hard and cracking the can open in a way that sprinkled a few droplets of liquid on his hand. 

“It’s not whatever, you didn’t deserve that,” you correct him, trying to feed him the whole "everyone deserves love" spiel.

How cute.

He actually did deserve it though. He basically dropped her the moment you and Sayomi came into his life. The slap however? Debatable. 

He was right to be pissed about the possibility of her giving him something, but whatever.

“No seriously,” he says, holding a hand out in an attempt to stop you from feeling even more sorry for him. The way you think he's trying to hide his true feelings right now disturbs him in ways he couldn't even explain. “It’s fine, the relationship was on its last leg anyway.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s just– she would’ve backed out eventually,” he sighs, reflecting on all the fights they had. “I was busy enough as is, I didn’t like the idea of splitting my time between her and Yomi anyways. She’s my main priority right now.” 

“I see,” you say, handing him a napkin to wipe his hand off. His reason was pretty similar to yours when justifying Suguru ends things with you. “Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” 

“Yeah, ditch your date” he all but mumbles to himself. 

“What’d you say?” you turn around and ask.

“Nothing,” he says, thankful you didn’t actually hear him. “When did you need me to watch her?”

“At 7, I’ll probably be back around 9 or 10. I don’t really plan on being out for too long.”

Good. 

“Who’s this date of yours?” he asks, lacing his voice with curiosity to sound more innocent. It actually shows how good he is at hiding his emotions if he actually tried, because he’d be down to seriously murder someone right now. 

“His name's Toji,” you chirp out, still so blissfully unaware of the man's internal turmoil. 

And now that someone has a name, Toji.

“How’d you meet him?”

“At the business dinner I went to a few weeks ago. He’s one of the heads of the company that was interested in having me manage all their stuff.” 

“So he's old,” he cackles to himself. Doesn't matter how much money the guy makes, a man with a dick that doesn't work is a man of no use to you.

Is he ageist? Only when it comes to Toji, he just decided.

“He’s only 40, calm down,” you say in defense. 

He let out a low, condescending whistle. “Wasn’t trippin’ to begin with, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you were into older men like that.” 

"Okay," you cut him off before he could continue to make more snide remarks. "You sure about that? 'Cause you sound pretty annoyed right now."

"I'm good," he chuckles before pulling Sayomi out of her high chair. "Quit tryna make issues out of thin air."

“Whatever, Sukuna,” you shake your head and sigh. There was no point in continuing the conversation if he was just going to make fun of you for giving someone a little older a chance and then gaslight you over calling him out. “I’m gonna go upstairs and get started on work now. Just text me if you need anything, I have back to back meetings all afternoons.” 

“Didn’t ask, but okay.” He says rather rudely, before ignoring you completely.  

—

Kento almost wanted to ask if that was seriously all he was mad about, but reminded himself being in a bad mood over it made sense when it came to Sukuna's situation. It’s always hard watching someone move on before you. Maybe now it was time for them to start working on his attachment style. 

He wouldn't say that Sukuna's attached to the idea of you, he seems like he's fond of who you are now, but he feels like it might be something more complex.

He's spent so much of his life trying to run away from the pain of losing his parents at such a young age, and now that he technically has a little family unit of his own, it's like he thinks it'll get rid of those parts of him that've been permanently changed.

Kento would have to spend more time thinking about this before bringing it up. Sukuna seems so attached to the idea that maybe you two will end up together, he just wants to break the truth to him gently at this point. Yes, it might happen, but statistics have also shown it's highly unlikely. He can't tell himself that he's a guaranteed exception just because of how unique his circumstances are.

Not only that, it's just not healthy. He might be making progress in his career and fatherhood, but holding on to something like this will just continue to stunt his personal growth in romantic relationships. It already happened with his ex-girlfriend.

“So if I’m hearing this correctly.. You aren’t just mad at the fact that she went on a date. You’re also mad that she wasn’t nervous to talk to you about it?” Kento pauses him and asks. 

“Mhm,” Sukuna nods his head. 

That’s fucking toxic, but the therapist obviously wasn’t going to word it like that... and at least he was honest about it. He can appreciate that, especially since his clients try to lie to him all the time.

“But wouldn’t her being comfortable with talking to you about those things be a good thing?” he attempts to reframe his viewpoint.  

“I kinda like it more when she’s nervous to tell me things,” Sukuna admits. 

That’s where Kento decides to change the topic. 

He really doesn’t want to get into how pleased Sukuna becomes whenever someone stutters while speaking to him. That’s another problem to tackle on a different day.

“Were things between you two tense after that?” he asks instead. 

“Nope,” Sukuna pops the p. “Everything went back to normal after that… at least until Saturday.” 

Oh god, Kento internally groans before he begins to dissect what he could possibly mean by that. “And what happened on Saturday?”

Sukuna smirks, “a lot.” 

—

Toji was a lot of things— handsome, successful, but most importantly, a father. His son’s around the same age as Yuuji and despite his busy schedule in the finance world, he seems to bend it as much as he could in order to spend more time with Megumi. 

You have higher hopes for this one than the last, being single parents was something you could actually bond over. 

“So why did you and your daughter’s father separate?” he asks, figuring it was okay since you did ask him about Megumi’s mother first. Not that you meant to, it was one of those questions you were inevitably led to with the direction the conversation was taking.

You were also three glasses of wine in. 

And now you wish you could hit the rewind button because you were not ready to unpack that yet. 

“It’s complicated,” you let out a little laugh before taking another sip of wine. 

“I see how it is,” he clicks his tongue and chuckles. “Guess I’ll save that question for the third or fourth date then.”

“And who said there was going to be a second one?” you begin to tease the man ,who’s clearly too confident in himself to care. 

“Me,” he says shamelessly, before getting a little more serious. “I’d take you out anytime you want if it’s as fun as tonight. Only if you want, of course.” 

“I think I’d like that,” you smile at him. You swear on your life you wouldn’t be able to even hold a conversation with him sober. It wasn't that bad at the business dinner since you were with other people, talking about their company, and also drinking.

But fuck this is so much more different compared to a business dinner. You weren't even this nervous on your first date with Suguru, and you thought he was intense upon first impression. Toji's on a different level, he's insanely intimidating, but in a good way. If you didn’t have to go home tonight, you most likely would’ve jumped his bones already. 

Your conversation with him gets cut short though when Sukuna decides to call you after 5 missed texts. 

“Babysitter?” Toji asks. 

“Mhm.” You let out a frustrated sigh. Was it a lie? Who knows at this point, the last thing you wanted was for him to find out it was your baby daddy who’d been texting you these last 30 minutes and now calling. “Mind if I step out and take it?”

“Not at all,” He assures you. “Take all the time you need, doll.”

If only Sukuna was this patient. 

His call ended up getting sent to voicemail on your walk to the bathroom, because there was no fucking way you were going to run in this restaurant in this heels. Hell, you wouldn’t run ever, unless there was an emergency, which there clearly wasn’t given the last five texts he sent you. 

All of which were different variations of “are you okay” and “when will you be back”. 

He doesn’t even give you the chance to call him back, he goes straight to calling you again. 

“What?!” you pretty much whisper-yell at him the moment you step into the empty bathroom and answer.

“What do you mean ‘what’? It’s 11:00 and I’m just tryna see if you’re okay, don’t get a fuckin’ attitude with me,” he retorts. “You won’t even thumbs up one of my texts back, letting me know you're alive.”

“You are so dramatic sometimes,” you say as you begin to rub your temple. “Didn’t know I had to report back to you.”

“Didn’t know you’d be out past 10 either, yet here we are–" he begins to complain, but then cuts himself off. "You’re tipsy as fuck right now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” 

“You’re so fuckin’ annoying sometimes,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah? So are you,” you argue back. 

He doesn’t care to argue right now, he’s too tired to do so. You can overhear him rummaging through your liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink. 

“You comin’ back tonight or are you gonna spend the night at your boyfriend's house?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Don’t care,” he cuts you off. “I just need to know if I’m watching Yomi overnight or not.”

“Of course I’m coming back,” you say defensively. “What makes you think I’d leave for the night without saying anything?”

“The fact that it’s past 10 and you keep ignoring my messages," he reminds you again. 

“I wasn’t ignoring them, you just didn’t give me the chance to answer them.”

“Lost track of time?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re so full of shit when you get a couple drinks in you, but we’ll talk about that later when you come stumbling home.”

“I’m not gonna be stum–”

“Yes you are,” he flatly responds. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

His words before hanging up on you almost sounded like a threat. At this point you were more curious to see if he’d even follow through with whatever the hell he meant by them, because you know for a fact he doesn’t care if you have a good night with Toji or not. 

You're met with Toji’s little grin when you come back to the table. By the look on your face, he could already tell that the time for tonight was up. 

“Did I keep you out past curfew?” he cheekily asks. 

“You did,” you nod. “It’s my fault for losing track of time though. But yeah, it's time to call it a night.”

“I’ll take some of that blame,” he says before waving down a waiter and mouthing ‘check please’ to them. “You can tell the babysitter I wouldn’t shut up or something.”

“I probably should.” 

You definitely won’t, it’ll just give your “babysitter” more ammo to argue with you when you get back.

The ride back home was quiet. 

Toji offered to give you a ride back home, but you decided to uber home in an attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever reaction Sukuna had waiting for you at your house. 

Which didn’t help, the man was blasting classical music the entire ride back. 

Your heart rate slowly began to pick up once you got past the gates into the neighborhood and by the time the driver pulled up to your house, it was racing. 

It's moments like this where you wish Sukuna never came back into your life. Why did he have this much of an effect on you? He didn’t even say anything that bad on the phone and now here you are freaking out over seeing him. 

But of course, your Uber driver already had a new customer to pickup by the time he pulled up to your house. Can’t keep him waiting on you. 

You take a moment to fix your hair and your train of thought before opening the door to your home. You’d think he’d have something playing on the TV, but it’s eerily quiet right now. He’s obviously awake and still here downstairs though, you can hear a glass being set down on the counter. 

The silence makes it all the worse, but you push through whatever fear you had and announce yourself before stepping into his view. “Hey, I’m back.”

“No shit,” he's quick to respond.

“As grumpy as ever I see.” You try to lighten the mood and even force out a laugh that he’ll most likely see through. You turn the corner into the kitchen and see him sitting on one of the barstools, leaning over the counter with a drink in hand. 

He’s either been slowly sipping on it given how the phone call was over 30 minutes ago, or he poured himself up a new one while waiting for you. It was most likely the latter.

“How was Sayomi?”

“The usual— a perfect little angel,” he responds boredly. “The complete opposite of her mother.”

“C’mon, you can’t be that mad over me going out and having fun,” you say, throwing your arms out in defeat.

“That’s not it,” he lets out a low laugh that does not match his current expression. He's pissed and you can tell he's holding on to the last bit of his sanity. “We’ve had an entire conversation about communication whenever it comes to one of us watching Yomi and you throw it out the window the moment you go out.”

“I didn’t throw it out the window,” you argue back.

“Oh right, time got away from you, my fuckin’ bad,” he says mockingly.

“Fine– fuck– I’m sorry,” you immediately give in, not wanting to end your night with a full blown fight with the man. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal and kept telling myself the date would end soon anyways.”

“That date wouldn't have ended had I not fuckin’ called you,” he continues to argue with you.

“Yes it would’ve!” 

“I seriously doubt that.” He downs the rest of his drink in one go before pouring himself up another one. “You left here at 6:30, and now it’s what? 11:43?”

“Didn’t know I had a curfew,” you scoff. 

“You don’t,” his voice drops threateningly low as he looks you dead in the eye. “This was your first date with the guy. Don’t even try to fucking twist this right now, I’m allowed to wonder if you're okay and check in on you when you don’t answer.”

And that shuts you up for a second.

His therapy sessions have actually been working. The aggressive honesty and vulnerability was a shock to see at the very least, but it also made you lower your guard for the time being.

Maybe this was love in its most basic form for him, just needing to know you’re alright and safe— something you’d rather get scolded over at the end of the night, instead of the fights you’ve had in the past where you two hurled profanities and insults at each other. 

Not that he was in love with you, you wouldn’t even say it was anything close to the type of love he had for his daughter and nephew, it was probably something closer to Choso.

Maybe even Yuki if you had to be honest with yourself.

“You’re right, Sukuna,” you respond in a warmer tone this time.

They were words you never thought you’d catch yourself saying, but you had no problem saying them. You’re actually proud of him right now. He explained why he was mad at you without losing his patience and yelling at you at you for once— yes, he was kinda mean about it at first, but you weren’t expecting overnight results when he started therapy. He also made a good point by saying it was your first date with Toji.

“It was messed up that I didn’t consider that and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll respond to your text messages and keep you updated the next time I meet someone for the first time– no– whenever I’m out and you’re watching Yomi.”

You should’ve stopped at “I’m sorry”, he really didn’t want to hear or even think about you going on more dates, but he appreciated your words nonetheless. You said all the right things, he felt the sincerity in your voice. 

He feels validated.. or whatever word it was that Kento used.

This should be the end of it.

But it’s only been a couple months since he’s started and he cannot for the life of him get the thought of other men getting to enjoy you out of his head, he fucking hated it. He couldn’t even blame it on the scotch that he swirled around in his glass anymore, these were his true feelings.

This is the second man you’ve gone out with in the time he’s been back in your life. Truth be told, he's fucking over it, one was enough as is. 

“Surprised you’re not stumbling around right now.” He says, continuing to push your buttons while blatantly checking you out— the two things he’s best at. “And what’s your skirt all hiked up for? It didn’t look that short when you left.”

“I’ve been sitting in a restaurant all night, what the fuck did you think would happen to a silk skirt?” you spat back in annoyance. No good deed goes unpunished with this one apparently, reminding you once again that Sukuna is an asshole in his most basic, purest form.

He bursts out laughing at that, you sounded like such a brat right now to him, even though he’s done way worse to you. 

“Hell if I know, sweetheart," he says after his own laughter goes down. "But since you're asking and I'm practicing on my honesty here, I thought you let him fuck you in the bathroom stall or something.” He takes one more good look at the skirt before picking up his glass again and taking a generous sip out of it.

The slight creases around your hips actually did look like you'd been sitting down for around 4 hours though. Maybe you shouldn't be at one for that long if you didn't want him picking on you for it.

You end up grimacing at his response. “You’re so fucking disgusting sometimes.” 

“You used to like that about me,” he softly says then chuckles. 

“Well things change.” You murmur back, trying to ignore the certain sadness in his voice when the words left his lips. It left you unsure of what to even say at this point as you pathetically kick your heel back and forth. 

“No need to remind me,” he sighs. "You've made that very clear."

You used to like me too, is what he had actually wanted to respond with, but what was the point in that? 

He wasn’t exactly sure of what his intentions were right now, but guilting tripping you definitely wasn’t one of them. 

Would it be weird if he suddenly told you how beautiful you looked tonight, or would that throw you off too much? 

He tried to earlier before you left, but you were in too much of a rush to talk about anything other than what time you’d be back. There’s not even a point in giving him instructions for the night with Yomi anymore. You said it yourself, he’s the best dad to Sayomi, maybe even the better parent out of you two at this point. 

A well deserved compliment for him and an insult to yourself— him and Kento agreed that was just your guilt starting to surface. You and him will always have your own roles as Yomi’s parents, there couldn’t be a better parent in his eyes.

Even if there was, he wouldn’t want to take that spot, his job is to take the fall when it comes to you two.

He really should give you that compliment, but it’s hard when it’s not for him that you got dressed up for. So the words get washed off the tip of his tongue by the drink that made it easier for him to admit he was worried about you— call him selfish, he calls himself balanced. It’s up to others to decide which one he was.

“So did you let him?” He asks instead. 

“Let him what?”

“Fuck you,” he says simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world to ask your ex, who isn't really your ex. “Did you let him fuck you?”

“Of course I didn’t!” you suddenly raise your voice from how much he’s testing your patience right now. “Are you sure it’s not you who’s drunk right now? These questions are insane.”

“Definitely not drunk,” he smirks. “You sound way too defensive to be telling the truth right now though.” 

“I’m not fucking lying,” you snap at him

“Okay,” he chirps out, clearly pleased with the reaction he got out of you. “Whatever you say, princess.”

“And can you stop with the pet names?” you nearly hiss at him as you go to grab a water bottle from the fridge. 

“Why? Don’t tell me you got yourself an insecure boyfriend that gets mad about that shit like that.”

Oh to be driven to the point where you finally break and throw your head back in laughter. Those first couple of seconds are euphoric, you're convinced nothings better than that short burst of energy you get after realizing you didn’t have to be the bigger person, not when it comes to the man that eventually finds himself right in front of you. 

You don’t even remember what exactly you said that made him snap too. Something about being bitter that he got cheated on, nothing worse than what he’s said to you in the past. 

“At least I’m not the one that’s constantly on the hunt to find someone, tryna find Sayomi a stepdad ‘n shit,” he says with the biggest grin. 

He’s enjoying this.

It’s something you don’t catch on to, so you end up shoving him in the heat of the moment. 

“So now you’re calling me whore?! Is that it?!” 

“Just saying you move on fast, that’s all,” he retorts. “Can’t deny it either, you fuckin’ dipped on me like I was nothing.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sukuna! Here I was thinking we were actually getting somewhere but you constantly make it clear that you’re never going to let that go!” you take a step forward as you yell over him. “What’s the fucking point in trying to include me in the time you spend with Sayomi if you clearly fucking hate me for making the choice I made?!” 

“I don’t fucking hate you and that’s the problem!” he yells back before aggressively rubbing his face.

Deep breaths.

Like what Kento said.

Just take a deep breath.

…

Fuck it.

“I fucking loved you, and it's my fault for not telling you back then, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did. And– fuck!– I still do," he reveals, throwing his arms out in pure frustration. "I would’ve stayed with you, I would’ve gone to every single doctor's appointment with you, I would’ve held your fucking hand during the delivery— we would’ve been a fucking family!” 

“I know! I fucking know,” your voice slightly cracks. It's not even from the sadness, you just hate hearing about what could’ve been. That, and that you were so wrong about him. You’ll spend the rest of your life eating your own words, regretting that you sabotaged your own happiness for nearly two years. “You think I don’t realize that whenever I see you two together?”

“How the fuck would I know that when you're going out and trying to find someone else to have a fresh start with?” he asks, slowly coming down from his own rage. The raspiness of his voice will the proof of it all by tomorrow. 

It was wrong, getting mad at you for dating when he had a girlfriend this entire time up until a week ago. He tells himself it's different, that he was already in a relationship to begin with, but he can’t keep telling himself that. 

It was wrong. 

Changing the narrative, changing everything around him as much as he could for his own comfort. Lying to himself in order to make reality easier to swallow. It didn't work when his parents passed away during his first year of college, why would it work now?

Sometimes he hates how he's not that kid with a fresh wound anymore. He had the time and resources to grow from it, to become someone that didn't let grief ruin them. Now he's just an asshole.

It's exhausting, spending all of his adulthood going through the motions. The only times he feels alive is when he's fighting, fucking, or winning a game.

Thrill seeking, adrenaline chasing— will it ever be enough? No.

It’s why he’s crashing his lips into yours.

Which is also wrong, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s an asshole, and he knows you like him like this with the way you're kissing him back with the same fervor. The way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you erases whatever guilt he felt tonight.

You can taste the scotch on him, something about it makes you wish you spent the night with him and Yomi instead. He spent this entire time waiting for you to get back home safe, ready to explain what his problem was.

And now he’s turning you around and bending you over the marble counter.

What are you even doing with your life at this point?

You don't know anymore, your skirts bunched up at your waist and he just ripped your lace thong off like it was nothing. 

“Fuck.” He's running his tip through your folds. “Just admit you miss me already.”

Your eyes continue to glaze over more and more everytime he grazes against your clit— teasing you, dragging the moment out until you finally admit it. 

He grabs your jaw and pulls you back to murmur in your ear, “you’re fuckin’ soaked right now. Don’t be stubborn and say you want me already, babe.” 

You still don't say anything, because yeah, you kind of are stubborn. Instead you move your hips back, thinking that’d do it, but instead his dick slips in between your thighs which earns a low, pleased groan out of him. 

“Or we could do this,” he chuckles. He starts to move back and forth while slowly peppering kisses down your neck. “Could just fuck your thighs until you beg me to put it in.” 

“You’re an asshole,” You snap at him in frustration, feeling his thick cock glide past where you want him the most. “God why do you have to make everything so difficult?” 

“Says the one who could've been stuffed full by now,” he taunts you, letting out a couple breathy moans. You already know he’d be just fine like this, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked your thighs. “It's easy, princess. Only gotta say three words– holy fuck you’re soaked– are you seriously gonna let your own pride keep you from having some fun?” 

"It's you that's doing that, not me."

"Nothing wrong with wanting some validation," he murmurs against your skin, you can feel him smiling against your neck as he says it. "I used to fuck you so good, used to make you cum so hard and so much too. Let me do it again."

“Fine,” you whine. “I miss you, are you happy now?” 

He says nothing in return and instead fully sheathes all 10 inches inside of you in one go. The sudden intrusion makes you nearly scream and gasp for air and he just covers your mouth while he begins driving his dick into you with the same precision that made you so weak for him in the first place. 

It was mean, brutal even, and it made you see stars.

“Keep it down,” he murmurs in your ear. “I’ll actually fuckin’ lose it if she wakes up from this.” 

You two were lucky Yomi didn't wake up while yelling at each other. The last thing he needed was her waking up when you two were... making up.

The sounds of skin slapping and his belt buckle clanking steadily become louder. He didn't even bother taking his clothes off for this, it's not like they got in the way.

"So fuckin' tight," he groans, continuing to pound his way into you. You struggle to keep your balance with the heels on, but you stay strong knowing he couldn't bend you over and fuck you so easily without them on. "Takin' me soo good too, princess— always took me like a pro. M’gonna make you watch yourself like this a little later."

"Hm?!" It's barely a question and it's laced with slight panic. His hand's his still over your mouth and it's the only response you could come out with that wasn’t a muffled moan.

"Hm?" He mocks you, then laughs immediately after, like a fucking asshole.

Sukuna doesn't even bother to elaborate on it, nor do you think too much into it, at this point you were too focused taking each and every inch he gave to you. His was insanely thick too, completely filling you up and stretching you to your limit.

He shouldn’t even be able to fit, yet he did and was always able to pull an orgasm out of you faster than you could if you were by yourself. 

Right now's no different, he works it out of you. Finding the spot that makes your legs shake and walls tighten around him, then hitting it over and over again until you're crying out his name. Just when you think you think you can't take it anymore, he takes his hand off your mouth, and shoves two fingers inside of your mouth.

You didn't know what to think of it, but you quickly lose your ability to think when he starts fucking you and rubbing your clit with those same two fingers at almost the same speed.

The sight must've been obscene.

Squeezing your eyes shut, one hand covering your own mouth while the other holds on to the counter, trying to keep your balance because the father of your child's only goal at the moment is to make you cum so hard that you pass out. He wants to fuck you into a coma. You're sure of it.

Not to mention all the things he's saying to you, going back and forth between different variations of "shut the fuck up" and "fuck— fuck yes, baby— just let go ‘n fuckin’ cum for me already”.

Every single one went straight to your core and after one particularly harsh thrust, your ears ring and eyes blur while you begin to fucking gush all over him.

“Good fuckin’ girl— that’s it baby just let go for me,” he says through his low, raspy moans, slowing down while he fucks you through it. "Fuck, fuuck— that's it baby, so' messy too, so fuckin' sexy cumming all over my cock like this.”

It takes a moment for you to come back to your senses, especially with how he shot all 5 of yours out of place. But the sound of his jeans zipping up eventually pull you out of your daze— pushing yourself the counter, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

“What the fuck,” you say as you try to catch your breath. You were trying so hard to come down from the high that you forgot he liked having you an overstimulated mess, the only reason why he stopped was so he could look at the absolute mess you made. "Were you trying to make me fucking pass out?"

Maybe.

“That was so fucking hot,” he murmurs to himself in amazement. This was the most he’s ever made you cum. It’s all over you, the floor, his jeans that he has yet to take off, but really needed to.

He doesn't even know he zipped them up to be honest. He didn't even get to finish, he decided to focus on you and it obviously paid off. But he’s a little needy right now, something you caught on to quick.

You two eventually end up in the guest room that’s the furthest away from your daughters, where you’re able to make as much noise as you want while Sukuna continues to fuck you with the same intensity as the first round, but this time with you folded up in a full nelson. 

He’s drilling into you— effortlessly snapping his hips up everytime he drops you down on to his length. He made sure you were facing the mirror so you could watch yourself get ruined by him. It’s like he wanted every part of this ingrained in your brain— the way he pounds into you, the way you couldn’t escape him with how your knees were pinned to the sides of your chest, the way you beg for more because you are just as selfish as him at the end of the day. 

You don’t fall apart with him, he’s not somebody you turn to mush with either. 

He’s somebody that rips you apart. 

Every sound that’s pulled out of you is real and raw, there was no way you could fake it. He finds what makes you feel good and drowns you in it, stripping you bare and leaving you wide open for him to consume. 

It didn’t matter how much had changed between you two, this is who he was— intense, all consuming, like a black hole that swallowed you whole.

And you were you, someone who enjoyed being on the other end of it. 

—

There’s water bottles littered on top of the dresser, you two have been going at it for hours, in every position you could think of. 

Folding you in a mating press, making you press down on your stomach at one point to see how deep he was inside of you. He’d surprise you with a particularly harsh thrust here and there, just to see how loud he could get you. Then he’d eventually pick up the pace, pounding into you until he had you crying and cumming all over his cock again.

Making you ride him, taunting you about how you wouldn’t last more than 5 minutes and saying he’d help you if you begged him hard enough. He quickly took those words back the moment you started bouncing on his cock, treating him like he was some fucking sex toy. You weren’t so forgiving though and didn’t allow him to touch you. 

It started off with him lean back on his elbows, talking you through it and telling you how good you were doing in that sexy voice of his. As time went on, his words became less. He mainly threw his head back while letting out the most sinful, drawn out moans or going completely mute while biting on his knuckles, with a few desperate pleas to just please let him touch you. He eventually stopped begging all together and placed a hand on your hip.

It earned himself a slap across the across face and made him cum so hard that he genuinely thought he was going to have an out of body experience because of it. 

Especially since you didn’t stop fucking him until you knew he was done, literally milking him for all he had and then some, like a spoiled brat.

He got his revenge on you shortly after, when he had you taking backshots from him in the world's meanest arch. Smushing your face down into the bed, degrading you and calling you all sorts of things that would’ve made you slap him again if it were under normal circumstances. He snapped his hips so hard against your ass that the smacks echoed throughout the room, making you eventually bite down on the blanket while you continued to take each and every one of his powerful thrusts. Even then, neither of you were worn out. 

You both were insatiable, taking turns on each other's bodies, allowing yourselves to use each other for reasons that probably won’t make sense once it’s all over. 

The sex you two had in the past was nothing compared to this.

Maybe it’s because hurt and anger were now added into the mix of confusing emotions you already felt towards each other. Or maybe you truly did miss each other and didn’t want the closeness to end.

In the beginning, you were so afraid to show more than just the “chill” side of yourself-- in fear of him calling it quits, in fear of him labeling you as some annoying girl for wanting more out of him.

And these past few months you've shown him nothing but the complete opposite of who you were when you were with him, yet he still wants you around. The person you were when you were with him didn't even exist, you just became someone you thought he'd like for the time being.

You betrayed yourself and it was all for nothing. It’s not until the end when you realize it, when you're splayed out under him and he’s giving you the slowest, deepest strokes. The guilt and shame from it all strikes you right then and there. the tears that begin to stream down your face feel endless, Sukuna can’t keep up with them no matter how many times he wipes them away. 

And he has no idea what the tears are from and who they're for, you two stopped talking to each other a while ago. So he just wipes the tears away and kisses you slowly, not even realizing how much more confusion he’s adding. 

Making love to someone should feel blissful, it’s supposed to be mindless. 

How can he feel that way with you after everything that’s happened? After everything you’ve done? 

He’s so gentle now. Does he think that you still deserve it?

You wouldn’t know, you fell asleep shortly after. Your entire body was sore, but it was the headache and tears you’d brought upon yourself that made you finally listen to your body and give in to rest. 

Falling asleep with Sukuna was always something that was easy for you, he’s warm. He’s heavy too, but you’ve always found comfort in the way he’d weigh you down with his body, you felt secure. 

But that feeling of security doesn’t last, it never does. You remember that when you wake up in the cold bed of your empty guest room. Sukuna seemed to have cleaned it up a bit while you were asleep, but the clean space does nothing to help the panic that immediately began to settle over you. 

You were going to have to eventually leave the room to face him and the child you share together. The only way you'd be able to do that is if you shoved down the feelings of shame far enough to where you wouldn’t feel them again until your all alone in your bed tonight, but your not sure if that's possible at this point.

You’re not even sure if you can look them in the eyes right now.

—

“What the fuck,” Kento mumbles to himself with his head in his hands, dropping his professionalism for a split second. The only thing he had to say at the moment was that he just knew Sukuna would be the one client that makes him drop his daily facade. 

Judging by his therapist's reaction, he’s definitely glad he didn’t tell him the full story. Not that he’d go ever go into graphic detail, but there was a huge difference between “we ended up sleeping together” and “I fucked her all night”. 

“Alright,” Kento recollects himself and says, lightly rubbing his temple before putting the glasses back on. “Let me just get this straight, you got mad at her last week for bringing up that she had a date, but you two were still completely normal up until she got back from her date.”

“Mhm,” he nods. 

“But you still feel like… shit over her going out?” 

“No, that’s kind of old news now. The story just wouldn’t make sense if I hadn’t mentioned it.” He tries to clarify, even though Kento is still left incredibly confused.

“Right.” The therapist clears his throat. “So what is it exactly that you don’t feel good about now?”

“Just everything that happened, things are kinda.. weird now.” 

“How so?”

“We haven’t spoken to each other aside from just a few words about Sayomi since then.”

notes: heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy 🫣 things got a little messy and complicated here haha

ummm sooo pretty much he fucked her so good she like *actually* realized her faults that weren't just her hiding an entire baby, and now she lw had depression idk. and ya! before having a baby, she basically was just like one of those people that kinda morphed in whoever their crush wanted.

she's obv grown to be her own person and is confident in herself, but realizing that he would've liked her regardless kinda made her spiral bc she was like why tf was I so hard on myself??? I fr hated myself that much?? yomi didn't have a dad bc of this??????

in this chapter we are reminded that they're kinda just dumb, confused kids at heart

also, sukuna's lw so fucked up for that 😭 toji didn't even get a CHANCE before he called him old and fucked reader right after her date. but we'll see.....

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

WHAT THE GODS TRIED TO BURY ✦

AN AZRIEL'S SERIES MASTERLIST

✦ SUMMARY: For two hundred years, she has remained untethered. Unseen. A shadow walking the borders of legend, neither savior nor monster—until war calls her name. Yet power like hers was never meant to be controlled. And some myths do not end in salvation. Some end in fire. In ruin. In storm and blood and the breaking of the world. Because gods do not grant mercy and storms do not bow.

✦ STORY RATING: R — Strong language, graphic violence.

✦ GENERAL WARNINGS: female!reader, slow burn, reluctant allies, gore, angst, slight au, author has taken some liberties. English is not my first language — Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

✦ STATUS: in progress.

╰› opinions, thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated!

general masterlist ∿ moodboard

「⚡︎」 chapter one.

「⚡︎」 chapter two.

「⚡︎」 chapter three.

「⚡︎」 chapter four.

「⚡︎」 chapter five.

I am a storm inside of skin. And even the sky is too small, to contain the agony of this.

— K. Lightborne

ᝰ MY HERO ACADEMIA ‣ ‣ ‣ take me home

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

༝ ᭝ ༝ bakugou / fem reader / kirishima ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ bakugou / fem reader / todoroki ༝ ᭝ ༝

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

༝ ᭝ ༝ bakugou katsuki ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ kirishima eijirou ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ todoroki shouto ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ amajiki tamaki ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ todoroki touya (dabi) ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ shinsou hitoshi ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ midoriya izuku ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ kaminari denki ༝ ᭝ ༝

༝ ᭝ ༝ multiple MHA men ༝ ᭝ ༝

evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.

a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x

Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.

Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned with—both incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledore’s head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.

Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindor—separated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, pondering—voice ringing loud in your ears as it announced—Slytherin.

James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where he’d been saving your spot—watching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.

That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.

Of course it was hard, for the both of you.

James had always been protective over you—infuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.

It had been a slow shift—painful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

Earning names for yourselves outside of ‘the Potter twins’.

You’d both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct ways—loud and clear, unmistakable.

James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.

He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.

And then there was you.

Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.

No less alluring.

They called you the evil twin—never to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.

There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect record—at least on paper.

Your charm was quieter than James’, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.

There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.

Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.

You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurling—quiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.

Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfast—chatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someone’s just hexed him.

Every head turned.

And James was clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“Bloody—! Merlin’s sake, you can’t just—!”

You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips—eyes glinting with amusement. “Jamie,” you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, “You wouldn’t happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?”

A hush falls over the table—just long enough to make you notice.

“Er. About that,” he says, eyes darting like he’s working out whether to lie or apologise. “I might still have it. Might. Can’t say what condition it’s in, though.”

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

“James,” you say flatly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ruin my book?”

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists quickly, shoulders raising like you’re about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. “There was this—uh—Sirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.”

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

“I’ll get you a new copy,” he says, guilt creeping into his voice. “Later today. You’ll have to stop by the common room, though.”

You sigh like it physically pains you. “Fine. I’ll try to come by around seven.”

He grins, pleased with himself. “Sorry, Poppet*.*”

You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadn’t stopped.

Like they’d forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarily—before offering a small smile—slow, sweet, almost smug.

The kind of smile that ruins people.

“M’kay, see you later, Jamie,” you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.

Eyes follow you as you go—every turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at first—too busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.

His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.

All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” James groans loudly, glaring. “Stop gawking at my sister.”

Marlene blinks, caught. “She’s terrifying,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“In a really…good way,” Remus adds, dazed.

Sirius only grins.

James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.

The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven o’clock sharp, you’d been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesn’t bother asking questions anymore.

James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.

“New copy,” he says proudly. “Didn’t even steal it. Aren’t you proud?”

You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. “No ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.” You close it with a satisfied snap. “Miracles do happen.”

Before he can retort, you’ve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.

Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.

James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. It’s nothing terribly sinister—something to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a week—but it’s enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.

And Remus was worse. He’s trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everything—but his eyes haven’t moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lily’s ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.

After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.

“Well,” you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. “This was fun.”

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

“Perfect” You glance to James. “Thanks for the book, Jamie.”

“No problem, Pop.”

You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.

“Goodnight, boys,” you said sweetly—voice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then you’re already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.

You don’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.

“Merlin,” he mutters. “I’d swear she’s half siren if it weren’t for you, Prongs”

James, who’s still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. “Oh, come off it.”

“What?” Sirius grins, unashamed. “It’s not my fault your sister is—” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “—whatever that is.”

Remus doesn’t say a word. His book is still open in his lap—he’s not reading it.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius continues, “if she weren’t your sister…”

“But she is my sister.” James rebutted, slouching back in his seat—swiftly ending the conversation.

The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, you’d spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than you’d realised—most of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.

You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.

He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—recognition, hesitation—and then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.

“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.

He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. “Prefect rounds. Took longer than expected.”

You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.

“What was it this time?” you mused. “More Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?”

“Fourth-years,” he said with a small exhale—amusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. “Said they were practicing for a future in espionage.”

“Ambitious,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Almost enough to make me proud.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.

Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.

Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.

Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandora’s fingers stilled in her braid, watching.

Wandless magic.

Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. “You really have to teach me how to do that one day.”

You didn’t look away from the fire. “Of course,” you said lightly. “But there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

“Like what kind of curve?” Evan asked, not looking up. “Burn-your-dormitory-down levels?”

“More like third-degree-if-you’re-clumsy,” you replied with a grin.

“I could do it,” a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.

Barty stepped forward from where he’d been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “Could you now?”

“First try,” he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. “Swear on my father's boring haircut.”

Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. “You’ll burn yourself stupid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Barty said, already striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture you’d used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.

A small spark leapt up—and immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

Pandora’s hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laugh—sound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. “Minor setback. I didn’t even flinch.”

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

“Let me see,” you said, standing and stepping closer.

He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didn’t comment.

A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.

Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldn’t quite understand.

From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. “You just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.”

“Shove off,” Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.

You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. “I’m going to wash up.”

As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spot—half reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.

Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than you’d care to admit.

Both the less outlandish sibling, the ‘quieter’ ones—not necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.

Subtle, magnetic.

You didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do.

Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You weren’t loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.

There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.

And where you differed—you were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havoc—a challenge; your eyes shining when something didn’t go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.

There was a certain wickedness in your stillness—one that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.

Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.

So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that he’d had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.

The first time was in the library.

You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didn’t notice him at first—or maybe that’s just what he told himself, though he should’ve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. “I wasn’t—”

Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctively—letting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyes—making a mental note.

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

He didn’t say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a moment—just before he reached for the last one—where his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.

Icarus.

A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.

His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.

“What did you think of the ending?” you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.

He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. “Tragic. I liked it.”

You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip—scanning his face—something glinting behind your eyes that he couldn’t quiet put his finger on.

The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his ears—“Of course you did.”

And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standing—ears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.

Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with you—every interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel it—you.

The next time he saw you, you’d agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.

The first person out wasn’t Regulus, but Barty—lips splitting into a wide smirk like he’d been expecting to see you there.

“Well, well,” he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?”

Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didn’t push him off though—”You’re sweaty, Junior,”

He only leaned in closer, grin wolfish, letting his breath fan over your jaw. “You love it.”

“I love showers, actually. You should try one.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay down—eyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even wider—“Only if you come with.”

Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his side—palms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into him—lips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes, Junior,”

Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figure—adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

“Evan,” you called sweetly, “come collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.”

“C’mon, Crouch” Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. “Leave her alone before you melt her into the floor.”

Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distance—playful, “Miss you already, Treasure!”

For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the air—adjusting his uniform.

“Did you wait long?”

He’d already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small no—slipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasn’t hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.

As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his hands—his knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.

Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.

“We could’ve stopped by Pomfrey,” you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.

He didn’t pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll heal.”

A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you weren’t so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.

Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knuckles—the heat of your skin ghosting over his—the simmer of magic was so soft he almost didn’t notice it.

There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didn’t flinch away.

And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happened—the only indication being a fading pink hue.

You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still parted—stretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.

When he looked up, you were already watching him—head tilted, expression cool—neutral.

Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, “I—how?”

A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, “Well, James and I were really clumsy—more James than me, obviously,”

Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, “Our mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,”

The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.

A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulus’ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to him—his lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.

“Teach me,”

Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, “…please?” under his breath.

The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.

The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside him—knees brushing, so close.

Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the desk—warmth of your body vaguely gracing him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yours—as much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensity—the confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

All-consuming.

At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stare—letting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. “Have you done wandless magic before?”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completely—using that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chest—before pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.

“Once—accidentally,”

With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on him—boring into the side of his head. “I—uh, got the lights to turn on when i couldn’t find my wand,”

His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, “Okay, lets start with something simple, shall we?” The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldn’t even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.

“Try move the coin.”

When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throat—Regulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximity—so close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.

You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.

And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, “Just breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to move—relax,”

Easier said than done.

Gods, even the way you said his name—he almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.

When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmth—rolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.

The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.

Nothing.

With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.

“Can you—” he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, —can you not watch me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. “Alright, alright,” you murmured, “Sorry.” Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. “Didn’t realise I was that distracting.”

“You are,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, leaning in again—slowly, gently—and placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. “And you’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

You didn’t move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. “Close your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.” Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.

A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, “Can you see it?” and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.

“Alright,” you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, “imagine it moving. Just a bit. Like there’s an invisible string tugging it toward you.”

He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.

And then—scrape.

The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had moved—just barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.

When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magic—your hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake—fingers grazing the fabric of his robes. “You did it!” you said, eyes bright. “See? Easy.”

He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.

“Again,” you urged, nudging it into place. “Try further this time.”

He nodded, more focused now—confident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steading—warm.

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.

He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. “This is the next step,” you said, tapping the surface of the table.

Regulus was still watching you.

Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coin—twirling it in a slow, controlled motion—and like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.

Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.

He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful halt—landing perfectly in the center of the table. He’d known magic, of course he did—but it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other night—mindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.

He was still staring at the coin, hesitating—doubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasite—it barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.

Taking the coin again, you reached for his hand—laying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didn’t pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.

It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small “Yeah,” passing into the air between you.

“Now,” you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. “Picture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like it’s moving from your hand into the air—let it flow through you.”

He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.

For a few long moment—nothing.

Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itself—smoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.

And your laughter, it rung through the room—soft, radiant—spilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasn’t quite sure it had actually happened. A smile—an actual, full smile—slowly curved onto his lips.

Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.

The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your hands—warm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.

And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.

Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.

The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yours—and yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.

Bewitched.

Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his ears—taking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, “…Good,” nodding his head as his continued, “really good actually,”

His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.

Just when you closed your notebook Regulus’ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmur—if the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“You’re a really good teacher,”

A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s easy,” you said lightly, “when you have a good student.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lips—but the curve of pride hadn’t quite left his mouth.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to say.

Just as you reached the bottom of the girls’ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.

“Wait—” His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. “Hm?”

He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. “Would you…” he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. “Will you show me more?”

There was a beat of silence.

You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open want—not desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, “Yeah.”

Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boys’ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.

You paused at the threshold.

It wasn’t unfamiliar—you’d lounged across Barty’s bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. You’d perched at Evan’s desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Barty’s nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. You’d never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.

He didn’t seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you weren’t watching—dropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.

He looked over his shoulder.

“You coming in?” he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.

Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.

It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touches—human ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wall—a burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.

With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.

Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.

“You make yourself comfortable wherever you go, don’t you?” he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t reply—just smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightly—just a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplight—the stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.

He was staring.

He didn’t realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.

“You’d think your parents taught you it’s rude to stare,” you said lightly. “But you and your brother are just the same.”

Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.

Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his desk—and the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it.

He followed your gaze. “A line from a poem.”

You hummed, intrigued. “What’s it say?”

He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away—still reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.

Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t mention it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—gentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.

The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.

“It sounds pretty,” you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. “What does it mean?” His gaze didn’t leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.

“Let night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stay”

You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than words—as if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.

“I think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him—blinks slowly as you took in each feature.

And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantly—fingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, “Such high praise,” Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.

Regulus’ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.

When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing down—fingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.

There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightly—still cautious, still a little hesitant.

But then then he heard it—just barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.

That did it.

His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldn’t quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right back—drawn to you like the pull of gravity.

Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.

The curtains.

The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to close—not all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.

Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, “Did you just—?”

He didn’t say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, “Already showing off.”

He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightly—forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

Really looked at you—eyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.

You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smile—that quiet, knowing one—that had his pulse quickening.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Voice just above a whisper.

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to.

Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time—hungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulus’ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spoke—quiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.

He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easily—how the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasn’t even magical—it was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.

You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interrupting—just listening.

For a man you’d once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.

Not that you weren’t complaining.

There was something soft about him now—looser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like he’d been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others might’ve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moement—still so foreign, even in his own mind.

Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, “Can you read the line again? From the poem?”

Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voice—low and smooth, almost like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

When he finished, you whispered, “Lemme show you something.”

And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.

Then, you slowly unfurled your fingers—and from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.

“This,” you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, “is what I think of when I hear your voice.”

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

The shock in his eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at you—not just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.

Just you.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You really are something,” he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speed—movements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.

Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middle—settling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settle—eventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.

The small smirk on lips only widened—at his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

“Relax,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space you’d created—right behind his ear.

“There,” you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.

“I think blue might be your colour, Reg.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lap—closer, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. “Must you always be this brazen?”

You shrugged innocently. “It’s fun having people on edge.”

He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker now—his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “Really?”

You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, “Reaaaally.”

That was all the prompting he needed.

His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.

Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, “You must like brazen then.”

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.

So engrossed in each other, you didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

But the moment the familiar sound of Barty’s voice filled the room, everything stopped.

“I brought teacakes,” he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, “because you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or something—”

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.

Regulus’ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.

“I left extra lemon ones, since—wait.”

Barty’s voice was closer now. Suspicious—”…Why are your curtains closed?”

Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didn’t say anything, eyes wide and insistent. “Was Potter here?” Barty asked, a little louder this time.

“She—uh—” Regulus stammered. “She was here. Earlier.”

Stammered.

You physically winced.

He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.

Barty’s voice was cool and skeptical. “So…she was here earlier…”

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where you’d left it—sitting in plain view.

A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Barty—standing there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.

You, still straddling Regulus.

Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

He gasped—actually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. “Treasure,” he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, “I cannot believe you traded me in for Black.”

You groaned. “Junior.”

“No—don’t you Junior me,” he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.

You slid off Regulus’ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.

Regulus didn’t even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buried—red down to the collar of his shirt.

“I thought we had something, Treasure,” Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. “A shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. “I mean… obviously everyone’s had a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d be the one to do something about it.”

You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. “You’re not denying it.”

He just shrugged lightly, like he didn’t see the point.

Barty’s laughter was smug as hell. “See?” he said, sitting up.

Regulus groaned softly beside you. “Is this going to end soon?”

Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me,” he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, “is this a new study method? Because I must’ve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.”

“Jun—”

“No, no—really, I’m curious,” he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. “Do you rate each other’s technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didn’t help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.

Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. “For what it’s worth, Reg… you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.”

ᱬ⛧ perfect ~ s. todoroki

sum: just some thoughts of newlywed! shoto after his wedding back in the hotel room.

pairing: husband! shoto todoroki x wife! reader

content: 18+ - mdni below cut. p in v, teasing, dirty talk, stalled orgasm, brief mention of marking, one long round but feels like multiple, fingering, implied breeding want brief quirk use, brief implication of cum plugging, cream pie, reader gets called princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content, aftercare, just all around loving shoto afterwards.

a/n: a rework of a request from my wattpad days. nice fresh feel and worded so much better. got re-inspired after reading the epilogue of the manga. slight epilogue spoilers in terms of shoto's ranking for anime only fans/fans not caught up don't the manga. hope you all enjoy this one! as always, likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated.

word count: 2,598

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

newlywed! shoto who’s finally married the love of his life in a lavish ceremony that would put some of the top celebrities in the world to shame. after all being the number 2 pro hero has its benefits.

newlywed! shoto who carries his new bride over the threshold of the honeymoon suite that the hotel booked for them for next to nothing. smiling softly as you giggle, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, not that he’d let you fall.

newlywed! shoto who set you down on the floor once he’d closed the door shut with his foot, finally getting a chance to take you in properly for the first time since he saw you at the altar. he loved how the white dress clung to your figure and how your rings now sparkled on your ring finger.

newlywed! shoto who still couldn’t believe you were his wife. was it a dream? if it was, he didn’t want to wake up. after years, you were truly his and he was yours.

new husband! shoto who runs his fingers up your exposed arm, trailing over the top of your back with a soft smile as you shivered. musing out “you look beautiful” and “you’re finally my wife” as he looked you over.

new husband! shoto who chuckles when you blush at his words. he always had an effect on you, even years after your first date. no one ever thought that the stoic shoto todoroki would settle down, let alone with someone who could rival bakugou at the best of times.

new husband! shoto who places soft kisses on your bare shoulder, hand resting gently on your arm. who loves to hear the small gasps you let out as you tilt your head to the side, giving him more access to your skin.

new husband! shoto who stops his kisses for a moment, stepping behind you to help you out of your dress. who lets the material pool at your feet as he takes a moment to place a kiss at the bottom of your neck.

new husband! shoto who moves to stand in front of you again. who takes in the sight of you in your wedding night lingerie. who thanks whoever is out there that he’s the one seeing you in this, and no one else will ever get to see you dress this way.

new husband! shoto who drags both his hands and eyes over your body, taking in the subtle ways you move under his touch and gaze. the way you close your eyes and sigh out, leaning into the wandering fingers on your skin.

new husband! shoto who rests his hands on your hips, fingers gripping slightly as he pulls you flush against him, loving the feeling of your arms draping over his shoulders. who rubs your skin with his thumbs as he utters words he knows you won’t refuse. “let’s get a little more comfortable, my love”. “can’t have you feeling uncomfortable when you’re wrapped around me”.

new husband! shoto who picks you up and carries you over to the bed, smiling softly as you squeak from the movement. who places you gently onto the mattress of the emperor bed in the room like a doll that would break at any moment.

new husband! shoto who steps back to remove his suit, stripping away each article of clothing until he’s bare before you. heterochromia eyes watching the way you look at him with nothing but pure love, that you look at him as your husband and the person you fell in love with, not as the number 2 hero or the son of the former pro, endeavor.

new husband! shoto who hovers above you for a moment, whispers of how “beautiful you are” and how “lucky i am to have you” sound before he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that becomes needier.

new husband! shoto who moves his lips to your neck, chest, torso and thighs, nipping and sucking as he goes. who leaves small marks in his wake that have you twisting your body slightly as you gasp.

new husband! shoto who takes a moment and positions himself between your legs, lifting your leg and making it bend at the knee as he places soft kisses against the inside of your thighs. who trails those kisses further up towards your covered cunt.

new husband! shoto who moves the fabric to one side, placing a kiss just over the place he can’t wait to be buried deep inside of. who brings up two digits and slips them past the thin strip of material, pressing them inside your waiting cunt. who’s scissoring them as he moves them in tandem with his tongue he’s now flicking across your covered clit.

new husband! shoto who loves the way you squirm against him, the way your hands tangle in his hair as you graze your fingers against his scalp in a bid to keep yourself grounded. who shivers at the contact and can feel his cock staring to painfully harden. who loves the sound of you losing that battle as you whine out his name.

new husband! shoto who pushes his fingers deeper into you, down to the knuckle as the coolness of his wedding band is engulfed in your hot cunt. the small contrast only adds to the dizziness you’re feeling.

new husband! shoto who’s tapping against that one spongy place that has you seeing stars and vision blurring. who pulls away to look up at you as you arch your back at the feeling of your impending orgasm creeping up.

new husband! shoto who loves to talk you through it with words of encouragement like “that’s it, princess”, “you’re doing so good for me”, and “let me feel you squeeze my fingers baby, give me a taste of what’s to come when I’m buried deep inside you”.

new husband! shoto who feels your walls spasm around his fingers as you reach your euphoria, a broken cry of his name leaving your throat as your eyes flutter shut. who loves the way you try to milk his fingers like you do his cock when he’s inside you. “that’s it baby”.

new husband! shoto who pulls his fingers out and slips them into his mouth, taking his time to suck your slick while you catch your breath. who locks his eyes with yours while he does, chuckling at the embarrassed whine you let out as you turn to face away from him.

new husband! shoto who, when he’s cleaned his fingers, kneels between your legs again once he’s helped you strip out of your lingerie. who grabs both your legs this time and parts them, lining up the mushroom tip of his cock to your now soaked cunt. who likes to tease you by rubbing himself against you a few times before he finally pushes past that tight ring.

new husband! shoto who groans out when he feels the welcoming warmth of your insides, the way you’re already clenching around him, not wanting to let go. who loves the way you’re arching as you press yourself closer to him, savouring that welcome stretch you love so much when he joins with you.

new husband! shoto who wastes no time in moving his hips, pulling back until his tip is just barely inside as he watches the way squirm at the loss before thrusting back into your cunt, savouring the way to cry out at the surprise.

new husband! shoto who begins to fuck you with the sole intention of showing you just how much he loves you. that this is the closest he’ll ever be to someone, that he’ll make you feel exactly how he much love he holds for you and not used as a way to continue his bloodline.

new husband! shoto who’ll only ever take that journey when you’re both ready for it. after all, he’d love to have you round with his child so everyone knows you’re his and his alone. to know that he’s the only one you’ll ever be able to give yourself to completely, and that he’ll be the one who’s the father of your children. purely because that’s what you both want.

new husband! shoto who can briefly picture that image. who has to keep himself in check because that was for another day and a future conversation.

new husband! shoto who leans forward to messily kiss you, tongues clashing for a moment before he leans back. who grabs your legs and moves them to dangle in front of you, enjoying the feeling of the new angle as he reaches deep within you. judging by the way you moaned out and gripped his arms, he’d hit that spongy spot even better than earlier.

new husband! shoto who loves the feeling of your cunt gripping him harder, sucking him in deeper as your slick begins to splash out slightly, dotting into his thighs as he thrusts harshly into you more. the squelching gaining loudness the quicker he snaps his hips.

new husband! shoto who presses into you deeper until he can feel that tell-tale sign you're near your next orgasm. the way your walls start to pulsate quicker around his cock makes him smirk before he pulls away, slipping out of your cunt as you whine out at the loss of feeling full and being so close to climaxing.

new husband! shoto who drops your legs before shuffling back, grabbing your hand to pull you off your back. who’s quick to turn you around so you face away from him, one set of fingers gripping your hip, the other set wrapped around your wrist as he pulls you back into him and lifts you up with little effort, sinking his cock back into you.

new husband! shoto who pulls your back into a lovely arch by your arm as he thrusts into you, savouring the way you bounce against him as your cries of pleasure increase. who's peering over your shoulder to watch the way your breasts brounce with each reentry of his cock into your puffy pussy. who doesn’t give a damn if people walking past can hear.

new husband! shoto who moves the hand on your hip between your legs, circling your clit with the pad of his finger as he activates his ice quirk slightly. who loves the way you shiver and moan out, begging for him to let you go. “f-fuck, shoto, p-please”.

new husband! shoto who, after a few more thrusts, will move both hands back to your hips, helping you to slam down in the position he has you in. who can feel the way your walls pulsate the closer you get. with words of "come on princess" and "let me feel you squeeze around my cock first like the good girl you are" that will help you reach that euphoria you've been chasing with a broken cry of his name.

new husband! shoto who savours the feeling of your vice like grip around him as he pushes you forward, pressing you into the mattress before he pistons his hips, driving his cock deeper into you. who makes sure to hit that spongy spot repeatedly while you're crying out from still being overly sensitive.

new husband! shoto who can feel his balls tighten as he nears his end. who quickly pulls out and grabs you, before pulling you on top of him after he's lain down. who helps you move and pushes back inside your overly sensitive cunt as he pulls you closer to him, lips crashing against yours in a messy and desperate kiss.

new husband! shoto who after a few more sloppy thrusts, groans against your swollen appendages as he cums, making sure to paint your insides white with his seed as he mumbles. “f-fuck, baby, take it all” and “going to fill you so full you’ll be dripping me for weeks”. who watches the way you shiver at the feeling and makes sure to keep himself sheathed within you to stop any of his seed from spilling out just yet.

new husband! shoto who lets you fall forward onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you as you pant to catch your breath. who runs a hand through your hair and kisses the top of your head. "you done so well princess, let's have a break".

new husband! shoto who manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position as you hum out soflty, placing a hand on his chest to feel the steadying rhythm of his heart. who looks down at you as you concentrate on where your hand rests.

new husband! shoto who spends a good while chatting softly to you, talking about the moments of the day he loved the most, none topping the moment you were announced as husband and wife. “okay, maybe being able to fuck you as my wife came joint top”. who laughs at your flustered looked.

new husband! shoto who places a finger under your chin and tilts your head, looking over your face as you reach up to touch his. who closes his eyes at the feeling of you tracing the lighter scar on his face, normally, he’d hate anyone touching it, but he’s learned to love it thanks to you.

new husband! shoto who kisses your lips lovingly this time, savouring the way you move into him before pulling away from you, hearing you sighing out at the loss of contact and at the feeling of him pulling himself off you.

new husband! shoto who walks to the bathroom to grab some pieces before coming back to help you clean up, taking care of your now overly sensitive body. who’ll take a moment to watch his seed seep out of you slowly, chewing on his lip at the sight.

totally in love! shoto who, when he’s finished cleaning you, will pick you up and hold you close to him while he pulls the sheets back, climbing in and laying you next to him. who wraps his arm around you as he lays your head on his chest.

totally in love! shoto who whispers words of love and affection to you while he strokes your back and side. who thanks you for standing by him when he didn’t want anyone to be with him.

totally in love! shoto who wonders how he managed to be right here in this moment with you. who wonders how he was so lucky to be married and feel a sense of love and security from someone so close to him.

new husband! shoto who was more scared then he let on. who was originally afraid of letting anyone close to him, given his past. who just happened to bump into you one day while you walked the halls of u.a. who took a chance that day and didn’t look back.

new husband! shoto who looks down to see you asleep on his chest, smiling softly as he pulls you closer and the sheets around you both.

new husband! shoto who’s eternally grateful to you for wanting him and nothing more. who can’t wait for the rest of your married life together and the memories you’ll create.

new husband! shoto who knows his younger self would be proud of him and who he was now. one of the top pro heroes, as well as having his biggest supporter and cheerleader by his side for the rest of his life.

new husband! shoto who finally realises that everyone deserves love. even him.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.