[gardenfa1ry]

☆ I can see the whole world,from my own little cloud ⁠~⁠♪

Andromeda ✧.she/her. written by Olivia dean. black girl. february pisces. ravenclaw. james potter's girlfriend. spring girl. once upon a broken heart. reader. real life willow hale. daughter of Aphrodite. Minhkhao khan's Wife.og pink lover. Iridessa coded. the art of loving. Bambi. dreamer by laufey

please don't interact if you are homophobic, racist, misogynistic

[apieceoffoliage]

Royal Sword Lads

Throwing in my predictions on what they'd look like but mostly just the face + hair because I don't have enough brainpower to design their dorm uniforms properly

An attempt was made

[certaimromance]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ My Heart's In Atrophy ─ Spencer Reid.

Working another case with the FBI was already unbearable. Getting hurt was worse. Letting Spencer Reid change the bandage on a wound far too high on your thigh? Absolutely humiliating. Especially when the pain leaves you with your forehead buried in his shoulder…and his sweater between your teeth.

୨ৎ ──── accidental intimacy. 4,7k. police officer!reader. biting ups. no medically accurate. two idiots rivals in love. english isn't my first language. main masterlist.

If someone had told you just a few hours ago that Spencer Reid—the Spencer Reid, the FBI agent with three PhDs, an eidetic memory, a vocabulary that could make a dictionary feel insecure, and the emotional composure of a confused Victorian gentleman who had accidentally wandered into the twenty-first century—would be kneeling on the filthy bathroom floor of your precinct with both hands buried in your personal belongings, you would have laughed so hard you probably would have needed medical attention yourself. Then, once you recovered, you would have arrested them for wasting police resources with such an obviously fabricated story, and you would have made absolutely certain they stayed in a holding cell long enough to reconsider the poor life choices that had led them to invent something so utterly ridiculous.

Spencer Reid rummaging through your bag? Spencer Reid voluntarily touching the floor of a public restroom? Spencer Reid invading your privacy without first presenting a carefully structured explanation complete with statistics, historical precedent, and at least three apologies?

Impossible. Entirely, categorically impossible.

Except it wasn’t.

It was, unfortunately, your current reality.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with an irritating hum that seemed impossibly loud inside the cramped precinct bathroom, casting everything in that sickly pale light that made every bruise look darker, every stain look suspicious, and every person look like they hadn’t slept in days. The room smelled faintly of industrial disinfectant desperately trying to overpower the lingering scent of old plumbing and cheap hand soap. The white tiles beneath Spencer’s knees had long since stopped pretending to be clean, marked by years of scuff marks, scratches, and the kind of permanent discoloration that no amount of bleach could ever erase. You were almost certain he knew exactly how many different bacterial colonies were thriving beneath him at this very moment, and yet he hadn’t spared the floor so much as a second glance before dropping onto it the instant he realized you were hurt.

Which, frankly, was almost more alarming than the injury itself.

Your back rested against the cool tiled wall, one hand pressing instinctively against the side of your leg where a burning ache pulsed beneath the hastily wrapped bandage. Every heartbeat seemed to push another wave of warmth against the fabric, and you were making a very conscious effort not to think too hard about what that warmth probably meant. Looking at blood had never bothered you, not after years of police work, but there was something profoundly unsettling about seeing your own. It had a remarkable ability to make every injury feel twice as serious, every sting twice as sharp, every worst-case scenario suddenly seem embarrassingly plausible. So instead, you focused on Spencer.

Who was currently emptying the contents of your bag with the concentration of a man attempting to defuse a bomb.

Everything emerged with almost absurd care. Your notebook. Your wallet. A handful of pens you kept insisting worked better than department-issued ones. Lip balm. Painkillers. An absurd number of loose receipts you had promised yourself you would throw away weeks ago. A tiny packet of tissues. Spare hair ties. A granola bar that had probably expired sometime last month. Spencer examined each item with astonishing efficiency before placing it neatly beside him in organized little rows across the bathroom floor, as though your purse wasn’t the physical embodiment of controlled chaos. Somehow, against all laws of nature, he managed to make the contents of your bag look like evidence laid out at a crime scene.

“I still think we should go to a hospital,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the rustling of plastic packaging as he finally located the first-aid kit.

His fingers moved with practiced precision as he spread everything out in front of him—sterile gauze, antiseptic wipes, fresh bandages, medical tape, gloves—all arranged in perfect order before he even looked up at you. There wasn’t a single wasted movement.

“You know that’s not happening,” you replied, forcing far more confidence into your voice than you actually felt.

The words came out just a little tighter than intended, and you hated that he probably noticed.

He noticed everything.

He noticed when people blinked too often, when their breathing changed by half a second, when their pupils dilated, when they shifted their weight unevenly because something hurt. There was a reason he was one of the best profilers in the country, and unfortunately for you, you were currently giving him a front-row seat to every involuntary sign your body could produce.

His eyes lifted from the supplies to your face, and for a fleeting moment neither of you spoke. He didn’t need to. His expression alone carried enough quiet disapproval to rival an entire lecture. There wasn’t frustration there, nor irritation. Just concern. Deep concern that settled heavily behind his tired hazel eyes and made him look far younger than usual, as though worrying stripped away the layers of academic confidence until all that remained was Spencer, the man beneath the titles and degrees, who cared far too much for his own peace of mind.

“You need stitches,” he said after the silence had stretched almost painfully long, his voice gentle enough to avoid startling you but firm enough that it sounded less like an opinion and more like a diagnosis carved into stone. “And, statistically speaking, probably therapy after being attacked by a suspect who attempted to stab you during an arrest.”

“I need a clean bandage,” you answered immediately. “And silence.”

“You need stitches.”

“I need to close this case and have your entire team leave my city.”

The words escaped before you could stop them, delivered with the same automatic irritation that had colored nearly every conversation you’d shared since the BAU arrived four days ago. It wasn’t even personal anymore. It had become routine. You complained about federal agents meddling in local investigations; Morgan rolled his eyes; Garcia made some sarcastic comment over the phone; Hotch remained infuriatingly unreadable; and Spencer usually responded with a statistic that somehow made the argument even more irritating. Somewhere along the way, bickering with him had become as much a part of your day as your morning coffee.

“You are actively bleeding,” he replied, almost sounding tired now, as though he genuinely couldn’t comprehend how the conversation had somehow turned into another jurisdiction dispute while you were leaking blood onto the bathroom floor. He glanced briefly toward the stained bandage before pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “I’m…honestly still trying to understand how this became the hill you’re willing to die on.”

You let out a slow breath through your nose, deliberately keeping your eyes fixed on the cracked mirror behind him instead of the steadily spreading crimson beneath your hand. Looking at the blood would make it real. If it became real, Spencer would notice. If Spencer noticed, he’d insist on taking you to the emergency room with the stubborn persistence only he seemed capable of. And if he started arguing again, you weren’t entirely convinced you still had enough strength left to keep arguing back.

“You’re a doctor, right?” you asked instead, forcing the corners of your mouth into something vaguely resembling a smile. It was a terrible attempt. Judging by the way his expression didn’t change even slightly, it fooled absolutely no one. “Just do it.”

He didn’t answer.

He simply looked at you.

“…Please,” you added after another long moment, your voice quieter now.

The word barely rose above a whisper.

Something changed.

It was subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it, but you saw it anyway. His eyes widened just slightly behind his glasses before softening in a way you’d never witnessed before. Because in all the years the two of you had spent circling each other with mutual irritation, sarcastic remarks, and endless arguments over federal jurisdiction, you had never once asked him for help like this. You tolerated him because you had to. You challenged every conclusion he made. You rolled your eyes every time he quoted statistics. You complained about the FBI planting themselves in investigations they barely understood.

To Spencer, your hometown wasn’t another case file. It was where you had grown up, where everyone knew your name, where every street corner held a memory. Of course you hated outsiders arriving with badges and assumptions. Of course you fought them. Maybe, standing there in the suffocating quiet of the bathroom, he finally realized that none of this had ever really been about him.

This wasn’t another argument over jurisdiction.

This wasn’t about pride.

This wasn’t about proving local police could solve cases without the BAU riding in to save the day.

This was simply him trying to help you.

The realization settled visibly across his face. The frustration dissolved first, followed by the determination to keep arguing until you gave in. What remained was reluctant acceptance, threaded together with concern so obvious it made your chest ache almost as much as the wound itself. He exhaled slowly, lowering his gaze for just a second before reaching for the gloves. The latex snapped softly against his wrists as he pulled them into place, the sharp sound startling in the otherwise quiet room.

“I don't like this plan,” he murmured, almost under his breath, more to himself than to you. He flexed his fingers once before meeting your eyes again, his expression resigned. “And…I’m not the kind of doctor you need.”

There was the faintest pause before he added, with the smallest, self-conscious shrug, “Technically, I have doctorates in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. None of those are especially useful for closing stab wounds. Although…” His gaze flickered briefly toward the first-aid supplies. “I do know enough emergency medicine to keep you from making this significantly worse.”

You just nodded.

Spencer reached for one of the antiseptic packets, turning it over in his hands before tearing it open with careful movements. The sharp scent of alcohol immediately cut through the stale air of the bathroom, replacing the smell of industrial soap with something unmistakably clinical. He soaked a piece of sterile gauze, his expression growing almost apologetic as he glanced between the wound and your face. And, for a moment, he simply held the gauze there, suspended in his hand, as though delaying the inevitable by a few extra seconds might somehow lessen what was about to happen.

“This,” he said quietly, “is going to hurt.”

You huffed a dry laugh.

“I just…I don’t want you to think I’m being rough.” His voice dropped lower, almost embarrassed by the admission. “The antiseptic is necessary. The knife wasn’t sterile, the environment wasn’t sterile, and this bathroom certainly isn’t sterile.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the grimy tile beneath them before returning to you. “Preventing an infection is considerably easier than treating one.”

“I know.”

“It’ll burn.”

You rolled your eyes, though there wasn’t much strength behind the gesture anymore.

Spencer inhaled slowly, the gauze still poised in his hand.

“When you’re ready.”

You looked at the blood soaking through the ruined bandage, then at the antiseptic and then back at him and finally give him a nod.

He waited another second anyway.

The first touch wasn’t painful, it was cold. Just enough to trick your body into believing it might not be so bad. Then the antiseptic reached the open tissue and a sharp, vicious burn exploded across your side so suddenly that every muscle in your body locked at once.

“Oh, God—”

The curse broke off into a hiss as your hand instinctively searched for something, anything, to grab onto.

The nearest thing happened to be Spencer.

Your forehead bumped awkwardly against the center of his chest before you even realized what you were doing. One hand caught a fistful of the front of his sweater, wrinkling the soft knit beneath your fingers as you tried to breathe through the searing sting. You could hear his heartbeat immediately, muffled beneath layers of wool and cotton, much faster than you expected. Whether it was from kneeling on a dirty bathroom floor performing first aid or because you had suddenly buried your face against him, you couldn’t tell.

For one startled heartbeat, Spencer froze completely. His free hand hovered uncertainly in the air and you expected him to awkwardly pull away.

Instead, he stayed perfectly still.

“So…” he said carefully, his voice noticeably quieter now, “that reaction falls…within the expected range.”

“You talk…” You squeezed your eyes shut as another wave of burning rolled through the wound. “…way too much.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile before disappearing again as he concentrated on finishing disinfecting the injury. Every movement remained impossibly gentle, his hand steady despite the way you could feel yourself clutching the front of his sweater tighter every time the antiseptic stung.

When he finally pulled the gauze away, the burning gradually faded into a dull, throbbing ache.

“There,” he murmured. “That’s the worst part over.”

You let out a shaky breath against his chest.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

That actually earned him a tired laugh.

He waited until your breathing settled before reaching for the small sterile suture kit.

The moment your eyes landed on the curved needle, your stomach sank.

“No.”

His expression became apologetic all over again.

“You need the wound closed.”

“I’ll simply…heal.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It could.”

“It biologically cannot.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the tiled wall.

“I liked you better thirty seconds ago.”

“I don’t think you liked me thirty seconds ago either.”

Spencer opened the sterile package with practiced care, arranging the needle holder and forceps beside him.

“I’ll inject a local anesthetic around the wound first,” he said. “It won’t remove every sensation, but it should significantly reduce the pain from the stitches.”

You nodded tensely.

The injections themselves stung, but nowhere near as badly as the antiseptic had. After waiting a short while for it to take effect, Spencer gently tested the area.

“Can you feel this?”

“Pressure.”

“And this?”

“Pressure.”

He gave a small nod.

“Good.”

Even dulled by the anesthetic, the sensation of the needle passing through your skin was deeply unpleasant, not sharp so much as strange, a tugging pull that made your whole body tense.

Your jaw clenched, and you pressed your tongue against your teeth, then bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound.

Spencer noticed immediately and paused halfway through another stitch. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are actively biting the inside of your mouth.”

“It’s…distracting.”

“It can also injure the inside of your cheek.”

“It’s better than yelling at you.”

He looked at you for a thoughtful moment.

Then, with complete sincerity and absolutely no hint that he realized how intimate the suggestion sounded, he shifted a little closer.

“You could bite my shoulder.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

“My shoulder.” He pointed vaguely toward himself with the hand that wasn’t holding the needle holder.

“If you need something to redirect the pain response.” His ears were already beginning to turn pink. “People instinctively clench their jaw or bite down during acute pain. Having something external is generally safer than repeatedly biting your own cheek.”

“You want me to bite you.”

“I…yes.” He say quickly. “It’s…practical.”

“You are offering yourself as a chew toy.”

“When you phrase it like that, it sounds considerably less scientific.”

“It sounds insane.”

“There are studies suggesting that controlled pressure or biting can help some people cope with acute pain by competing with pain signals.” He cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes now. “Besides, sweaters are fairly thick.”

You looked at him and noticed how he wasn’t joking.

He was blushing furiously, avoiding eye contact, and offering his own shoulder with the same earnest seriousness he’d used to explain blood loss and infection.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer said after a few seconds, clearing his throat. “It was…merely a recommendation.”

You looked at the suture needle glinting beneath the fluorescent lights. Then, with the kind of resignation usually reserved for people accepting an unavoidable fate, you leaned forward.

“Fine.”

He blinked.

“Fine?”

“If I break your shoulder, that’s on you.”

“Your bite force is unlikely to fracture the clavicle.”

A tiny breath of laughter escaped you, though it quickly dissolved into a wince as you shifted closer.

The position was awkward.

The bathroom was far too small.

“So,” he murmured, trying to sound completely professional. “I’m going to start.”

You nodded.

His left hand rested gently against your side, two gloved fingers bracing the skin around the laceration with incredible care. The touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid too much pressure would hurt you more than the injury already did.

His right hand lifted the needle holder.

The curved suture needle caught the harsh fluorescent light for the briefest moment before descending.

You felt the pressure immediately. A pulling sensation that made your stomach twist despite the lack of true pain.

He guided the needle through with astonishing precision, movements slow enough to minimize trauma to the surrounding tissue. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line as he tied the first knot with practiced fingers.

“…One,” he murmured almost unconsciously.

“What?”

“I…” He glanced up briefly, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Counting helps me maintain consistency. It also reduces procedural errors.”

He reached for the second stitch.

This one pulled more and the muscles in your abdomen tightened instinctively. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. So without thinking, you bit down on the inside of your cheek again.

Spencer noticed before you even realized you’d done it.

“I wasn’t joking.”

You looked up.

“What?”

“My shoulder.”

He shifted a little closer until one side of his sweater was only inches from your face.

“If it helps…” His voice was almost apologetic. “Go ahead.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“You are aware this is incredibly weird.”

“I’m aware.”

“And if anyone walked in right now—”

“They would almost certainly misinterpret the situation.”

Another stitch.

Another sharp pull.

The breath caught painfully in your throat.

Without thinking any longer, without giving yourself the chance to overanalyze just how ridiculous this entire situation had become, you leaned forward.

Your teeth closed over the thick wool covering his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to keep yourself from making a sound.

Spencer went completely still because he clearly hadn’t expected you to actually do it.

You felt his entire body tense beneath the sweater before he relaxed again.

“Better?” he asked, his voice noticeably higher than usual.

You answered with a muffled, unintelligible noise against his shoulder.

“I’ll…interpret that as yes.”

He swallowed.

Then returned to the stitches.

Outside the bathroom, someone laughed somewhere down the hallway. A phone rang. A printer whirred to life. The precinct carried on exactly as it always did, blissfully unaware that one of the FBI’s youngest profilers was quietly stitching up a stubborn police detective while trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact that she was currently biting his shoulder.

Spencer focused on counting.

“Three…”

The thread tightened.

“…Four…”

Another neat knot.

His heartbeat, however, betrayed him completely.

Even through the layers of his sweater, you could feel it beneath your cheek, no longer keeping the measured, almost mathematical rhythm it had carried at the beginning of the procedure. It was faster now. Noticeably so. Not frantic, not frightened, just undeniably alive, each beat arriving a fraction sooner than the last as he focused on keeping his hands steady.

His heart, apparently, wasn't helping.

He tied the final knot with painstaking care, his gloved fingers lingering for a moment as he inspected the stitch before moving on. Then another. Then another. His hazel eyes followed the delicate line he’d painstakingly reconstructed, studying every millimeter with the same concentration he reserved for blood spatter patterns and crime scene photographs. He adjusted the angle of his head ever so slightly behind his glasses, checking the tension of the thread, the spacing between each stitch, the way the edges of your skin met without strain. Perfection had never been the goal, he knew medicine rarely allowed for perfection, but he wanted right. Safe. Clean. Something that would heal.

Only when he had convinced himself there was nothing left to correct did he reach for the small surgical scissors, trimming the final thread with a soft metallic snip.

“There,” Spencer said quietly, the word leaving him in a breath more than a sentence. Relief softened his features almost immediately, easing the tension that had lived between his brows ever since he’d found the blood soaking through your bandage. “That should hold.”

You slowly pulled away from his shoulder.

Only then did you notice the unmistakable imprint your teeth had left behind.

The thick brown wool had been pressed into a faint crescent where you’d held on through every careful stitch, the fibers flattened despite their best efforts to spring back into place. There was nothing dramatic about it, no torn fabric, no damage beyond a few stubborn creases, but it was enough. Quiet evidence that, for several long minutes, the only thing standing between you and the pain had been him.

Heat rushed instantly to your face.

“…Sorry.”

Spencer followed your gaze almost automatically. His eyes dropped to the shoulder of his sweater, and his gloved hand drifted up to smooth the wool with gentle, absent-minded strokes. He tried once. Then again. The crease refused to disappear, clinging stubbornly to the fabric as though it had decided it belonged there now.

His ears turned the softest shade of pink.

“It’s alright,” he replied after a brief pause, a little too quickly to sound entirely convincing. “I…was the one who suggested it.”

The words were true.

They were simply incomplete.

He didn’t mention that after the first startled second, after the instinctive tightening of his shoulders and the realization that you had actually taken his advice, he’d almost forgotten about it entirely. Not because the sensation had disappeared, but because it had quietly become part of the rhythm of what he was doing. Every time the needle passed through your skin, your grip had tightened almost imperceptibly. Every careful knot had been accompanied by the gentle pressure against his shoulder, warm through the thick layers of wool, steady enough that, somewhere between the third stitch and the last, he’d stopped registering it as unexpected.

It had become…reassuring.

A strange realization settled somewhere in the back of his mind, one he couldn’t quite explain.

He had expected the distraction to make his hands less steady.

Instead, it had done the opposite.

The warmth resting against him had anchored him with surprising ease, each quiet breath against his shoulder serving as a constant reminder that you were still there, still conscious, still trusting him to finish what he’d started. It should have made him nervous. It should have embarrassed him far more than it did.

Instead, it left behind an unfamiliar, almost pleasant ache in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with medicine.

He didn’t know why.

And Spencer Reid had never been particularly comfortable with not knowing why.

His mind immediately attempted to supply an explanation. Perhaps it was simple positive reinforcement; the human brain often associated successful outcomes with the circumstances surrounding them. Perhaps it was relief, his subconscious attaching comfort to the moment he realized your injury wasn’t as catastrophic as he’d feared. Perhaps—

No.

The thoughts stopped there.

He recognized, with mild horror, that he was beginning to psychologically profile himself.

Again.

Deciding that was a dangerous road to travel, Spencer quietly abandoned the subject altogether.

Instead, he reached for the fresh bandage with almost exaggerated focus, grateful for something practical that required both his hands and all of his attention. He laid the sterile dressing carefully over the neat line of stitches before smoothing it into place with fingertips so gentle they barely disturbed your skin. Each strip of medical tape was pressed down with meticulous care, his thumb lingering just long enough to ensure every edge was secure.

“There,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the distant hum of ringing telephones beyond the bathroom door.

He studied the fresh line of stitches one last time, eyes moving slowly from one end of the wound to the other, searching for the smallest imperfection. Only when he seemed genuinely satisfied did he smooth the clean bandage carefully into place, his fingertips lingering just long enough to make sure every edge was secure.

“That should heal nicely.” His hand hovered for another heartbeat, reluctant to leave, before retreating. Almost absentmindedly, his fingers brushed over the shoulder of his sweater again, finding the faint crease your teeth had left behind. He paused. This time, he didn’t try to smooth it away. “Just…don’t reopen it,” he said, returning to the familiar safety of practical instructions. “No running, no lifting anything heavy…and if it starts bleeding again, we’re going to the hospital.”

He stood first, gathering the discarded wrappers and slipping the last of the supplies back into the first-aid kit before offering you his hand without hesitation.

You accepted it, your fingers fitting into his almost automatically.

The movement pulled sharply at the fresh stitches, forcing a quiet wince from you as your balance faltered for the briefest instant.

Spencer reacted before either of you had time to think about it, his other hand settling lightly around your elbow to steady you with instinctive care. Neither of you acknowledged the gesture. You simply adjusted your jeans over the clean bandage while he straightened his tie, brushed invisible dust from the sleeves of his sweater, and—without realizing he was doing it—let his fingertips drift once more to the shoulder where your bite had left its stubborn mark. His thumb lingered there briefly before he lowered his hand as though nothing had happened.

The moment the bathroom door swung open, the quiet world the two of you had occupied dissolved into the familiar chaos of the precinct. The bullpen was alive with movement: telephones ringing incessantly, keyboards clattering beneath hurried hands, detectives weaving between desks with overfilled case files tucked beneath their arms, voices overlapping with dispatch calls and half-finished conversations. It felt strangely impossible that the world had continued uninterrupted while, only a few feet away, time had narrowed to antiseptic, careful hands, quiet breathing, and Spencer Reid counting stitches beneath his breath.

You walked out side by side in complete silence.

Close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.

Far enough apart that no one would think twice.

To everyone watching, you looked exactly like two investigators returning from a routine search for a first-aid kit.

Neither of you dared acknowledge that the last twenty minutes had been anything but routine.

It might have worked.

It almost did.

“Kid?”

Morgan’s voice carried effortlessly across the room.

Both of you stopped.

He leaned casually against the edge of a desk, a paper cup of coffee balanced in one hand, already wearing the unmistakable grin of someone who had noticed something before anyone else. His eyes swept lazily over Spencer before narrowing with growing amusement. Then they landed on his friend's shoulder.

More specifically on Spencer’s hand.

Without realizing it, he’d let his fingertips drift back to the same spot again, absentmindedly smoothing over the faint wrinkle your teeth had left in the thick brown wool. He froze the instant he realized what he was doing, but it was already too late.

Morgan’s grin spread wider.

“Reid,” he called, pointing his coffee toward the shoulder. “The hell happened to your sweater?”

Spencer blinked.

His hand dropped immediately to his side.

A lot.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Dance For Your Prince(s)

Pairing: Prince/Firelord!Geto x Belly Dancer!Reader x Prince Zuko

Synopsis: You are hired as the live entertainment for the Fire Nation's annual celebration as a belly dancer, groomed to dance for the elite and wealthy. You entertain with your body for a living and you're happy to do so, finding purpose and enjoyment in your dancing. Unbeknowst to you, two certain Firelord brothers have found enjoyment in your dancing as well and they are prepared to show you one hot night within the privacy of a bedroom.

Warnings: 18+; No Curse/Avatar AU; Brother!Geto x Brother!Zuko; Incest (but not really cuz they not f*cking each other lol); Threesome; Seduction; Body Worship; Curvy!Reader; Belly Dancing; Stripping; Dom!Geto x sub!Reader x Switch!Zuko; Dual Pussy Eating; Sharing Is Caring; Dual Blowjob; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Spit Play; Doggystyle; Mating Press; Breeding; Raw Creampies; Mild Power Play; Reader Cums 3x; Aftercare

Word Count: 9.1k

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: This is my first installment for @madamechrissy's crossover collab!! Y'all please go give her ALL the love, grace & praise because she deserves it!! This woman is just as amazing just as a person as she is a writer & I'm honored that she puts up with my horny ideas lmaoo enjoy!!! <3 -Jazz

Credits: Zuko x Geto fanart found on Pinterest! If you know the artist, PLEASE tag me so I can properly credit them! Divider by @cursed-carmine!

You stand at the threshold of the master bedroom belonging to the Firelord, Prince Zuko, the polished mahogany doors staring back at you. 

Dozens of Fire Nation guards, tasked with protecting the royals, stand outside against the wall, two on either side of you. They were the ones who guided you here, telling you that the Firelords requested to see you tonight. 

You have every assumption as to why. It isn't a rarity or unaccustomed to you for royal members to request for you after hiring you for a party. You are a dancer, after all...with some other "skills" on the side that you use to your advantage.

While you know how to play the game among the royal court and have no problem refusing to spend the night with any royals after performing for them at one of their grand parties, you would be lying if you said you didn't want to be alone with the Firelords for the night.

You have been around them for some time now. As the royal belly dancer, groomed to dance for the elite and the wealthy, you were bound to make the acquaintance of the Fire Nation Family at some point...including the Firelord brothers. Both calm, poised, mysterious, and devilishly handsome.

They have been on your radar for a long time, filling your endless nights with hot fantasies of the two of them. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes together. Entangled limbs, your fingertips caressing their muscles, their tongues licking stripes across your skin.

You long to tear down that wall of mystery and restraint that the brothers have meticulously built around themselves. Especially that Zuko. He is quiet and stoic, only speaking when required, preferring to talk with his actions instead. Geto Suguru is more open, striking either fear or intrigue into anyone with his charming smile and cunningness. 

And now here you are, standing right outside of the brother's doors prepared to greet them. The twirling in your stomach is not of fear but of anticipation, wondering where the night will bring you. You bring up your fist and lightly knock, polite but firm. "Enter," a deep, silky voice commands. Geto's voice. 

The voice that has commanded attacks on enemies and brought you to orgasm so many times. Swallowing hard, you twist the doorknob and enter the master bedroom. It is a large, wide space with stone walls and windows overlooking the courtyard and Fire Nation, the summer breeze and afternoon sun pouring into the room. 

On one side sits a large king-sized bed topped with pillows of all sizes and arrays of gold and red. The same as the carpets and curtains softly swaying in the summer evening. Geto Suguru, the oldest brother, sits in the middle of the room on the carpeted floor surrounded by a slew of expensive pillows and blankets. 

He sits at a knee-level table surrounded with delicacies of all kinds, granite teacups with a brewing teapot, and a bottle of fireflower juice spiked with cinnamon, one of the most expensive bottles of alcohol in all the land. Geto is draped in a fine red robe adorned in intricate gold stitching at the flaps and black pants, his feet bare and black locks cascading down his muscular back. 

He turns to look when you enter, his violet eyes piercing a hole into you. The butterflies in your tummy swarm, making your heart pound furiously in your chest.

“You required my services, Your Highness?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level and steady. Alas, it shakes a bit, coming out breathless at the sight of the handsome man. He gives you a small smile that is like a smack in the face. “Yes, little dancer. Come; have a seat. You may not be so formal with me. Call me Suguru." 

You blink, unsure of how to reply. It is rare that a royal wants someone who is not within the court to be formal. His smile deepens, humored. “You look at me as if I’m tricking you. I can assure you that my father is nowhere within these four walls.” He then turns to the left side of the room where the light doesn't reach. “Isn’t that right, brother?” 

You turn your head and that is when you see Zuko sitting there on a lounging sofa, wearing a black robe to blend in with the darkness. You can just see that his hair is also out, cascading in black waves down his back, and he is sipping some tea. You jump, placing a hand on your beating heart. “Oh! Prince Zuko, forgive me. I did not know you were here.” 

Zuko doesn't reply; he only stares, somehow staring right through you. Both of his eyes render you speechless—the wounded one included. Many do not regard Zuko the same way they do Geto due to his burn scar, but you have always thought the disfigurement was quite sexy. 

Geto chuckles, pouring himself some fireflower juice. “Don’t mind him. Zuko can be an enigma when he wants to be…which is all the time.” He smirks when his brother gives him a sharp glare from across the room. “Quiet, Geto. Don’t make me request your removal from this room.” 

Geto smirks at you, unbothered by his brother's heated threat. “That’s code for “don’t make me murder you”,” he chuckles. “Nice, isn’t he?” He gives you a wink, jutting his chin at you. "To what may we call you? Though we know your name, we want you to feel comfortable." 

Comfortable. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Many men always say this when you're within the confines of their bedroom, only wanting you relaxed so they may take advantage. "Y/N," you reply, giving the brothers a respectful bow as you shut the door behind you. It shuts with a click, making your stomach flip. 

Zuko nods over at the table where his brother sits. “You may sit. Plenty of room.” Geto hums in agreement, a flame flickering from his fingertip as he lights himself a pipe filled with tobacco leaves. The smoke wafts through the air as you slowly walk across the room, feeling their eyes on you. 

Though you are covered by a shawl draped over your shoulders, it is mesh, which means your midrif top showing off your stomach and long skirt that doesn't do much to hide your curves. Both red and decorated in gold stitching, dripping in gold beads that clink whenever you twist, turn, or move your hips and stomach when you dance. 

You don't feel uncomfortable the way you used to whenever men ogled at your moves. If anything, you feel powerful. But now, under the brothers' hot gazes as you sit at the table, you feel exposed. Your layers peeled back like a fruit. 

Geto motions down at the array of finger food before you: cheeses, dates, crusted breads, fruits covered in chocolate. “Would you care for a bite? Perhaps a drink? I have tea, water, wine…perhaps something stronger?” He eyes the bottle of fireflower juice sitting next to him. 

You choose wine to loosen yourself up, grateful for the crisp taste as it slides down your throat once Geto pours you a goblet. “Thank you for your invitation, My Lords.

Geto shrugs like it's nothing, smoke billowing attractively from between his pink lips. The bottom lip is piercing with a small ring, unfortunately drawing your attention to his mouth. “Of course. You needed it after that performance you put on, I’m sure.” You act shy and modest, staring down at your wine. “Oh, it’s nothing. For me, that was a simple dance. I have done plenty more complex and strenuous.” 

You were hired tonight to perform for the Fire Nation's Royal Family and their close party, dancing among the sounds of the drums and guitars as fire eaters surrounded you, swallowing swords emblazoned with flames. The flames were hot, but you were hotter. You danced like the heat didn't bother you, sweat sliding over your damp skin and curves as you winded and swirled your hips. 

As you danced, surrounded by all of the royals, your eyes caught the brothers' gazes through the flicker of the flames, orange and red flickering across their handsome faces. Their unyielding gazes spurred you on, making your hips move faster and your body slither like a snake. You are famous among the royals for your dance moves and you were guaranteed to make them remember you. 

Starting with the Firelord brothers. “Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that," Geto chuckles. "It’s important to care for your body. Especially if you are dancing for royalty.” He winks across the room at Zuko. “And since my brother adores your dancing so.” 

“Shut up, Geto,” he growls. “I do not!” You turn towards the younger brother, a pit in your stomach at his words. “You don’t?” you ask, cocking your head at him. Zuko realizes his mistake and quick tries to backtrack, his cheeks hot with a flush. “N-No, I meant…I didn’t mean—“ 

Geto tosses his head back and laughs, the sound oh-so attractive and pulling a smile out of you. “A catch, isn’t he? He can lead the Fire Nation Army into attack on the frontlines, but he can’t even form a sentence in front of a pretty woman.” 

Zuko snarls, teeth bared, gleaming in the twilight. “You’re testing me, brother. I’m about this close to throwing a fire ball at your head.” Geto mockingly gasps, putting a dramatic hand to his broad chest. “And scare the lady? How else will you find yourself a mate?” 

You quickly try to stamp out the fire quickly growing between the brothers. “I am used to violence, I assure you both. And this is quite tame for me.” You turn to Zuko with an inviting smile, knowing that he is the shyer, quieter one. “Will you join us, Your Highness?” 

Zuko looks surprised at the offer, his brows raising slightly. He shoots a look at Geto who nods, smirking quietly at his younger brother. “Just as long as my brother knows to keep his words wise and his brain intact," he grumbles. Geto chuckles as Zuko rises, barefoot and quiet as he strides over to join you at the table.

He sits with Geto on his knees across from you, pouring himself some more tea. Geto passes Zuko the pipe to which the young prince gags at, putting it aside on the table. “Come; let us toast." Geto raises his glass of fireflower juice high, his eyes shining. "To a night of wonders and surprises.” 

“Cheers," you giggle, clinking your goblet with the brothers before taking a sip of your crisp wine. The sliver of afternoon sun has vanished now and the moon has taken the sun's place, leaving the room shining in a white glow. “Did you enjoy tonight’s festivities, Y/N?” Geto asks, his voice soft as silk. It makes you shudder in pleasure. “As much as I could. It’s hard to do much when you’re being ordered to be on your feet for most of the night.” 

The older brother chuckles, taking another puff of his pipe as Zuko silently sips his tea. “Well, here you will not have that. I’m sure your feet must be sore.” You think you see both brothers' eyes flicker down to your soft feet and French-tipped toes, manicured and pretty, but you pass it off as a trick of the moonlight. 

“No, you misunderstand. I do not hark on sore feet. It comes with my work and I would not give up being a dancer for anything.” You mean the words to the bottom of your heart, but Geto chuckles, thinking it is a joke. “For the money, I’m sure.” You smile, humoring him. “The pay is just the tip of the iceberg for me. I only wish to entertain others with my body. To dance is my—“ 

“Passion,” Zuko finishes, surprising you and Geto with his voice. “That’s rare.” Geto agrees, his gaze softening. “Mm. Quite rare. Very admirable. And quite sweet of you.” 

You shiver at the brothers' praise, feeling a flood of endorphins that you've never felt from any compliment before. For a few minutes, you sip your wine in silence, letting the alcohol take over. “How did I make you feel?” you boldly ask. “When I danced?” The brothers look surprised at the random question at first, but Geto answers nonetheless. “Enchanted. Like you were putting me under a spell that I didn’t want to escape." 

His violet eyes capture you between the wisps of smoke billowing from his lush lips. You force yourself to focus on his face instead. "You flatter me, sir," you giggle. Then you turn to Zuko who is silent, unmoving. "What about you, Your Highness? Did I please you as much as your brother with my moves?"

You didn't mean for it to sound so suggestive, and Zuko catches on, his cheeks growing red. "Does it matter that much to you?" he asks, not unkindly but just confused. 

You nod, keeping your kind, welcoming smile. "Of course! If I'm hired to dance for the Fire Nation's princes and their court, it's my duty to entertain and please." Again: very suggestive. Perhaps you're throwing down the hammer a little too hard, but the brothers' quiet seduction and mingling scents of floral (Zuko) and cloves (Geto) is driving you to the brink of insanity.

"Oh, he was entertained," Geto smirkingly replies, sliding a suggestive look at Zuko. "And very pleased. Weren't you, brother?" Zuko elbows his brother in the side, earning a choked chuckle in response. But realizing you're waiting for an answer, he gulps and regains composure. "You were...very nice," he mildly replies into his tea cup. "I have seen belly dancing before, but not the way you do it. Where did you learn?"

You smile and explain to him about your home and culture. You tell them that you learned from your grandmother who taught your mother and older sister. You tell them that belly dancing is considered an important dance within your culture, using your body to make art. The two listen intently, making you feel shy despite dancing for a living. 

"You flatter me too, Your Highness," you chuckle, staring through your lashes at Zuko. "Your kindness is a gift and to dance for you is an honor." Zuko blushes hot red at your sweetness, averting his gaze. "The pleasure is all ours," Geto replies with a twinkle in his eye. "Though we are leaving one thing out as to why you're here." 

You sip more wine, letting the buzzing, warm feeling grow. "Oh? What is that?" Geto gives Zuko a knowing look, but the younger brother ignores him, instead pouring more tea. Your heart pounds and the heat you felt growing intensifies, making the room feel tense. 

"Forgive us for coming off as nothing more than dogs, but I'm afraid we loved your dancing so much that we preferred to have it in private." Geto pauses, puffing on his pipe, sizing you up with his eyes. 

You ignore the way your body sizzles at his confession. You were hoping you were here for that reason...among others. "You want me to dance for you?" you ask. "Right here?"

Geto sits back against the pillows, exposing a sliver of his abs to you. "If you wish. Though we commanded your presence, we want you to be comfortable here with us. That body is too perfect to be forced to do anything it doesn't wish to."

His words are made of saccharine and silk, making you buzz like you just drank a whole bottle of wine. Though Zuko doesn't say anything, his look, so intimate and personal, tells you everything. They truly mean what they say. If they wanted more from you, they would've taken it by now, you realize. 

So you smile, letting your walls fall completely down. "Of course. I am at your service, Your Highnesses," you purr. "You have made me very comfortable without needing to, so who am I to refuse your command? However, I do not have any music." 

"Geto can play guitar," Zuko replies. He snaps at his older brother, impatient. "Play something. Now." Geto only smiles, humored by his brother's flip switch in attitude. "Oooo, someone's desperate to see some more moves. Did you think the Firelord would be so demanding?" 

"Yes, I did," you giggle as Geto rises to his feet, going to fetch his guitar. "But I am sure you both are to a degree. I would think the Firelords would be if you get your way all the time." 

Geto returns with a small guitar and sits cross-legged at the table, placing it in his lap. "Oh, little dancer, we get our way all the time. And you will get yours if you continue to move the way you do." His seductive words cause a trail of heat to snake down to between your thighs, but you ignore it. Not yet.

"How will you have me, My Lords?" you purr, unable to keep the sex out of your voice. Geto elbows Zuko, letting him talk. The young prince's eyes bore into yours, intense and fiery. "Stand right there," he softly commands, nodding at the window. "In the moonlight." 

You rise to your feet and slink over to the window, standing in the sliver of moonlight serving as your spotlight. Then the music begins, Geto's fingers stroking and strumming the guitar strings the way you picture him doing to your body. The music is soft with a bit of Indian scales added to it. "Dance for us, love," he encourages. "However you wish." 

And so you dance. Under the silvery moon and the hot gazes of the princes, you wind your hips, flip your hair, and move your stomach so impressively like it's made of water. You twist, grind, and sway, letting the music control you. When the guitar strums get bolder and faster, you move with them, your movements more intense but still controlled.

The watchful eyes of your princes encourage you, pushing your aching muscles and winding hips to move faster until completion. You reach the same peak you would with an orgasm, feeling a tightness in your core that bursts until you're coating in explosive pleasure that makes you gasp. You hit a pose, raising your arms high as you face the princes, coating from head to toe in sweat. 

Geto stops playing and applauds you while Zuko sits still as a statue, gobsmacked. "Beautiful," he murmurs. You smile at the praise, bowing. "Did that please you, My Lords?" you ask, out of breath and pumped full of arousal. You can feel your slick travel down between your thighs and you clamp them shut in an effort to hide the scent of your slick. 

The aura in the room has shifted, leaving a tense feeling in the air that the brothers feel too. You can tell from how rigid they both sit as if trying to seem normal but miserably failing. Geto is the only one who comes clean, moving the guitar from his lap to reveal his bulge under his robe. "Yes, lovely...a little too much. I am sure you can see it." 

His eyes slide over to Zuko and sure enough, the younger prince is sporting a hard cock under his slacks as well. "Oh," you sigh, your eyes glued to their bulges. "Your Highnesses..." You stare, unashamed and so unproper. And not caring one bite. 

"F-Forgive me," Zuko stammers, covering his hard-on with a pillow as he madly blushes. "You can leave if you don't like this. I'm not usually like this." He looks ashamed and shy, averting his eyes from yours. 

But you shake your head, mouth practically watering. "It's alright. You're just making me blush." And quite wet. You can't remember the last time your pussy has felt this tingly and open, waiting for some attention. Geto raises a brow at you, catching onto your game. "Oh? And why is that?" he asks, his voice much deeper than usual. 

Zuko turns to you, his attention once again pulled back to you. You stare at both, unable to hide your want anymore. "Perhaps you're not the only one who's been enchanted," you whisper. "Maybe I'm feeling this fire too." 

Silently, the two brothers share a look and finally, they rise to their feet. Zuko drops the pillow, revealing his bulge again, and is the first to make his way over to you. You feel wobbly and unsteady as he strides towards you, all muscle and discipline under his silk robe, standing a whole head taller than you. 

But when he finally nears you, you are neither intimidated or frightened. If anything, you are oh-so aroused and attracted to his height and strength. He places his fists at his sides, his muscles tense, jaw working. "I want to touch you," he hoarsely confesses. "I want to...kiss you. Will you let me?" 

He dares to finally touch you, placing his hand in yours. You swallow hard as his long fingers lace through yours, just as Geto comes up behind you. It is sudden and silent, making for a great sneak attack. All you feel is his dick pressing into your backside, hard and hot, making your brain muddy. You turn to Zuko with an answer on your tongue, your pussy throbbing impatiently. "I—Oh!" you gasp before your face is being forced to turn to the side and Geto's lips are on yours, his fingers on your cheek. 

Prince Geto kisses like a dream. A wet dream, that is. His lips are soft and spiked from the fireflower juice, but they are also wet and supple, his tongue sliding across yours. You kiss him back, your lips moving together in a heated dance, soft moans traveling between you. Zuko watches, enraged. "Hey, asshole! You said we were sharing her, remember?" 

Geto chuckles against your lips, pulling away with a hooded look your way. "Sorry, brother, but you were too slow. I couldn't wait to have these lips any longer." His thumb gently massages your bottom lip, nearly sending you through the ceiling."That kiss was meant for your brother, Your Highness," you giggle. "Although that was quite a kiss." 

Geto smiles pridefully, his hands finding your hips. "What can I say? I aim to please, little one." He leans in to steal another, but Zuko beats him to it, turning your chin to face him. "I kiss way better," he mutters before he sweeps your lips up in a kiss. He is no longer the shy, stoic man you met earlier; now, the man in his place is bold and unabashed as he kisses you down, making you melt beneath his lips. 

Geto watches his brother kiss you as he sandwiches you between himself and Zuko, hard muscle pressed against soft curves. "Mmm, you feel so fucking good," he groans, his hands caressing your curves. "For so long, we've watched you. Craved you. Just wanted to keep you to myself." 

Zuko eyes him from over your head as he pulls away from kissing you, your taste on his lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself, brother. You're in MY room." You smile at their little rivalry, placing a hand on both of their broad chests. "You may keep me," you giggle. "We have tonight, don't we?" Geto looks surprised at your agreement, thoughtfully stroking your sides. "Is that because you want us to? Or because you want to please us? Be honest, little dancer."

His big hand cups your chin as he kisses you once more, the scent of tobacco wafting off of him in intoxicating waves. Zuko peppers your neck in kisses, overstimulating you in the best way possible to the point where you're gasping and panting for air when his older brother pulls away. "I want it too," you confess. 

How can you not? Every kiss, touch, and word from the brothers are like the strongest hits of a drug. You crave more of them, selfishly. You want to be the one who says that you danced and had a night of endless sex with the Firelord brothers, pleasing them with your body in every way possible. 

Zuko smiles against your neck and Geto gives you a devastatingly pretty grin, overjoyed at your confession. He takes your hands and presses his lips to your knuckles, making your stomach flip. "Then lay down and let us explore you. Pleasing you will please us." 

And you believe him. Plus, the idea of the Firelord brothers being two givers and pleasers is something you definitely want to explore more of. Two handsome princes who would like to please YOU, a homely dancer girl, because it gets them off? You'd be an idiot to refuse this!

Zuko anchors your attention back to him with his soft lips and nimble fingers caressing your body, running up and down your stomach. "Will you let us touch you?" he murmurs, a plea in his tone. You grasp one of his hands, clamping it tightly against your body, not wanting him to let go. "Yes," you whisper. "Please touch me." 

You twist around to kiss the younger prince, his surprised moans swallowed by your wine-spiked tongue. Geto chuckles, taking a handful of your ass in his big, calloused hands. "Such sweet begging. And such a sweet body too." Together, the brothers share your body, their hands indulging in your curves the way you have only dreamed of. You usually swallow back cringes whenever a man touches you, but them? It's nothing but shivers and sensations that make you want to melt. "Oh," you sigh, unable to utter anything but mere words. 

As Zuko busies himself kissing your neck and breasts (without taking off your top, of course, because he's a gentleman), Geto manages to slip some of your skirt down to expose your hip dips and the curve of your spine. "A-Ah," you moan, your hips bucking into Zuko as Geto kisses down your stomach, his fingers playing with your hips and gliding down your sides to your thighs. 

He stares up at you and the way your back curves as your head tilts back, your hair cascading down like a sweet-smelling river. "You like that, pretty?" he teases. "You want me to go lower?" His hand slides under your skirt and you gasp when you feel his thick fingers caress you between your thighs, right over your damp panties. Arousal explodes like a firework inside of you and you can no longer bear the foreplay anymore. 

"Yes, please," you whisper. Your voice is soft and breathless; needy. Just what the royal brothers want. Together, they kneel and pull up your skirt, exposing your thong and bare thighs underneath. They groan at the sight of your asscheeks looking so plump wedged between the tight thong. "Oh, fuck," Zuko softly moans, just above a shudder. 

"Goddamn!" Geto gasps, staring mesmerized at the slick dripping down your thighs. "Look at how wet she is, brother. All for me." His tongue juts out to lick your inner thigh, giving you a taste of the cool metal of his tongue piercing. Zuko's eyes cut over to his brother, sharp and irritated. "You mean all for us. Don't play with me right now, Suguru."

Geto smirks, gently suckling on your thigh just to hear you moan. "My bad, brother. It's just so much fun teasing you. We will share this sweet pussy of hers and make her cum her brains out." He stares up at you, eyes twinkling. "That sound good to you, little one?"

So inviting. So considerate. So in tune with your body and your pleasure. Nothing has ever sounded better. So you lay down among the soft, luxurious pillows and allow the brothers to split your thighs open beneath your skirt, groaning at the sight of your lace thong so soaked through the fabric to the point where you are dripping wet. 

Geto dares to pull the tiny article of fabric down your legs, exposing your pussy, puffy with arousal and glistening with your nectar. Some of it coats your inner thighs and the slit of your asshole, making you bite your lip as the summer breeze hits your sensitive pussy lips. "Ooo, look at her, brother," Geto murmurs, mesmerized by your slick. "So much here for us to share. We must indulge and—"

"I go first," Zuko cuts in before diving face first into your pussy. You gasp, your hand instantly grasping his long black locks as his soft lips mash with yours between your soft thighs, toned from years of dancing. "Oh!" you gasp, eyes bugging at the pleasure. "M-My Lord, that's s-so good! Oh, fuck yes!"

Zuko is quite a wonder at eating pussy. He does it as if he loves it, moaning as his tongue sends lightning strikes across your clit. Geto watches on, knelt beside his brother with a disapproving frown. "So much for sharing," he mutters. "Don't I get a little taste?" 

Zuko looks irked by the mere thought of sharing you, but still, he scoots over an inch to allow some space for Geto. "Fine, but just stay out of my way." Then he goes right back to slipping his tongue between your sticky, wet pussy lips, drawing moans from deep in your chest out of you. 

Geto smirks, peppering your right inner thigh in wet kisses, his fingers pressing into the muscle as he spreads it away from your pussy. "You're just worried that I'll make her cum before you do. Don't you know pierced tongues do it better?"

Moments later, you are writhing, bucking, and twisting like you're experiencing an exorcism on the princes' pillows and in their hands clamped tight on your thighs and under your ass as their tongues slash and skate hungrily along your pussy. Their tongues slash along your slit, alternating between your dripping hole and your clit buzzing with pleasure and all kinds of sensations. 

When Zuko slides his tongue inside of you, Geto sucks your clit, moaning as he does so. They totally devour you whole, the lewd sounds of their fat, wet tongues swirling between your thighs. Their faces are pressed flush against each other, cheek to cheek, as they give you two tongues to lose your mind over...and you do. "Oh, fuck!" you cry out, gripping the pillows beneath you. "God, My Lords, yes! More please! Don't stop!" 

Geto pulls away from your clit to smile, his violet eyes drinking in the way you massage your tits and tweak your nipples over your top. "You hear that, brother? She loves my mouth on that pretty clit." 

Zuko growls as he pulls his tongue out of your pussy, the muscle sticking with your juices. "You sure that isn't because my tongue is deep inside of her?" So the brothers turn to you, expecting the truth."Tell me, little one: do you like my tongue or my brother's?" Geto asks in his silky voice as he rips your top down, exposing both of your precious, full tits to them. 

"Both," you moan, surprised you can even speak. "Both of you are making me feel so good!" The brothers smile, satisfied with your answer. "Mmm, nice answer, baby," Geto hums. "Perhaps you'd like this tongue a bit lower?" 

And then his fat, pierced, royal tongue is sliding down between your asscheeks, licking and sucking greedily at the tiny hole. Zuko begins to suck and lick on your clit now, humming as he takes the tiny rosebud into his mouth and does wonders to it, his mouth made of magic. 

"Oh, my God!" you groan, your fingers lacing through their long, silky locks. Your back arches off of the floor, your body totally at their mercy. The vibrations of Geto's chuckle in your ass make you shudder, every sensation like a tidal wave of pleasure. "Mmm, naughty girl. Getting wetter from my tongue in your pretty little hole," he murmurs. 

So he can feel it. You noticed a brief few minutes ago after Geto started eating your ass that your pussy has gotten significantly wetter, and not just because of Zuko's eager tongue. You are gushing like a waterfall, sending your honey dripping into the mouths of the younger prince. "Fuck, I think she's close!" Zuko groans, feeling your pussy tightening around his tongue now. 

If he didn't feel that, you're sure he would've suspected by how loud you've gotten. Your moans and whimpers can't be contained anymore, bouncing off of his bedroom walls. "You're gonna cum for me now, sweetness?" Geto huskily asks, using his two fingers to gently rub at your asshole, making you damn near cream on yourself. 

Zuko snarls into your pussy, anger radiating through his muscles flexing underneath his robe. "No, she's gonna cum for me," he growls. "Stop distracting her." 

"I'm gonna cum for you both!" you desperately moan, grasping at their silky locks of hair, pushing them deeper into your holes, as far as they can possibly go. "Please, please make me cum, my Lords! Don't stop!" Zuko mumbles nonsense into your pussy while Geto laughs, speaking through wicked flicks of his tongue against your ass. "Never, little one. Just cum for us. Let go. We've got you now." 

And like a puppet on a string, pulled by the princes' wicked and convincing tongue strokes, you let out a loud whine as you cum all over their faces. You soak their smoothly-shaven cheeks and chins as you cream, flooding their mouths with your nectar straight from the source of your sweet-like-sugar pussy. They share groans of satisfaction and need as they slurp up your essence, making you cry out and whine as your pussy throbs and tingles with every agonizing stroke of their tongues.

When you finally come down from your high, a smile stretches across your face, matching the one sliding along the princes' lips. "Mmm-hmm," Zuko hums as he pecks your tummy, making you twitch. His fingers glide along your sweat-soaked skin, slightly warmed by his fire abilities. "Mmm, good girl," Geto praises you, giving your ass a squeeze. "How was that?"

You are more than happy to let him know: "Like heaven. Thank you, My Lords." You sit up from your fort of pillows, want racing through your veins as you gaze at the handsome men before you. "Now I must please you both as well." 

The princes must feel the fire radiating from your molten gaze because they don't hesitate giving you what you want. They each stand, racing each other to see who can do it the fastest. "Let's get her on the bed," Zuko requests. "I don't want her on the floor doing this." 

You grin when he offers you a hand to help you stand. "How sweet of you, My Lord," you hum, taking his hand in yours, but even as you stand, your legs feel like jelly. Luckily, you have a certain young prince to help you. Surprising both himself, Geto, and you, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you over to his bed. "Oh!" you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Geto watches sourly, following behind. "Show-off," he scoffs. Zuko gives him a wink, pleased with himself. "Don't look so upset, brother. I'm just playing your own game is all...and winning." 

Your giggles continue as Zuko swiftly walks over to the bed and gently places you down on the satin sheets, soft to the touch. The two princes stand at the foot of the bed, looking over your curves like you're a dessert plate. "So what are you waiting for, brother?" Geto asks, slyly smirking at Zuko. "Get udnressed and drop your pants...unless you're too afraid to get shown up by me." 

As you laze about on the sheets, biting your lip in anticipation, you watch the Firelords disrobe for you. Your eyes are drawn to their fingers as they untie their robes while their eyes are locked soley on your beautiful face and body. Your arousal practically explodes and spills over when they expose their toned bodies to you, every part of them carved with muscle, their lower stomaches adorned in patches of fine black hair. 

When their pants are finally off, you come face to face with what you've dreaming about for ages. Their dicks are just as beautiful as you pictured them being—different in size and shape, one thicker than the other, the other curving upward, but both throbbing, rock hard, and ready for you. 

Geto raises a teasing brow down at you and your dreamy expression. "Well? You wanted to suck some royal dicks, right? Here you are now, little dancer." He wraps a hand around himself, gently pumping from base to tip. "Take them, little one, but you must do your very best for us, okay?" 

Zuko flushes as you sit up in front of them, flashing him your naked tits, much to his dick's enjoyment. "Of course, Your Highness," you purr. "I would give you nothing less." You begin slow, using some body oil on the bedside table next to you to pour onto their hard dicks and into your palms, making both slick and shiny. 

Then it's strictly about pleasing the two princes. Stroking, pumping, and sucking. Your pussy gushes at each deep moan, gasp, and swear that escapes the princes' lips as you alternate between sucking and stroking them. Geto throws his long hair back and moans in ecstasy as you pump him with your mouth, your lush, wet lips sliding up and down his shaft. 

"Ah, fuck," he sighs, his handsome face contorted in pleasure. "God, that's fucking good." His big hand tangles in your hair, holding you firm, while Zuko watches in awe as your dainty hand strokes his dick in tandem. "Her hand feels good t-too," he stammers. You pull away from Geto's cock, strands of spit connecting his cockhead to your bottom lip. 

"It feels good, my Prince?" you purr, staring at Zuko through your lashes. "Would you like my mouth as well?" Zuko can't even speak; he can only jerkingly nod as his cock twitches in your palm. You smile and wrap your mouth around him next, sliding him deep into your throat and against your tongue. Zuko's eyes widen at the new sensations, his mouth agape as your tight, wet throat closes around him and slides up and down his shaft. 

"Oh, fuck!" he moans, clenching his fists at his sides as you bob up and down his dick, moaning in enjoyment. Geto watches on through hooded eyes, fucking your hand slick with oil. 

You continue to work Zuko's dick in your throat, hollowing your cheeks and staring into his eyes. When you need to breathe, you slide him out of your throat only to suck and lick on his tip, earning a desperate hiss through his teeth. "Y-You...oh, fuck, how do you do that with your tongue?" 

"This?" you ask before you push the brothers' cocks together and lick both of their tips at the same time, earning wanton groans in response. You continue to alternate between them, giving them as much tender, love, and care as possible, causing your own spit to pool down your chin and soak your tits. 

But Geto soon takes initiative, your mouth too much for him, and grips your hair as he pushes himself deep down your throat. You gag in surprise, but you don't dare push him away, letting him use your throat for his pleasure. "Deeper," he grunts. "Come on now, love, don't give up. Take that fucking dick." 

His moans are aphrodiasics to you as he fucks your mouth, his balls gently slapping against your chin. Black strands of hair hang in his handsome face, his composure lost as he thrusts deeper and deeper, filling your throat up with his cock. Zuko practically melts at the lewd sight, his cock growing bigger and thicker as he watches your mouth stretch around his brother's dick. 

Geto notices and smiles, pulling out with a groan to tap his dick against your tongue. "You wanna try, brother?" he pants. "Just fuck her throat nice and deep. Make her take it." After some coaching, Zuko swallows hard and slides himself inside of your mouth. 

Obediently, you take his slow, deep thrusts as he gets used to your throat closing around him, causing more spit to drip down your chin, making you look like a professional cock slut. The moans that Zuko lets out are choked and wanton, traveling straight to your soaked pussy. You can't help but play with yourself as Zuko fucks your throat, using it as he would a fleshlight. 

Geto notices your fingers working between your thighs and smiles, raising his brows. "Oooo, someone's being quite naughty," he chuckles. "I suspect you need to be treated kindly down here again, sweetness?" Slowly, he switches places and climbs onto the bed behind you, placing his big hands on your hips. You feel his cock nudge your pussy lips apart, allowing your wetness to drench his tip. 

"You want this dick now, darling? Can you take me and my brother at the same time?" Zuko groans as he slips out of your throat, allowing you to speak, which you eventually do once your moaning over Geto's cock rubbing against your pussy stops. "Yes!" you gasp. "Please fuck me, Suguru! I need y—" 

You can't finish because he's already sliding in, filling you to the brim with dick. Your mouth falls agape as you're stretched open on his thick dick, expanding on every sensation you've ever felt. "S-Sorry, love, but your begging was just too damn cute," the older prince stammers, biting his lush bottom lip as you squeeze him tight. "Y-you—oh, fuck—feel so fucking good." 

Zuko watches you bounce against his brother's dick buried deep inside of you, your tits swaying enticingly back and forth. "Don't tire her out. I still need to fuck her too." Geto chuckles, moving his fingers down to rub your clit in time with his breathtaking thrusts. "Sure...if she doesn't cum too hard. I'm known for doing that to women."

An irritated growl escapes Zuko as he slides his cock in your mouth again, keeping his thrusts a bit slower and lighter to not overwhelm you. How sweet of him. "Just fuck her and shut up," he growls. "I'll show you that I can do just as good of a job." Geto raises an interested brow, his smirk wicked and sly. "Oh, can you now? I'll hold you to that, little brother." 

And then together, the two fuck you off of their cocks, pushing and pulling you back and forth. It is like some erotic seesaw, the rhythm building the more they fuck your dripping holes. Zuko's resolve drops with every thrust of his dick down your tight throat and ripple of your ass bouncing back against Geto's cock. "That's it," he grunts. "You suck me so well, baby. So fucking good!" 

The way you squeal and moan around Zuko's cock makes Geto fuck you a little faster, placing a foot on the bed. It drives him deeper inside of you, to the point where you damn near feel him in your tummy. "Yeah? You like sucking my brother's fat dick while I fuck you with mine?" he pants. "That pussy certainly seems to."

Your pussy concurs, dripping over his fingers as he rubs your clit in time with his thrusts. You feel his eyes roll over your curves, drinking in the way sweat rolls off of your blessed body. "Fuck yes," he hisses. "How is this body so amazing, hm?" He begins to harshly palm your ass, indulging in the way your soft asscheeks ripple and bounce in time with his thrusts. Your body tingles at his touch, needing more. "Spank me!" you whimper. 

"Seriously?" Zuko asks, surprised by such a request. But Geto is grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, I'm gonna have some fun with you, little one." He then raises his palm and swats your ass repeatedly, the harsh sounds of his hand coming down on your ass exploding against the bedroom walls.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

The assault on your ass combined with Geto's mind-melting thrusts is too much and soon, you feel your second orgasm cresting like a full moon. "M'gonna cum!" you moan around Zuko's cock. "Please harder, My Lord! Fuck me faster!" Geto's groan is fit for a porno, filled with need and desperation. "Of course, cutie. Anything you want." 

So he thrusts harder, faster, his balls slapping against your clit. Sparks of pleasure explode through your body as you bounce back against his dick, practically fucking yourself as he pounds into you, taking and giving at the same time. "Such cute begging. Such a sweetheart," he grunts. He leans forward, capturing your tits in both of his big palms. "Gonna make me fucking cum. Make me breed you." 

The idea of being bred by one of the princes–or both–turns you on more than you care to admit. You can only moan around Zuko's throbbing dick as Geto fucks your pussy like he owns it, chasing his orgasm. "M'gonna cum!" he groans. "You ready, little one? Ready to take this load?" 

"Mmm-hmm!" you moan around Zuko's dick twitching in your throat. You don't get a chance to prepare before a hot rush of cum is flooding your insides, followed by a loud groan from Geto as he empties himself inside of you. You quickly cum as well, shuddering and shaking as your orgasm takes you on a journey through the stars and beyond. 

Zuko watches as your eyes roll back with his cock still stuffed in your mouth, your orgasm taking complete control in addition to the hot gush of spunk that Geto gives you. It seems to last forever until Geto's grip on your tits eases and his thrusts grow sloppy until they finally slow. 

He sighs as he slooooowly slides out of you, groaning at the gush of cum that manages to escape your pussy. You slide your mouth off of Zuko's cock and collapse between them, totally spent and breathless. Geto smirks at Zuko, cocky and proud of his work. "Told you she'd tap out," he chuckles. Gently, he strokes your ass, leaning down to check on you. "Tuckered out, little dancer? Or can you take more?" 

More. Yes. Your body reacts immediately, igniting with need like a wildfire. You slowly sit up on your knees, staring into the worried gaze of Prince Zuko. "Do you wish to continue? We can stop if you—oh, fuck!" 

He doesn't get a chance to finish because of your vicious sucking again, swallowing him whole and giving him a few pumps of your throat that make his toes curl. You pull away, lips coated in spit and pre-cum, bating your lashes at him. "Please fuck me, my Lord," you whimper. "I need to make you feel good too." 

Zuko stares, blushing and intensely aroused, while Geto smirks at the sight. "You heard the girl. So you gonna show me up or what?" As if a switch flips, Zuko's shy demeanor vanishes, replaced with someone so determined to please you. "I want her on her back," he requests above a growl. "I want her to look at me when I make her cum." 

His lewd words sound like a promise to your ears, fierce and impassioned, making your stomach flip with anticipation for what will come next...and hopefully cum next too. 

Moments later, you're taken to euphoria again when Zuko is fucking you in missionary, hips slamming against yours as you lay back against Geto's broad chest. He holds your legs open for his brother, watching as Zuko fucks your pussy into his bed. The lewd noises of his dick sloshing and squelching in your wet pussy drifts through the air, mixing with your loud moans and his groans of pleasure. 

There is a symphony of sex swimming in the air, uninterrupted or silenced, only growing more intense the deeper and faster Zuko fucks you. "Oh, my God, yes!" you wail against the bedsprings creaking. "That's so good, Zuko, fuck!" 

The younger prince smiles, black strands of his hair cascading over his broad shoulders and face glistening in beads of sweat glistening in the moonlight. "Yeah? Better than my brother, right?" Geto glares from behind you, teasing your hard nipples as his brother continues to pound you into the mattress. "Watch it. I could snatch that pussy away from you easily." 

Zuko breathlessly chuckles, his cock somehow twitching in your pussy at the prospect of such a challenge. "Doesn't seem like she'd like that," he grunts. "She—oooo, fuck, she's squeezing around me so tight!" He pauses to spit on your pussy, a drop of saliva dripping from his mouth to drench your puffy, sticky pussy lips. 

You can only gasp as he slides in again, deeper, making you take every thick inch of him. Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack on desperate, loud moans and gasps as he draws himself inside of you, trapping you between himself and his brother. "I want to devour you, little dancer," he groans. "Wanna keep you here and make you mine over and over again." 

He leans down to press himself against you, using his arms to hold himself up, encasing you in a prison of muscle that you don't want to escape. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deep into the very loins of your soul as he fucks you deep. "Would you like that?" he whispers. 

You only whine in response, unable to formulate proper words. Geto laces a hand around your throat, squeezing. "Answer my brother, pretty girl. You wanna stay here and let my brother fuck you until you cum over and over again?" Zuko goes harder. Faster. Pistoning that dick inside of you and forcing you to answer. "Yes!" you wail. "Both of you! I want both of you, please!" 

Geto's chest rumbles as he softly laughs, wrapping those big arms around you to hold you close as Zuko pins your thighs apart to fuck you in semi-mating press. "Then cum for me," Zuko grunts. "Give me all of that honey, baby, please. I need it. Please, please, please."

His begging is a straight drug lacing through your veins, getting closer and closer to yet another intense orgasm. Geto kisses down your neck as he squeezes you tight, anchoring you down before you float off as your orgasm crests. "Give it to him now, darling," he whispers. "Cum for him. Cum for us again."

It doesn't take long—not with the way Zuko is desperately moaning above you as he chases his orgasm head on, his cock sliding against your slick, wet pussy walls until he can't take much more. "Fuck, I'm cumming!" he gasps. "I-I can't...stop! Gonna fill you up!" 

Plap, plap, plap goes his hips against your thighs as his thrusts grow faster and faster until finally— 

"Fuck!" you both gasp in unison as Zuko floods your insides with his cum and you drench him in your cream, finally released from your bottle of self control. Your body would definitely be levitating if it isn't for Geto's beefy arms snaking around you, holding you close and holding you down, forcing you to take his brother's load deep inside of you. 

Your eyes roll back and your body twitches as you cum, cum, and cum, drenching Zuko's cock and balls in your honey. He groans as he fills you, his dick twitching inside of you as the last of his spurts of spunk escape him and enter you, breeding you the same as his brother did moments before.

Finally spent, Zuko slowly pulls out of you, collapsing onto his back, his muscular body slick with sweat illuminated by the moonlight. For a while, there is only comfortable silence spiked with the afterglow of sex. "That was amazing," you finally sigh, delirious. 

"Mmm-hmm," Geto hums in agreement. "Except..." He grips your chin and squeezes it tight, forcing you to look back at him. His violet eyes are firm yet fiery, making your stomach flip with excitement. "What do you say?" he asks, his tone dripping with authority. 

You aren't sure what he means at first, your brain still mushy from your three orgasms. But then you realize it when Zuko snuggles up to your side and kisses your cheek. "Thank you, my princes," you whisper. Geto smiles and pecks your lips, satisfied. "You're very welcome, little one. Now let's get you cleaned up." 

You thought tonight couldn't get any better, but that's before Geto carries you off to Zuko's large bathchambers and runs some hot water in a stone pool for you. Zuko adds some kind of liquid that has an herbal scent to the water, turning it a slight teal color and creating bubbles. The brothers get into the steaming water first before offering you their hands. "Careful now," Geto murmurs. "Gently. The water isn't going anywhere." 

You take their hands and slowly step into the pool, hissing at the heat at first. But soon, the water soothes your tired muscles and you melt into the bubbles. Zuko pulls you towards him, letting you lean back against his broad chest while you face Geto, your feet on his beating heart. "Good?" Zuko asks. 

"Yes," you sigh, content. "I am the envy of all women right now." Geto smiles, gently kissing both of your feet as you relax further into the water. "And we are the envy of all men. You made us feel so good tonight, love." 

The praise fuels you the way the herbal-scented water does, making you feel brand new. In this little world with the three of you, surrounded by nothing but the bubbles and water, you feel like nothing and no one matters. Just tonight. Just this moment of bliss. 

So you lean against Zuko's chest and hum with contentment, smiling when he tangles his fingers in your wet hair, allowing yourself to fall completely and totally in the little sanctuary your princes have built...even if it's just for tonight.

"The only question is whose dick made you cum more?" Geto asks. "Mine or my brother's?"

SPLASH!

Geto suddenly gets a mouthful of soapy water flung at him by his brother while you giggle profusely. "Get the fuck out, Geto," Zuko growls. "Or I'll drown you."

THE END.

[moviecritc]

fem!sukuna ryomen beating the shit out of your ex boyfriend ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ that's what best friends are for!

cw: violence, suggestive, sukuna wants that cookie so bad, the word dyke is mentioned

You are enraged when you call your best friend. After months of guessing and having a weird feeling, you finally got proof that your lame ass boyfriend is cheating on you. And you are so fucking angry, you don’t know where to put all the violence boiling in your guts. 

You facetime her late at night, just with your summer pajamas on because it’s hot outside and inside too for you.

“Hi, hoe.” She picks up instantly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and sweat clinging in her forehead

“Suki, you’re not going to believe— are you at the gym?” you stop, not noticing how her eyes drop down to the neckline of your pajama. 

“Yeah, I am,” she shrugs her shoulders, walking around a nearly empty gym to sit down on a bench. 

“It’s ten p.m.”

“What’s your point?”

“Ugh, whatever. I finally broke up with my boyfriend.”

Oh, the joy on Sukuna’s face when you gave her the news. All the time telling you that you should leave him, calling him an asshole and knowing damn well that she could treat you better are paying now. 

You keep pacing around your room, the phone shaking a little in your hand as you vent. “He’s such a fucking loser, Suki. I saw the messages, the pictures, everything. Months of me feeling like I was crazy for doubting him, and now? I’m so fucking angry I could scream. I just wanna punch something.”

Sukuna leans back on the gym bench, her tank top sticking to her skin from the workout. She tries to pull her face into something sympathetic, eyebrows knitting together like she’s really feeling your pain, but you catch that little spark in her eyes anyway. The corner of her mouth twitches up before she forces it down.

“Damn, babe. That’s rough. I’m sorry you had to deal with that shithead for so long.”

But inside, her heart is racing. Finally. No more watching you waste your time on that weak excuse for a guy. She’s been waiting for this, biting her tongue every time he disappointed you, knowing she could step up and give you everything he never could. Her gaze drops again, tracing the way your summer pajamas cling to you in the heat, the thin straps slipping off one shoulder. God, you look good when you’re pissed.

You flop down on your bed, the camera angle shifting so she gets an even better view. “I’m serious, Suki. I’m so angry I don’t know what to do with it. I wish I had the strength to just beat the shit out of him.”

“Oh baby, that’s fine. He does deserve a few punches in the face.”

You press your lips together, looking at Sukuna’s strong and toned body, she has everything: abs, bicep, perfect thighs, oh and she’s definitely taller than him. 

“Suki…” you start.

“Yes?” She arches her eyebrow.

“Would you… hypothetically, beat the shit out of him for me?”

“Hypothetically?” she teases.

“Okay, no. For real.”

A grin spreads across her face. “Hell yeah. Say the word and I’ll handle it. I’ve been dying to knock his teeth in anyway. Nobody fucks with you like that and gets away with it while I’m around.”

You laugh a little through the rage, the sound shaky but real, and Sukuna’s chest tightens in the best way. She sits up straighter, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re better off, trust me. C’mon, tell me more about what that idiot did. I wanna hear every detail so I can plan exactly how I’m gonna make him regret it.”

She’s already imagining it, showing up at your place later, pulling you into a hug and letting her hands wander while she whispers how you deserve someone better and stronger than him, she could even slip a “I’d treat you right” if she feels brave enough. You don’t notice how her eyes darken just a bit, or the way she bites her lip when you shift on the bed again. 

You hang up the FaceTime after a few more minutes of venting, but Sukuna doesn’t leave it there. Twenty minutes later there’s a knock on your door, you open it and there she is, still in her gym tank and shorts, hair a little messy from the ponytail

“Come here,” she says, pulling you into a tight hug before you can even speak. Her body is warm, still buzzing with energy. “We’re gonna handle this tonight, right? I hate seeing your pretty face angry.”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, letting her in

You both sit on your couch, knees touching and she listens while you rant some more. Then the idea hits her. Her eyes light up with that mischievous glint. “Call him. Tell him you’re sad as fuck, crying over him like an idiot. He’ll eat that shit up. And I’ll take care of the rest.”

You hesitate for a second, but the rage is still fresh. Sukuna scoots closer, her hand resting on your thigh as you dial. 

You put on your best broken voice, sniffling a little. “Hey… I can’t stop thinking about us. I’m so lonely right now, and everything feels wrong without you. Can you come over? Please?”

He buys it instantly, a cocky tone slipping through the speaker. “Yeah? Knew you’d come back. Be there in fifteen.”

Sukuna’s grin is feral as you hang up. She cracks her knuckles and stands up, rolling her shoulders. “Perfect. Stay behind me when he gets here.”

Fifteen minutes later the knock comes. You open the door just enough, looking all teary and small, he steps inside without asking. But before he can even say something slick, Sukuna moves.

She shoves him hard against the wall, her fist connecting with his jaw in one clean, satisfying crack. He stumbles, eyes wide, but she’s already on him again, grabbing his shirt and driving another punch into his stomach. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“Oh, hi,” Sukuna waves her hand in front of his face before landing another hit. “What? Did you think that cheating, lying and treating her like trash doesn’t have any consequences?”

He tries to swing back but she’s faster, stronger, years of gym time paying off as she dodges and slams him down. You stand there watching, heart pounding, the way her muscles flex under her tank top, the pure fury in her eyes as she protects you. It’s doing things to you. Heat pools low in your belly, your thighs pressing together without thinking. She’s so fucking hot like this.

He spits blood on your floor and glares up at her, then at you. “You’re with her now? I didn’t know you were a dyke now, running to this bitch the second we’re done.”

The words barely leave his mouth before Sukuna explodes. She yanks him up by the collar and slams him against the wall again, harder this time. 

“Say that shit again.” Her voice drops to a growl. “She’s not yours, ya hear me? Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your pathetic body. Get the fuck out.”

She drags him to the door and shoves him into the hallway, kicking him once for good measure as he scrambles away, cursing under his breath. The door slams shut behind him.

The apartment goes quiet except for both of you breathing hard. Sukuna turns to you, knuckles a little red, chest rising and falling. She looks ready to fight the world for you. And you? You’re flushed, pulse racing between your legs

“You okay?” she asks, stepping closer, her hand gentle now as it brushes your arm.

You glance down and nod. “Your… your hand.” You point out at the tiny cut in her knuckles. “You’re hurt, let me clean it up.”

She lets you pull her into the kitchen by her wrist, her skin hot under your fingers. You grab the paper towel, run it under cool water and start dabbing at that tiny cut on her knuckles like it’s a serious wound. It’s barely bleeding anymore, but you can’t stop touching her. Your hands are shaking a little as you clean it, pressing the cool towel gently against her skin.

“Hold still,” you whisper, even though she isn’t moving. Your bodies are so close now, her hips almost brushing yours against the counter, your thin pajama top doing nothing to hide how fast your breathing has gotten.

Sukuna watches you with this intense stare. “You don’t have to do all this, babe. It’s just a scratch. I’ve taken harder hits at the gym.”

“I want to,” you say softly, your thumb stroking along the side of her hand, way slower than necessary. You look up at her through your lashes, heart pounding so loud you’re sure she can hear it. “You were so fucking amazing back there, Suki. No one’s ever protected me like that. You’re the best best friend anyone could ask for. I feel so safe with you.”

Your voice gets a little breathier on the last part. You can’t help it. Your mind keeps replaying how strong she looked, muscles flexing... It’s making you wet, wetter, a warm ache building between your thighs as you stand there. You shift your weight, pressing your legs together, trying to ease the pressure but only making it worse.

Sukuna’s free hand comes up to rest on the counter beside you, caging you in without quite touching. She’s taking all the self control in her body to not kiss you right now.

“You know I’d do way more than beat his ass for you. I’d do anything, you just gotta say it.” she whispers, smirk on her lips and eyes burning.

Her thumb brushes over your hip enough to send sparks straight through you. You bite your lip, dabbing at her cut one more time even though it’s clean. Your nipples are hard against the thin fabric of your top, you catch her gaze dropping to them for a second before she forces it back up.

“I mean it,” you continue, voice quieter. “You’re so strong… and the way you got angry when he said that shit about me. Fuck, it turned me on a little. A lot, actually.” The confession slips out before you can stop it, your face burning hotter.

Sukuna lets out a groan, stepping a tiny bit closer so her thigh brushes between yours. “Don’t tell me that while you’re standing here touching me like you wanna do a lot more than clean a cut. Do you even know how long I’ve been waiting for you to see me like this?”

Her hand slides up from your hip to your waist, fingers gripping just enough to show how much she’s holding back. You gasp, not believing her words. 

“Suki…” you whisper, your arms resting on her shoulders now, your body is screaming for her to close the gap, to push you against the counter and finally make her move. “Show me how much you want me. Please.”

She breathes in hard before she’s sitting you on the counter. “Fuck yes, babe, no need to beg.”

a/n: i need to learn how to end fanfics

tags: @kamislop @hangenism @gyarujo @ie4ri @bat1nsignia @4ngelvx

[angelbbyunicorn]

// 𝘊𝘖𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘚 𝘋𝘈𝘜𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘌𝘙

𝘍𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘹 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴!𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳

// 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴), 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦!𝘍𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯 //

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 , 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

————————————

Your whole life your father had preached to you “No footballer boyfriends” he had heard and seen it all first hand from them. The way they let the money and fame get to them when it came to women. They felt they could get whatever they want, whenever they want.

Though that was a bit of an issue when he started coaching for the Spain national team. You’d caught his eye right away, the way you walked in like you owned the place, hair done, nails done, makeup done and outfit nice. He wasn’t the only one drooling over you either, the whole team practically was but you always upheld your father’s rules.

They were all cute, some of the most irresistible men you’d ever seen in your life but knowing your father’s stories, that wasn’t a mess you were willing to get into. Walking onto the pitch where the Spain team was practicing for the first time felt like another world, your eyes met a man you’d never seen before. He was the most beautiful boy ever, his face structured so beautifully, his hair falling over his forehead perfectly and his water colored eyes tracking the ball as it was passed between his fellow teammates.

Your dad had called them over to introduce you, Ferran was in the first row of them, breathing heavy from the training as he used the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. You were usually good at avoiding it but your breath had been swept from your lungs. He was like a boy you’d meet on vacation, one that would give you the best experience of your lifetime only to never see you again.

“This is my daughter y/n, she’ll pop in and out of training sometimes. Be a gentleman but stay away from her or I’ll have you benched when you least expect it.” Your father announces. Every boy there looked at you instead of him, the thought of pouncing on you visibly crossing their eyes. “Now get back to work, you can droll once you’ve one.” He instructs, the boys all run back onto the pitch picking up where they left off though Ferran kept looking back at you whenever he got the chance.

You and your dad were seated on sofa, watching some old highlights he’d pulled up on youtube. “so, dad, who’s number seven?” You ask, trying to stay subtle though the high tone in your voice giving it away. “Ferran, don’t be going and distracting him. He’s doing good.” He replies, his eyes still glued to the screen. You let out a low groan with an eye roll as you slide off the couch and disappear from your room.

You knew the power you held, being the “untouchable” coaches daughter, most of them wanted to get at you just to prove they could do it. You searched his name on the web, taking you to his instagram displayed with pictures of him. You scrolled with the tip of your pinky nail in your mouth, absolutely mesmerized by the man on your screen. The thought crossed your mind and continued to do so through the rest of the week, you didn’t intend on going to this weeks match but the excitement of seeing him in his element again drove you to go.

You had absolutely no idea but going to that match would be the best idea you’d make in a while.

The match went well, they won by a goal in the last few minutes of the second half. Of course, as you expected, you had no interaction with Ferran, the point of going to the match was to simply watch him and you did. However, later that night you decided to go down to the lobby of the hotel you were staying in, you wanted a quick snack before you fell asleep.

You stood in front of the vending machine, deciding between the dozens of sugar packed snacks, you hear the light footsteps of someone approaching you. You didn’t move, didn’t even bat an eye, there were too many people staying in this hotel to worry. You suddenly feel the light touch breeze against your back, you look to the side where you first felt it to see nobody before you were met with the raspy, low voice of Ferran Torres. “Hola.” He says lightly beside you, your head turns at the speed of light, the familiar face sweeping the breath from your lungs once again. “hola” you reply with a light chuckle, trying to disguise how startled you were.

“What are you doing down here all alone?” He asks, towering over you. “I’m hungry but I can’t decide what I want.” You reply, staring at the machine aimlessly. Finally, the bright yellow bag of potato chips catches your eye, something basic but that you know you like. You punch in the numbers, pulling your card from your wallet as the chip falls down.

You get into a squat position to grab your chips, your small shorts gripping your ass perfectly, which he notices. “I’ll stay with you while you eat.” He says, pointing at the lobby couches. “Make sure you get back to your room okay.” You nod in agreement, walking over.

The two of you sit dangerously close. You begin snacking beside him, his arm stretched around the back of the sofa with his legs spread as he watches you. “What did you think of the game?” He asks, his voice low matching the time of night. “You guys played really well,” You reply. “Kept me entertained.” A low chuckle escapes his mouth, revealing his pretty smile. “I’m glad” He answers, “Wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

His way with words is perfect, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, that along with the subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He watches as you finish your chips, the two of you stand up and begin making your way back to the room, you were staying on the same floor, making the trip line up perfectly. The tension between you two felt like it was pulling you together like a magnet, like you needed to be all over him in that exact moment. As you made your way to the door you stop and turn to him before you unlock it, “Thanks for keeping me company.” You say, looking into his pretty green eyes. He presses his lips together and nods in response. You knew it was bad, if your dad found out you’d be banned from every practice and match for eternity but something about it being wrong made it feel right.

The two of you meet halfway, you raised on your tippy toes slightly as your lips met together in a slow kiss. There was nothing rushful about it at all, he went with your pace and slid his tongue past your lips as you granted him access. His hand stretched above your head leaning against the doorframe as your hand lingered on the lower part of his chest.

The kiss felt like it ended unwillingly, the both of you pulled away as you bit your bottom lip, a shy chuckle escaping your mouth. “Come to the next game.” He winks, lifting off the doorframe. You nod in response.

The second you walked into the room you crashed on your bed, the biggest grin on your face. You went immediately to his instagram, finally having the courage to press follow. Shortly after, he followed you back, sliding into your dms right away to give you his number.

And that was the start of it all, the steamy secret relationship that lingered only in hotel rooms.

You showed up to all the games and as the team crept closer to winning the golden trophy they started to celebrate. Nothing big or cocky, simply drinks at a bar. You’d stay home at the hotel room, waiting for Ferran to get back.

You laid in bed as you awaited his text letting you know he’d made it back to the room safely, the second he does it wasn’t the usual “I’m back princess.” Today he asked what room you were in. You knew what it meant, you knew he wanted to come see you and that caused heat to pool in your lower stomach. You let him know the number and before you knew it, a knock was at the door.

“Hola” you say lightly with a bite of your bottom lip, the door closes naturally behind you as his lips crash into yours, his hand holding the back of your neck as your body hits the wall behind you. The kiss wasn’t slow like usual, he had gone fully in, claiming you as his. The kiss breaks as he makes his way down your face, kissing the sharp of your jawline to your neck. “What’s this about?” you ask with a light chuckle. He grabs your hand and guides you to sit on the edge of the bed. “The boys want you.” He confesses, pressing light kisses on your inner thigh.

“What?” You ask, looking down at him. “They were talking about you all night tonight, talking about how good you’d look in a jersey with their last name.” He replies, kissing up higher. “That’s insane.” You say with an eye roll. You’d never take a second to look at them when you had the most perfect man in front of you. You dreamed of wearing his last name on your back for everyone to see.

He looks up at you as his fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, his eyes filled with nothing but jealousy and lust. You nod frantically giving him the consent he needed, he pulled them down and went straight for what he so badly craved. Your head knocks back as you feel him kiss against your soaked cunt. “Oh Ferran.” you groan, the pleasure hitting you hard and fast. Your hand finds his silky brown hair immediately, tangling into it as he kisses at you like a starved man.

He slides one finger into your hole slowly, removing his mouth from you to look up at you. “I wish they could know you’re mine, I want everyone to know.” He says breathless, his eyes change from a devouring hunger to a desperate need for reassurance. “It’s okay baby,” you reply choked, trying to give him all your empathy. Moans tear from your throat as he adds another finger, curling them just right to find the spot you like. “I promise I’m yours they just talk to talk.” Your mind was filled with overstimulation as you tried to find the right words to reassure him.

He makes his way up from the ground and onto the bed beside you, his fingers still pumping inside your soaked pussy. He catches your lips again, the kiss less starved this time, slower and more calm. Soft hums and moans vibrate from your mouth to his as he claims you fully. “Please tell me, I wanna hear you say it.” He says, tucking your hair behind your ears. His pace picks up as he speaks. A loud gasp escapes your mouth at the sudden change of speed, “I’m yours Ferran! Oh, I promise I’m yours.” You answer frantic, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure tightens in your belly.

His hand comes to your chin to tilt your head to the right, giving him full access to kiss on your neck. He kisses right below your ear, lightly sucking before letting go just soon enough to not leave a mark. Your high catches quicker and quicker as you flood onto his fingers, a loud groan tears from your throat as your neck cocks back seeing stars.

You lay your body fully on the bed, your chest rising and falling quickly as you come back from your high. He lays beside you, his arm rested across your stomach. Your hand finds the nape of his neck, scratching his head lightly attempting to further comfort him. “You don’t have to worry about them,” you say, his head burying in your neck. “I can’t even think about anyone else when I have you right in front of me.” 

His head comes up with a soft smile stretching across his face as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Tags: @kingoveverything @postbodyarchive @maracops @jjscoquette @natesibsdih @luvvconceal @missmodelsexx @misscelly71 @reallyamthegoat08 @badlands-bitchh @qiyokuliife @takiimuncher @lattetwirll @glowygurlie @lovemehardcoreangel @y-yasminn @yallnotogso @22angel2 @randumfanfics @2bun22 @kavsgirl @swagonometryfr @gwensexxual @ibelieveinfairyz @suxyio @superrslut @osx12-22 @alaysiunaadams23 @chillspritecranberry @datonetwizz @blueberrymuff1nn @mikeyspinkcup @swifth0lic @bookwormwrld @secretsteelzealot @devilsleattuce @chesspend

[waltzingphantoms]

landed right on your lap physical touch headcanons including | dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne & roy harper playing | crushed- the neighbourhood

dick grayson

Unbearably touchy. Like, if he’s near you, he HAS to have a hand on your body, mostly for personal comfort and grounding. His go to spot is the small of your back, using it to guide you through places softly and when he wants to show your relationship to others when he gets a tinge of jealousy.

PDA fein. Doesn’t know how to keep it cool and nonchalant, but he made sure it wasn’t something that made you uncomfortable too. This lead to having a golden retriever wrapped around your shoulders in public 75% of the time.

Do not let his charm and confidence fool you, he isn’t above pleading to cuddle with you even if its 37 ºC outside and the AC is broken.

Dick’s willing to do anything to feel your hands glide across his body, doesn’t matter the circumstances (he’s a man in love, hat can he say)

jason todd

Used to love hugs as a kid and would giggle with the BIGGEST smile when grandmas pulled at his cheeks or people petted his head when he did a great job as robin. When he got resurrected all of that changed completely and got actually repulsed and disgusted with the idea of feeling other’s hands or presence near his. Took a lot of therapy to regain the feeling of tolerating a person’s body near his.

He’s now tolerably clingy. He’s not likely to initiate a full-blown cuddle session but he also will never in his life back away when you spread your hands across his shoulders to greet him with a gentle caress.

Nevertheless, when you arrive home after a long day, he is the first one to pull you into his body to completely shield you from the world, tangling his fingers in your hair to bring you some sort of comfort.

Absolutely adores nonsexual intimacy as a whole. Being right beside one another just touching each other without a hint of lust is pretty much his dream. LOVES feeling your weight on top of him, one of the most comfortable things ever.

He’s also quite shy with his scars, so when you trail your hands across the ridge of one, he has the involuntary tendency to back away for a bit, habit that changed after years together and lots of reassurance.

tim drake

Cheek kisser. In his mind, the cheek is where he can kiss you anywhere without it being considered very public or outward. It’s very personal for him, okay? Just let him kiss your cheek and kiss his in return.

Loves having your legs placed on his lap while he’s working away at whatever. His hands will absentmindedly start drawing circles on your muscles, bringing comfort for the both of you in an easy, calming way.

His dream date with you is just hanging out with the other, sharing soft touches and having private conversations about everything and nothing at all. He likes feeling your body near his, warm limbs stretching over his body.

His all-time favourite cuddling position is having your head on top of his chest, either laying there and tracing patterns on his body or you looking up at him, just staring in each other eyes fondly (he still believes the eyes are the entrance to the soul).

He’s pretty open to PDA, really, really chill with it. Hand on your waist, clasping your hands together, he likes both being touchy-feely and not being touched at all. He goes with the flow.

damian wayne

Will absolutely refuse to touch you except the occasional graze until the two of you are dating and have had a long conversation about boundaries and how you feel about certain things. After he gets the green lights, he’ll be like a stray kitten, slowly but surely experimenting with what the both of you enjoy and find relaxing and reassuring.

FOREHEAD KISSES. Whenever you two see each other, automatically you tilt your head in a way that he has learnt that is an indicator for him to press his lips to the top of your head. Will also be content with a kiss to the back of your hand, but he reserves that for more intimate moments for the two of you.

Nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck is his love language at this point. The second you step inside the safety of your home, he steps away from what he’s doing to greet you properly and exhale deeply into your neck, using the opportunity to press a kiss there too.

Loves cuddling while each one is doing their own thing; is definitely more of a quality time guy but gets clingy regularly (refuses to admit it).

roy harper

He’s a MAN: if you are in the vicinities, you WILL have his hand splayed either on your thighs or your waist, depending on how it’s more comfortable to you.

Roy’s more subtle with his clinginess, so cuddle sessions are a bit rarer but very welcome either way.

Doesn’t shy away from PDA. If you two are dating, everybody knows it not because of how you two are always together on some random side quest, but rather by the knowing smile on his face and a firmer hold on you.

Likes to carry you around, doesn’t matter if the activity is a one-person task, you are either in his back, his shoulders or his arms. Also uses the opportunity to make a subtle display of his strength, but don’t tell him you are very much aware of that.

He’s an ass man WHAT WHO SAID THAT

[brinawing]

extra from this one shot based on this request :)

You were sitting at your desk when your boyfriend approached. You didn’t hear or see him coming as much as you smelled his citrus cologne that he sprayed an ungodly amount every single morning –and since you two moved in together, got some on your clothes too.

He came up behind you and leaned down to give you a kiss on your head before spinning you around.

“Hi,” Tim grinned, putting his hands on the side rests of your chair to cage you in before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Hey,” you smiled back but it didn’t reach your eyes like it usually did and of course, Tim noticed it.

He ignored it at first though. “Ready for lunch?” He asked instead.

“Yeah give me a second to save this file,” you muttered and spun back around to turn your computer off.

Once you were done, you got up and grabbed your purse to follow him outside but the way your eyes were still glued to the floor instead of looking at him, he knew something was definitely up.

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked.

“Hm?” You frowned and walked past him. “Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not, everything’s fine,” you let out a humourless chuckle.

He came up to you and put his hand on your hip to keep you in place while the other raised your chin so you could finally meet his eyes.

“Did you forget who I am?” He raised a brow. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

“It’s nothing,” you sighed again.

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you upset, come on sweetheart tell me,” he repeated in a much gentler voice.

“I just… heard some coworkers talking about me getting this job because you and I are together. He was implying I slept my way up,” you replied with a tight smile.

“I see,” Tim responded with all the calmness of a saint. It unnerved you. “And who exactly said that?”

“I don’t know I didn’t see, I was outside the break room when it happened. It’s not like anyone ever talks to me anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied earnestly and gave you a quick peck on your forehead.

“It’s fine let’s just go I need to get out of here.”

You could tell Tim didn’t want to let it go but he’s also been listening to you complain about your new coworkers always leaving you out of everything for about two months now.

Most of them hung out together on Friday after work but no one ever invited you and at first you thought it was because you were new but after two months and a few whispers you realised it was because they thought you weren’t worthy of the position. That you were only here because you were in bed with the boss.

Tim took your purse from your hands and laced your fingers together instead. Just as you two were about to walk out of the doors and towards the elevator, your coworkers were stepping inside.

They didn’t see you two yet and you were beginning to realise how that must have been very bad timing.

“Careful if you conveniently time your lunches you might run into the CEO and then offer to blow him in exchange for a promotion!” One of them –Rick as you recalled his name, said while everyone else burst into a fit of cruel laughter.

“I too want Mr. Drake to personally take me to lunches and give me promotions just because I’m easy.” someone else added.

Tim’s hand tightened in yours as he tugged you forward. Everyone’s faces dropped at the sight and you could hear someone mutter a little ‘fuck.’

“Good afternoon Mr. Dra–” Someone began.

“Shut it,” Tim interrupted them in a cold voice. “What’s so funny?”

“It was just an inside joke, nothing serious. Just friendly fire!”

“Tim, drop it,” you muttered into his bicep.

“No I also wanna hear stories about things that allegedly happened between us that led to me offering you a promotion,” Tim said, without turning towards you. “I want to know if my employees think I’m incompetent and just hand out jobs to unqualified candidates. I don’t have to explain my decisions to anyone but since you want to be assholes to your fellow colleague, you should know she was promoted because she fit the job. She’s been my assistant for a year now and I’ve observed her closely to know how well-”

“Real close,” Rick muttered under his breath.

“What’s your name?” Tim pointed at him.

“Rick sir,” he swallowed and looked down at the ground.

“Well Rick, I don’t know where exactly you got this information from but what I do know is that you’ve been harassing a female coworker for weeks now. You can start looking for work elsewhere, your services are no longer required.”

“You can’t–” Rick stuttered. “You can’t fire me over a joke!”

“I don’t see anything funny about misogyny. You’ve created a hostile work environment for a fellow employee and I’m afraid we have to let you go,” Tim dismissed in the calmest of tones.

“You’re not my boss, you can’t fire me kid. Just because you can’t take a joke about your slut of the month,” Rick chuckled but you could tell by the way his hands were fisted at his sides that he knew he was done and it was only a way to mask up the humiliation of having a much younger yet much superior boss yell at him in front of everyone.

He had known he’d be fired and he wanted to give you one last venomous blow.

Tim took a deep breath and handed your purse back to you before letting go of your hand. He took deliberate steps towards Rick before grabbing him harshly by his collar, causing the gasps to erupt.

“See that?” He said, voice still as calm as ever and turned Rick’s face towards the floor to ceiling windows near the elevator. “What does that say?”

“Wayne Enterprises,” Rick struggled.

“Exactly. It says my name on it. I could fire you for breathing the same air as her if I wanted to,” he finished –not even a trace of anger in his voice it was honestly impressive and scary at the same time how he was so calm even while threatening a man. “Pack your things and be gone by the end of the day.”

Tim let him go with a shove and straightened his suit jacket before turning towards the rest of your coworkers.

“Anyone else have any more interesting theories? Because if you do, you can pack up your shit too,” He said.

“No sir,” the group murmured.

“Good. Get back to work, we’re taking the rest of the day off,” He said and everyone scampered off inside.

Tim came back to you and immediately took the purse out of your hands. You on the other hand, stayed gawking at him.

“What?” He asked and ran a hand through his raven hair.

“You just… You did that,” you said, still shocked.

Tim chuckled and gave you a light kiss on your cheek. “He was being disrespectful.”

“I know but I didn’t know you could be violent,” you replied.

“Baby you know who I am, what I do,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your cheek and you knew your coworkers were probably looking through the glass windows but that didn’t faze you at all.

“Well yeah,” you responded, remembering his nightly activities he had only told you about not long ago. “But I have never seen you hurt people before. You’re always so… calm and friendly.”

“You ought to come to the batcave sometime then,” Tim mused, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you inside the elevator.

“Oh my god really?!” You gushed. “Please! I wanna see Nightwing!”

“Really?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “You really wanna test me after what happened?”

“Kidding,” you giggled. “My amazing smart intelligent boyfriend who also happens to work out and also defends my honour, ugh I love you,” you gushed dramatically and kissed him.

“I love you too,” he smiled against your lips.

“I do have to say I’m kind of turned on right now,” you murmured and playfully grabbed his ass.

“Shall we repay my desk another visit?”

sorry if it was rushed or ooc ive been getting lots of requests and wanted to get some done for tim

likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, hope you enjoy <3

[brinawing]

it’s called sleeper build!

tim drake x kent!reader, crack fic, fluff, suggestive, language, OOC lois and clark :)

fanart by @/pinghyu

“I could absolutely lift you,” your boyfriend argued for the twentieth from where he was sprawled on the living room carpet.

His shirtless body, was only clad in a pair of loose black sweatpants. The remnants of sleep still clinging onto his blue eyes and messy hair made him look all the bit more attractive to you and if it wasn’t for the kitchen counter and the couch separating you both, you would have jumped his bones. Again.

“Tim, sweetheart,” you started, trying to tell him that he was wrong as nicely as you could.

He had come over for the weekend over to your place and was doing crunches when he had the sudden great idea and asked you if he could bench press you. You –a half kryptonian who has on multiple occasions flown over buildings with him in your arms.

“No I know you’re freakishly strong and all but I’m a vigilante too. I train,” he frowned and got up from the carpet.

“I believe you! You know how much I love when you work out,” you smirked, watching his abs shining with a sheen layer of sweat that had covered his sculpted torso due to the million crunches he just did.

He took languid steps and walked over to where you were leaning forward on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in your hands. The drawstrings of his sweatpants were undone, causing them to fall dangerously low on his beautiful narrow hips and the way he let out chuckle was enough to let you know that he was aware of your eyes being glued to his body.

“Come here,” he murmured in his sleepy lazy voice and grabbed the coffee mug out of your hands.

“Tim,” you dramatically groaned when he came up behind you and snaked his hands under his shirt that you wore to bed last night. “You’re strong and muscular and have biceps I believe you.”

“I don’t think you do sweetheart,” he murmured lazily against your ear. “Just let me try,” he said in between soft and gentle kisses to your neck.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you accidentally said –way too gone by the feeling of his lips on your skin. “You’re strong I know but I have super strength. You’re a cutie, you’re tech strong. And maybe Gotham strong,” you tried to reinstate which apparently only made it worse.

He halted his movements. Your heart almost dropped but you were already scrambling for things to say to make it better but he didn’t give you the chance as he whirled you around to face him.

“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow, pale blue eyes turning navy.

“I meant–” You began to speak but got cut off with how quickly he bent down and threw you over his shoulder. “Tim!” You screamed, flailing your arms to grip his bare torso in fear.

“Tech strong huh?” He goaded you on and landed a smack on your bare ass.

“Okay I get it!” You managed to speak. “Put me down now.”

“No, I need to work out some more,” he said and sat back down cross legged on the floor and manoeuvred you into his arms until he was holding you up like weights.

“You can’t just flail me around,” you complained but instead of replying he gave you a quick kiss and laid back on the carpeted floor.

“Hmm, perfect,” he said without even letting out a grunt and began moving you up and down in the air.

“I’m not a rag doll,” you huffed.

“You’re my doll,” he cheekily replied and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re a competitive freak,” you chided.

“Maybe but I won didn’t I?” he smiled and craned his neck forward to press a kiss to your lips. “Okay weighted push ups,” he said next and pulled you down next to him.

“You won’t die if you miss one day Duckie,” you giggled.

“Yeah but my girlfriend thinks I’m ‘tech smart’ it’s about my dignity,” he said and moved into a plank before gesturing for you to sit on his back.

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled before latching yourself onto his back with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Go nuts boy wonder,” you whispered and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“Count for me sweetheart,” he smugly said and began moving up and down.

“Okay you’ve made your point,” you said once he was done with at least twenty five pushups.

“Never underestimate me again,” he quipped and flipped you two in the blink of an eye so that you were now the one being pinned under him.

“You can’t blame me okay, you don’t look like a body builder,” you replied and pushed his hair off his forehead.

“It’s called a sleeper build. Look it up,” he narrowed his eyes at your teasing expression. “Now if you’ll be so kind as to lay there for me looking pretty, because I still have to do about fifty more.”

“What do you want me to do?” You asked but Tim soon responded by pecking you on the lips when he leaned down to do a push up. “Oh I see, you’re a full cheesy man today.”

“Call it what you want,” he shrugged and continued doing pushups with you pinned below him, giving you small pecks each time he came down.

“Okay enough,” you groaned after the twentieth and pulled him on top of you with your arms around his neck to give him a full kiss.

Tim chuckled into the kiss as he let himself fall limp on top of you. It was honestly a miracle how long he had been in that position but then again he’d been in that position in a lot different ways for a lot longer.

“Time for some cardio don’t you think?” He murmured against your lips as his fingers trailed up your bare thighs until he reached the waistband of your panties.

“Finally,” you huffed out dramatically and gave him a wet kiss on his collarbone.

He pressed hot kisses to your jaw, neck and collarbones –wherever he could reach before burying his face in the crook of your neck. “One of these days I’m gonna fuck you in my arms just so-”

“Hey honey!” A deep voice boomed in your apartment, coming from your front door. You didn’t need to look to know it was your father who you’d made the mistake of giving your keys to.

You pushed Tim off your body with a bit too much of your super strength that he landed against the couch. Ouch.

“Dad! Mom! Hey,” you scrambled to your feet and pulled Tim’s shirt down your thighs until it reached your knees.

“Is he one of Bruce’s?” Your mom asked your dad.

“Yeah the third one,” Clark replied with a sigh and eyed Tim with such a harsh look it almost scared you.

“Um hi,” Tim said sheepishly and gave your parents a little wave.

“Hey,” Lois chuckled and watched as Clark kept his gaze on Tim without saying a word like he was trying one of his intimidating tactics. She shut the apartment door behind them and grabbed the bag of pastries from Clark’s hands.

“Hi mom,” you said in a small voice.

“Get dressed both of you, we brought breakfast,” she smiled and pulled Clark into the kitchen with her. He was still watching Tim with his angry gaze which was anything but angry and made him look like an angry kitten. You knew your dad. You knew he hadn’t really been angry.

“Thanks,” you muttered and pushed Tim into your bedroom.

“Okay okay,” he began pacing the second you closed the door behind you. “I can leap out the window and–”

“Tim,” you laughed softly and laced his hands through yours so he could stop pacing. “It’s okay. We had to tell them someday.”

“Oh my god Kon!” Tim shuddered. “He will kill me. I was going to tell him. I just didn’t want–”

“Baby breathe,” you cupped his cheeks and made him look at you. “We just have to talk to my parents first and then we can tell Kon together. Before he finds us in a compromising position and I’ll be there too, if he tries to kill you I’ll punch him first. I’m also a Kent.”

“Right okay,” he let out a long breath and rested his forehead against yours. “I don’t usually wish I never knew superman but I’m wishing it right now.”

“He’s just acting you know he doesn’t actually hate you,” you chuckled and gave him a small kiss.

“Give me a real kiss,” he huffed and pulled you back into his chest to give you a long and slow kiss.

His lips moulded perfectly with yours while his tongue teased the seam of your lips. You could taste the coffee and apple he has for breakfast on his mouth but it was the most distinctive Tim Drake taste ever.

“I have laser vision!” Clark yelled from outside the door.

“Fuck dad!” You yelled back and pushed Tim off you.

“Be out here in thirty seconds or I’m calling Bruce.”

“Bruce would probably congratulate me for scoring to be honest,” Tim murmured and walked over to his bag pack to pull a hoodie out.

“I wouldn’t mind him tagging along for brunch to be honest,” you mindlessly said and pulled out a pair of shorts from your closet. “He’s kind of hot.”

Tim choked on his breath and let out a string of coughs. You looked at him, frowning but he just gave you a nauseated look in response.

“I put up so much with you,” he grumbled. “But don’t ever call Bruce hot again.”

“But he is!” You protested as you two walked out of your bedroom and into the kitchen. “Mom help me out here. Bruce is hot right?”

“I mean objectively speaking…” Lois started.

“Kill me now,” Tim said and turned towards Clark.

“That’s it!” Clark announced. “You stay away from the Waynes. No more Gotham for you.”

“Sit down Clark,” Lois said and patted the dining chair next to her. “Tim, take a seat. It’s good to officially meet you. I’m Lois Lane-Kent,” your mom smiled at your boyfriend who finally looked a bit less green.

“Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Kon,” Tim said politely, all his upper Gotham society manners spilling out as he sat down next to you on the dining table.

“Dad stop glaring at him. You literally know him,” you sighed after ten minutes when Clark still didn’t stop glaring at Tim.

“I know him as Bruce’s son. I don’t know him as a shirtless boy who was making out with my daughter on the floor like a heathen. Who knows what could have happened if we hadn’t come?” Clark rambled.

“Okay I was not making out with your daughter on the floor. I was working out and…” Tim trailed off, realising he actually didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“But would you rather I be with some random guy who you don’t even know?” You said and lazily took a sip of your orange juice.

“I would rather he ask me for permission before courting my daughter,” Clark demanded.

“Right,” Lois snorted. “Like you asked my parents?”

“That’s different. I never defiled you on the floor.”

“Dad!” You gasped. “He was not defiling me what the heck!”

“He was on top of you! Naked!” Clark hissed.

It was safe to say the rest of the brunch went by excruciatingly slow and painful.

random blurb bc im in a writing slump!!!! sorry if its shite guys i literally cannot write for some reason

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! hope you guys enjoy <3

[gardenfa1ry]

[sexyluxxy]

husband!qifrey headcanons ❤︎⁠

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who loves to watch you cook. he’ll stand behind you, arms draped around your waist and chin on your shoulder while he watches you chop up vegetables, muttering little compliments against your neck as you cook

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey whose favorite places on you to kiss are the side of your neck, the top of your head, and the corner of your mouth

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who sometimes secretly views you as a sort of mother/father figure to his apprentices, with the way you take care of them when he’s not teaching them

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who is just so sweet and domestic with you it’s sickening

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who will trace lightly on your arms or thighs or back, wherever he’s touching you. only if you look closely and pay attention will you realize he’s tracing and memorizing spells against your skin, and it makes you giggle at the thought

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who, whenever you finally told him how much you absolutely love his voice, talks to you about anything and everything, no matter how mundane or unimportant - just because he likes seeing the way your eyes soften at his smooth tone

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who has a special talent for talking you through it with that honey-sweet voice of his (adding onto the last one)

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who is such a gentleman with aftercare, wiping you down so slowly with such care and whispering about how you did so, so good

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who’s really proud when he introduces you to his apprentices for the first time, like his spouse is a prized possession of his

₊˚⊹ ᰔ husband!qifrey who is so patient, and forgiving. he acts towards mistakes that you might freak out over the same way he acts when coco draws a line wrong in a harmless spell, sometimes even laugh it off

[kentluv3r]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SUMMARY: having soft morning sex with HUSBAND! DICK GRAYSON instead of going to work!

ⓘ CONTENT WARNINGS: husband! dick grayson, mommy kink, choking (dick receiving)! MINORS DNI -> fashion magazine editor in chief! fem! reader ノ vaginal sex ノ unprotected sex ノ praise kink ノ size kink ノ morning + soft sex ノ sloppy kissing ノ masochist! dick!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: mhmmmm, the idea of fashion editor in chief! reader x husband! dick in this dynamic ate me up so good, im a sucker for strong women being treated well by their love interests, plus… dick calling you mommy was always in the works— might make this it’s own separate au, idk yet, but i have other ideas in my mind so…

the morning light comes through the curtains without issue.

normally, at this hour, you’d be in your office, talking to whatever new employee one of your assistants brought in or talk to an executive about a new fashion brand collaboration you had lined up for the runway section of the upcoming issue… and that’s the thing; you should be in your office right now.

it’s ten am after all, your shift as editor in chief at one of the most popular fashion magazines in the world starts at ten… but the thing that also starts at ten? your husband’s sex drive.

which is why; instead of being in your cushy office chair, you were sitting in the lap of dick grayson…

well… kind of? because you weren’t exactly sitting in his lap but rather, bouncing on his dick… and he was helping you.

the thing about dick? he knows he ain’t the power in this relationship; you’re the breadwinner, the fashion editor-in-chief, the one with magazines with your name on them, awards lining the shelves of your shared penthouse… he ain’t the important one in the relationship (besides being nightwing but still; dick grayson? ain’t the popular one) so obviously, he fixes that with being remarkably charming and incredible in bed!

“f-fuck! dick!” you cry out, your nightie pushed up on your body as his big hands push up on your hips, fingers pressing in to your pretty skin. “so- so good.”

dick smiled, sleepiness still lingering in his system— you could see it in his blue eyes, but the sight of you on his morning wood woke him up faster than anything— and just the sound of your moans ruin him further. “yeah baby, keep moaning for me… ain’t gotta do anything, hun, i know that brain gets worked like crazy by those damn employees of yours… let your husband ruin you…”

and typically? he’d be earning a slap on the chest for such words… but his cock was just pushing in and out of you too good that you couldn’t respond with words.

only nodding your head, your fingers dug deep into dick’s broad chest, feeling his hands stroke up and down your back, fingers tingling and making you shiver.

he smiled at your inability to talk back, his left hand going down to your thigh, touching the bare skin as his right hand sneaks up your nightie and touching your bare back. "good girl... let me take care of you." he whispers, feeling your hands drag up his chest. "take all you can get, mama, i'll be right down here."

his cock drags up and down your walls as you ride him, head retracted back as pleasure seeps into every vein in your body, feeling your mind scramble at his touch not only on the outside but the inside as well.

and before you could stop your hands; they wrap around his throat, not hard— you know he can take you choking him like a champ— but you don't wrap 'em around his throat hard simply because you're in too deep of pleasure to care to squeeze.

both of your thumbs on his adam's apple as your fingers wrap around 'till they hit the back of his neck.

he laughs as you wrap your fingers around his neck, feeling the cold metal of your wedding band on his neck in the same way you felt the cold metal of his wedding band on your back as his hand trailed upwards. "oh fuck yeah, mommy, fuckin' wrap those pretty hands around me... i can take it."

"oh-oh i know you can t-take it." you bite back, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

the son of a bitch has a smirk on his face, strands of his black hair falling in front of his face. "clearly you can't take me all too well." he jokes, looking down to see his cock disappear in and out with each bounce mixed with a rock of your hips.

you grunt, digging your nails into the back of his neck on purpose— he doesn't even mention it, but by that moan after you do it? the fucker is turned on. "oh don't tell me that tur-turned you on, dick?"

he nodded. "of course it did, hun, anything you do is sexy to me."

"oh really?"

"anything, mama."

he just has a way with words that melt you from the inside out. no wonder you've been married to him for five years up to this point; good looks and great personality only goes so far for a man who fucks like this.

dick feels his cock twitch right as you feel yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm— he knows this because of the furrow in your brows and the fact that you're bouncing faster, almost to catch up with the feeling as it runs faster and faster.

"you close, hun?" he questions, squeezing your thigh with his left hand. "you're close, aren't you... we can cum together, how does that sound? fill you up real good?"

and you nod your head, not being able to resist him. "y'yes... cum with me dick, cum for me and i'll cum for you..." and with that encouragement, it's no shock that you two finish at the same time.

with one last plunge on his dick and feeling his happy trail tickle your clit at the perfect angle, dick falls over his edge right as you fall over your own edge.

your vision blurs; eye roll back as you press so hard on dick’s throat that you practically white-knuckle it, grinding down hard on his cock as the orgasm flows through you without trouble.

you can feel his hands softly rush up and down your body, soothing you as his own orgasm comes to him, balls squeezing and cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, his hot cum spurting into your pussy, covering your walls as the heat and the sensation of it only drives you further into your pleasure.

“dick… dick… dick… fuck, baby.” you breathlessly moan, closing your eyes to feel the extent in which your body was pushed— not aggressively though, it felt soft despite the filth.

dick smiled up at you, moaning his own way as he unloads his cum. “there you go, mama, take all my cum… takin’ it so good, making you full of me…” he praises under his breath, lifting his body up into a sitting position, both arms wrapping around your waist.

you open your eyes once you feel the tides of your orgasm slowly vanish, slow but your vision is back, seeing dick’s soft gaze in front of you. moving your hands, you cup his face. 

“hey honey… there you go… come back to dick.” he encourages, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, feeling your body against his, boobs pressing against his chest. “you’re so pretty…” 

he’s lost in your beauty, even when your hair is sticking to your head, your eyes half-lidded and taking deep breaths, trying to catch up with your body. his hands touch you gently, helping in bringing you back down to earth. 

you look at him, smiling. “hey, handsome…”

he presses another kiss, this time on your cheek. “hi, wifey… feeling good?”

“what do you think?” you challenge, cocking an eyebrow.

he shrugs. “i think you aren’t going into work today?”

you chuckle, shaking your head and whimpering when you feel him squeeze your hips gently. “you got that right, pretty boy.”

masterlist is here! click here for more!

ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!

[certaimromance]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ My Best Black Wishes ─ Sirius Black.

Your brother's friends are always causing trouble, no matter if it's your birthday party and you just want to have a good time without someone ending up with colored hair, or without it. It doesn't matter if it's midnight and Sirius Black thinks kissing you is a good present.

୨ৎ ──── best friend’s brother. 7,5k. potter!reader. childhood friends. english isn't my first language. main masterlist. 2k tea party.

The first birthday Sirius Black ruined, you were seven years old.

You remembered it because your mother had spent the entire morning baking a strawberry cake with pink frosting, because James had been unusually well-behaved—which, in hindsight, should have worried everyone far more than it did—and because you had insisted on wearing a cream dress embroidered with little daisies since birthday girls were obviously supposed to look like princesses. Everything had been perfect. You had blown out your candles, squeezed your eyes shut while making the most important wish seven-year-old you could possibly imagine, and had just opened them again when Sirius, already grinning like someone who knew something the rest of the room didn’t, announced that birthday wishes only came true if everyone had blue hair. James believed him immediately. Remus looked deeply unconvinced. Peter looked curious. Your parents barely had enough time to exchange one tired look before James and Sirius disappeared upstairs and returned carrying one of Euphemia Potter’s experimental colour potions. Less than a minute later, Remus’s fringe was turquoise, Peter’s eyebrows had turned an alarming shade of green, James somehow managed to dye only his ears blue, and your carefully braided bangs had become violently, unmistakably purple. You cried for an hour. Sirius laughed for two.

The truly unfortunate part was that everyone assumed he’d eventually grow out of it.

He didn’t.

By the time you turned ten, your parents had actually believed James when he promised that he and Sirius would behave. They were older now, apparently. Mature. Responsible. Remus had looked at them with the exhausted expression of someone who already knew exactly how the afternoon would end. Somehow, against every law of probability, they behaved for almost three whole hours. You opened presents, ate cake, thanked your relatives, and fell hopelessly in love with the tiny cream-coloured kitten curled up inside a little basket lined with blankets. She purred the moment you picked her up. She rubbed her nose against your cheek. She looked impossibly sweet until Sirius disappeared for all of five minutes and returned carrying one of James’s old Quidditch capes, declaring, with the confidence of a man presenting royalty, that everyone should bow before “Lady Whiskerton, Protector of Birthdays.” The kitten wore the cape for approximately six seconds before launching herself up the sitting room curtains. Your father climbed after her. The curtain rod surrendered almost immediately. Your father landed safely. The curtains did not. Sirius laughed so hard he couldn’t stand.

You started expecting something after that.

Not because you wanted to.

Because experience had taught you it was safer.

Your twelfth birthday was suspiciously quiet. There were no explosions before lunch, no whispered conversations disappearing upstairs, no missing household objects, no suspicious smoke drifting beneath bedroom doors. You remember actually thinking, perhaps foolishly, that Sirius had finally outgrown whatever part of his brain convinced him birthdays needed improving. Then your mother walked into the kitchen and screamed. Six garden gnomes tore through the house as though they owned the place, one somehow wearing James’s old Gryffindor tie, another triumphantly dragging away an entire dinner roll, while a third attempted to climb the grandfather clock. No one admitted responsibility. James looked genuinely bewildered. Peter looked moments away from confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed. Remus apologised despite having absolutely nothing to apologise for. Sirius, meanwhile, was trying so desperately not to smile that the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward every few seconds, which only confirmed what everyone already knew.

As he got older, the pranks became less destructive and somehow much more elaborate.

For your fourteenth birthday, every single present waiting for you had been enchanted. You discovered this the moment your fingers brushed the ribbon on the first neatly wrapped box. It immediately burst into a booming operatic rendition of Happy Birthday. Before it had even reached the chorus, the second present joined in. Then the third. Then every single gift beneath the table. Within seconds, the sitting room sounded like it was hosting a full magical choir. The books sang bass. The perfume somehow managed soprano. Even the tiny jewellery box found harmony. The socks were the worst offenders. Every time you picked them up, they enthusiastically restarted the entire performance from the beginning. Your father nearly spilled his tea. Your mother laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. James collapsed dramatically onto the carpet, unable to breathe from laughing, while Remus hid behind his own birthday present in a completely unsuccessful attempt to disguise his smile. Sirius simply leaned against the fireplace with his arms folded, looking unbearably pleased with himself before casually mentioning that enchanting every gift individually had taken him nearly three weeks.

You should have realised that giving Sirius Black more time to think only made him more dangerous.

Your sixteenth birthday proved exactly that.

To this day, no one quite understood how he’d managed to convince James that magical fireworks belonged inside a house, but somehow he’d done it. The first rocket shot into the air before anyone could stop them, exploding into glittering scarlet phoenixes that swooped beneath the ceiling while silver dragons chased each other through the hallway and tiny constellations burst across the sitting room in showers of gold. Peter vanished beneath the dining table. Remus already had his wand out attempting damage control before the second explosion. James looked as though he were witnessing the greatest achievement in wizarding history. Your father spent the next ten minutes extinguishing curtains, rescuing smoking portraits and muttering words you were fairly certain your mother wished you hadn’t heard, while black scorch marks remained stubbornly burned across the ceiling for months afterward. Sirius maintained they added character. No one else agreed.

By the time your seventeenth birthday arrived, the routine had become so familiar it felt almost comforting. You woke to your mother’s gentle kiss against your forehead and your father’s impossibly tight hug. James still tackled you onto the sofa before breakfast despite repeated warnings that one day he would actually break something. Remus handed you a carefully chosen book with a note tucked inside the cover because he always remembered exactly what you liked to read. Peter brought homemade sweets because he knew your favourite recipe by heart. And then, almost without thinking, you waited.

Because there was always one more present.

Not necessarily wrapped.

Just…something.

Something ridiculous and infuriating.

Something that would almost certainly leave your parents sighing, James laughing until he couldn’t breathe, Remus rubbing his temples, Peter trying very hard to look innocent, and you swearing that Sirius Black was the single most insufferable person you had ever met.

It never mattered that he ruined every birthday.

Because somehow, every ruined birthday became everyone’s favourite story.

Years later, no one remembered what books Remus had given you, or what sweets Peter had baked, or even what your parents had wrapped in pretty paper. They remembered the purple bangs, Lady Whiskerton, the garden gnomes, the singing socks, the scorch marks on the ceiling. They remembered Sirius laughing so hard he could barely stand while you promised, every single year, that this time you were absolutely going to hex him.

You never did.

And somewhere along the way, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, your birthdays stopped feeling complete until Sirius Black had ruined them first.

Until your eighteenth birthday arrived warm and golden, wrapped in the kind of lazy summer afternoon that seemed determined to stretch on forever.

The Potter house was overflowing long before lunch. Every window had been thrown open to let the breeze carry the smell of freshly cut grass and Euphemia’s cooking through the rooms, while enchanted fairy lights drifted lazily above the garden despite the bright sunlight, twinkling simply because they could. Someone had charmed a wireless to play softly in the background, the music weaving through conversations and bursts of laughter as neighbours, relatives, old friends, and half of Gryffindor House seemed to wander between the house and the garden carrying plates piled embarrassingly high with food. Children darted between tables, chasing one another through flowerbeds despite repeated warnings from their parents, while James and Sirius were, unsurprisingly, encouraging them instead of stopping them.

You stood near the back garden with a glass of lemonade in your hand, absentmindedly smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Eighteen,” James announced dramatically as he appeared beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders with enough force to nearly spill your drink.

“I’m ancient.” you said, fixing your hair again.

You laughed despite yourself.

“You are.”

“I’m practically ready for retirement.”

“I’ve already picked out a lovely nursing home for you.”

You elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

He yelped loud enough for several guests to turn around before breaking into laughter, pulling you briefly into a side hug that smelled faintly of sunshine, grass, and broom polish.

Across the garden, Sirius was helping Remus carry a tray loaded with glasses balanced far too precariously for anyone’s comfort. He looked up almost absently, caught your eyes across the crowd, and immediately smiled, that effortless smile that always looked like he knew something no one else did.

You rolled your eyes on instinct.

He answered with an exaggerated wink.

You shook your head.

Everything was perfectly, wonderfully normal.

Dinner disappeared beneath conversation and laughter. James told the same embarrassing childhood stories he’d told every year despite your increasingly theatrical threats against his life. Sirius interrupted every single one to make them even less flattering. Your father claimed none of them were remotely true. Your mother insisted they all were. Remus quietly corrected everyone’s timelines with remarkable patience, Peter laughed a little too loudly at every joke, and for a while you found yourself thinking that perhaps this birthday would simply be...peaceful.

It should have felt strange.

Instead, it felt almost unsettling.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the sitting room, presents stacked neatly beside the fireplace in brightly coloured paper and crooked ribbons. Your parents insisted on going first, your mother fastening a delicate gold necklace around your neck herself while your father pretended very hard not to become emotional about the fact that his little girl was somehow an adult. Remus handed you a carefully wrapped first edition of your favourite novel, complete with tiny notes he’d pencilled in on scraps of parchment marking his favourite passages because, of course, he had. Peter shuffled awkwardly toward you next, cheeks pink as he admitted he’d completely forgotten to wrap your present before producing a slightly squashed Honeydukes box from behind his back. James, naturally, made an entire performance out of his gift, dramatically presenting a broom maintenance kit with a flourishing bow.

“Your current one,” he declared gravely, “looks tragic.”

“It does not.”

“It cries every time you fly it.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, clutching the broom maintenance kit to your chest while James looked unbearably proud of himself, as though he had personally invented gift-giving. He accepted your laughter as the highest form of praise, taking an exaggerated bow that earned him a chorus of groans from everyone in the room. Your mother affectionately rolled her eyes. Your father muttered something about raising a menace. Sirius snorted into his drink. Even Remus, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner, couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You thanked your parents first, hugging them both tightly, your fingers lingering for a second longer around your mother’s shoulders when she reached up to straighten the delicate gold necklace she’d just fastened around your neck. You crossed the room to Remus next, wrapping your arms around him while he awkwardly returned the embrace, mumbling something about hoping the book wasn’t already on your shelf. Peter visibly relaxed when you hugged him too, laughing sheepishly as he admitted, for what had to be the fourth time, that he really had intended to wrap the chocolates before remembering approximately ten minutes before dinner.

For a moment, the room settled into that comfortable sort of chaos that always followed presents. Wrapping paper littered the floor. Empty teacups sat forgotten on every available surface. Your aunt had already started another conversation across the room. Someone reached for another slice of cake. James was still dramatically explaining why broom maintenance kits were deeply sentimental gifts, despite absolutely no one asking him to.

Then…nothing.

Your eyes drifted over the room almost instinctively, waiting for him to interrupt the moment the way he always did. Waiting for the inevitable chaos. Waiting for Sirius to produce something ridiculous that would leave everyone laughing and your parents questioning why they continued allowing him inside the house.

But the interruption never came.

You glanced around once more, slower this time.

“…That’s everyone?”

James frowned, looking around as though he, too, felt something was missing.

“I…” He counted silently on his fingers before shrugging. “I think so.”

Your gaze settled on Sirius.

He was sitting across the room with one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a half-empty glass dangling loosely between his fingers. The moment he noticed you looking at him, his attention shifted with remarkable speed toward the stack of empty dessert plates on the coffee table, studying them with such exaggerated concentration that it would have been convincing if you hadn’t known him your entire life.

“Black.”

“Hm?”

“You forgot.”

That finally made him look up.

“What?”

“My birthday.”

There was no accusation in your voice, mostly confusion.

Because forgetting simply wasn’t something Sirius Black did.

Not when it came to this. To you.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I didn’t forget.”

A tiny knot tightened somewhere beneath your ribs.

“You didn’t get me anything.”

Silence settled over the room so quickly it almost echoed.

The conversations nearby faltered one by one until even the wireless seemed strangely loud in the background.

Remus’s eyes moved slowly between the two of you, the faint crease between his brows deepening as though he were trying to solve a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense.

Peter became intensely interested in the patch of grass visible through the open French doors, studying it with the dedication of someone hoping to disappear entirely.

James blinked once.

Then frowned.

“…Pads?”

Sirius shifted in his seat.

For the first time all evening, for perhaps the first time you had ever seen, he didn’t have an answer ready.

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass before he set it down on the table.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

“I…”

His voice came out quieter than expected.

“…I didn’t.”

You stared at him.

Waiting.

Surely this was the joke. Surely in five seconds he’d pull something absurd from behind the sofa or announce that your actual present had escaped into the garden or somehow transformed itself into a goose.

Five seconds passed but nothing happened.

Your smile disappeared before you even realized it had.

“Oh.”

It was barely louder than a breath.

Not because you cared about a present.

Merlin, Sirius had spent years giving you things that couldn’t even be considered presents. Purple hair wasn’t a present. Singing socks weren’t a present. Garden gnomes certainly weren’t presents.

But there had always been something.

Always.

“It isn’t—”

“No.”

You interrupted him gently, almost automatically.

“It’s fine.”

The words left your mouth almost automatically, polished by years of pretending you were far less affected by things than you actually were. Even your voice cooperated, betraying nothing except perhaps a slight hesitation on the second word. But the silence that followed was immediate, suffocating. No one believed you. Not your mother, whose smile had vanished so completely that she was already twisting the edge of her napkin between nervous fingers. Not your father, whose expression shifted into quiet concern as he looked from you to Sirius. Not Remus, who had lowered his teacup without taking another sip, watching you with the kind of careful attention reserved for injured animals that might bolt if approached too quickly. Peter stared helplessly between the two of you, opening his mouth once before deciding against whatever he had been about to say. James looked genuinely horrified, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly they nearly touched, as though he couldn’t quite process what he had just witnessed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The sentence came more quickly this time, almost tripping over itself in its desperate attempt to sound convincing.

James shook his head immediately.

“What?” he blurted, taking a step toward you. “No—it does matter.”

His voice was louder than anyone else’s had been all evening, sharp with disbelief as he looked first at you and then at Sirius, waiting, almost expecting his best friend to burst into laughter and reveal whatever elaborate joke this had all been leading toward.

Sirius didn’t.

“No,” you replied before your brother could speak again, forcing the corners of your mouth upward into something that vaguely resembled a smile. It felt unnatural the moment it settled on your face, thin and fragile enough that you were certain everyone could see straight through it. Unable to bear the weight of Sirius’s gaze any longer, you dropped your eyes to the delicate gold necklace resting against your collarbone instead, absently running your fingertips across the tiny pendant your mother had given you only minutes earlier. “Apparently…” You swallowed, your throat suddenly unbearably tight. “…apparently it doesn’t.”

The words lingered in the room long after you’d spoken them.

No one interrupted them.

No one tried to fill the silence they left behind.

Even the wireless seemed quieter now, its cheerful melody drifting in faintly through the open windows with an almost cruel indifference, as though the rest of the world hadn’t noticed that something had quietly gone wrong.

You stood very still for a moment, staring at the collection of presents scattered across your lap.

The first edition Remus had spent months searching for.

Peter’s slightly squashed box of Honeydukes chocolates.

James’s ridiculous broom maintenance kit.

Your parents’ necklace catching the warm evening light.

Your fingers closed around the handle of the maintenance kit first. You carefully placed it back onto the pile beside you with far more care than necessary, adjusting it until it sat perfectly straight. Then you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress. Once. Then again. Then a third time, simply because your hands needed something to do before they started shaking.

Only then did you stand.

The scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor sounded impossibly loud.

Nobody moved.

Your mother looked instinctively toward your father, her eyes silently asking whether one of them should say something, anything, to stop you before this moment settled into something much harder to fix. Your father hesitated. Remus leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as though he were only a heartbeat away from getting up, but years of knowing you kept him rooted where he was. He knew that reaching for you now might only make you retreat further. Peter looked miserable. James took one uncertain step in your direction before stopping altogether, glancing helplessly between you and Sirius with an expression that bordered on panic.

“…Pads?”

His voice was quieter now.

Confused, almost pleading, but Sirius didn’t answer him.

He didn’t answer anyone.

He simply sat there, his forearms resting on his knees now, his hands loosely clasped together, staring at the floor for a long second before finally lifting his eyes toward you.

You couldn’t look back.

Because somehow, after eleven birthdays spent bracing yourself for absolute chaos...you had never once imagined having to prepare yourself for nothing at all.

Not from him. Never from him.

So you turned before anyone could see your expression change any further.

The sitting room suddenly felt far too small, every pair of eyes following you as you crossed it in slow, measured steps. The laughter that had filled the house only minutes before had vanished so completely that all you could hear was the quiet creak of the old floorboards beneath your feet and the distant clink of someone’s forgotten teacup settling onto its saucer.

You heard Sirius inhale.

As though he were finally about to say something.

Your name, perhaps.

An explanation. A joke. Anything.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You slipped through the doorway and into the house before anyone could think of the right words to stop you.

The hallway beyond felt strangely cool after the warmth of the crowded sitting room. The sounds of the party continued outside, muffled now by thick stone walls and closed distance. Laughter drifted faintly through the open windows downstairs. Someone in the garden started another story. Glasses clinked together in celebration. The wireless kept playing the same cheerful tune.

The party hadn’t stopped.

The world hadn’t stopped.

Only you had.

You climbed the staircase almost without thinking, each step carrying you farther away from the warmth and laughter still filling the Potter house. Your hand skimmed absentmindedly over the polished wooden banister your father had spent countless weekends refinishing, the familiar grooves beneath your fingertips grounding you just enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The music from the wireless drifted faintly through the floorboards beneath you, accompanied by bursts of laughter from the garden every few seconds, muffled now into an indistinct hum that felt strangely distant. It was odd, you thought. Only moments ago you had been sitting in the middle of it all, surrounded by people who loved you. Now it sounded as though it belonged to someone else’s birthday entirely.

Halfway up the stairs, your vision blurred.

Not enough to cry.

Just enough that you had to blink twice before the hallway came back into focus.

You swallowed hard.

The knot in your throat refused to move.

By the time you reached the landing, the noise downstairs had softened into little more than voices blending together beneath the music and the evening birds singing outside the open windows. The upstairs hallway was quiet, washed in the warm amber light of the setting sun pouring through the long window at the end of the corridor. Dust floated lazily through the golden light, undisturbed.

You stopped without meaning to.

It was as though your body had simply decided it couldn’t carry you another step.

The strength drained from your legs so suddenly that you leaned sideways until your shoulder met the wallpapered wall with a soft, dull thud. You closed your eyes immediately, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead, fingers disappearing briefly into your hairline as though you could somehow massage away the tightness gathering behind your eyes. A slow breath filled your lungs. Then another. You held each one for a second before letting it escape just as carefully, willing yourself to calm down, willing your heartbeat to slow, willing the ridiculous sting behind your eyes to disappear before it became something you couldn’t hide.

It didn’t.

The ache remained lodged stubbornly beneath your ribs, heavy and uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with birthdays and everything to do with expectations.

A quiet laugh escaped through your nose.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered into the empty hallway, shaking your head at yourself. “Honestly…”

You let your hand fall back to your side.

You were eighteen years old. An adult. Standing alone in your parents’ hallway, trying not to cry over a birthday present.

The thought sounded almost laughable.

Pathetic, even.

If anyone else had told you that story, you would have rolled your eyes and told them they were being dramatic.

“You walk fast.” His voice broke the silence so gently that, for a heartbeat, you wondered whether you’d imagined it.

Your entire body stiffened but you didn’t turn around.

Didn’t move. Didn’t even open your eyes at first.

For one brief, cowardly second, you considered pretending you hadn’t heard him. Pretending the hallway was still empty. Pretending that if neither of you spoke, this evening could somehow rewind itself back to before he’d looked at the dessert plates instead of at you.

Instead, you opened your eyes slowly and kept them fixed on the floorboards beneath your feet.

“Go away.” Your voice came out far quieter than you intended. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

Another silence followed, and this one felt heavier than the first.

“I can’t.”

You heard him begin walking before you saw him.

The old floorboards announced every careful step with familiar little creaks, each one echoing gently through the empty hallway. They weren’t the confident strides Sirius usually had, the ones that filled every room before he even opened his mouth. These were slower. Hesitant. As though he was measuring every step, giving you every opportunity to tell him to leave again.

He stopped a few feet behind you, close enough that you could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing but far enough that he wasn’t cornering you.

The silence stretched between you until it became almost unbearable.

Outside, a breeze stirred the leaves beyond the open window.

Downstairs, someone laughed.

Life carried on.

“You forgot my birthday.” The words slipped out before you had fully decided to say them.

Behind you, Sirius answered immediately. “I didn’t.”

You let out a slow breath, your fingers curling slightly against your palms.

“You forgot a present.”

“I…” His voice faltered.

It wasn’t hesitation born from annoyance.

It sounded almost like he’d run headfirst into a wall of words he suddenly couldn’t climb over.

Slowly, you turned your head just enough to see him from the corner of your eye.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders, usually so relaxed they bordered on careless, looked strangely tense. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor rather than on you, as though looking directly at your face required more courage than he currently possessed.

“You gave everyone something,” you said quietly, every word slow and deliberate, as though speaking too quickly might make your voice betray you. “You spent nearly a month’s allowance tracking down that fountain pen Remus mentioned once in passing. You searched half of Diagon Alley with Peter because he couldn’t stop talking about that camera he wanted. You bought James those Quidditch gloves before he’d even realized they were being released.” Your eyes finally lifted to meet his, and whatever little composure you had left seemed to disappear beneath the weight of his silence. “And me?” you whispered, almost afraid of the answer. “What did I get?”

Sirius inhaled sharply, his brows knitting together almost immediately.

“You don’t understand.” The words came too fast, almost stumbling over one another in his rush to stop you from believing whatever conclusion you’d already reached.

“Then explain.”

You gave him every opportunity to do exactly that.

His lips parted. He looked at you as if the answer was already there, waiting to be spoken. Nothing came. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard enough for you to see the movement in his throat. He tried again, quieter this time.

“I…”

The word died before it became a sentence.

His eyes searched yours helplessly, almost pleadingly, as though somehow you might understand what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

The silence that followed said far more than either of you wanted it to.

A sad smile tugged at your lips.

“…That’s what I thought.”

You pushed yourself away from the wall, brushing invisible dust from your skirt before stepping past him. Your shoulder barely grazed his arm as you walked by, determined to keep moving before your emotions caught up with you.

You had only managed two steps.

Warm fingers closed gently around your wrist.

Not enough to hurt. Not enough to trap you.

Just enough to ask you to stay.

His grip was unbelievably careful, almost hesitant, as though he expected you to pull away the second you realized he was touching you. For someone who had never doubted himself a day in his life, Sirius looked strangely fragile.

“Please,” he said quietly.

The single word stopped you more effectively than if he’d shouted.

You turned slowly.

His hand was still around your wrist, though his fingers had already loosened slightly, silently giving you the choice to leave if you wanted to. He looked nothing like the Sirius everyone downstairs knew. There was no crooked grin, no effortless confidence, no spark of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. Instead, he looked completely lost, standing in the middle of the hallway as though he’d reached the end of a map he’d always assumed he understood.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

“I…” Sirius started again, his voice catching almost immediately. His gaze flickered across your face, lingering on your eyes before dropping to your wrist in his hand, then back again. He looked as though he was searching for permission, for forgiveness, for any sign that he hadn’t already ruined something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Sirius…”

You hadn’t meant for your voice to soften.

Something shifted in his expression.

You saw it happen.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden realization written across his face, no grand declaration waiting behind his lips. It was quieter than that. Almost imperceptible. His shoulders, held tense since he’d followed you upstairs, relaxed by the smallest degree. His eyes searched yours one last time, lingering there as though silently asking a question he was too afraid to voice.

Then he moved.

The distance between you disappeared in a single hesitant step.

His hand left your wrist slowly, almost reluctantly, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t vanish the moment he let go. For the briefest second, his fingers hovered uncertainly in the space between you before finding your cheek instead. His palm settled against your face with remarkable gentleness, warm and slightly trembling, his thumb brushing the soft curve beneath your eye in a touch so careful it almost felt accidental. Sirius Black had always touched the world with confidence: clapping James on the back hard enough to make him stumble, ruffling Peter’s hair just to annoy him, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders without a second thought. But he touched you like you were something infinitely more fragile than glass.

His breathing faltered, and so did yours.

For one suspended heartbeat, he simply stood there, close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of silver hidden inside his grey eyes, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips. His gaze drifted down to your mouth before returning to your eyes again, giving you every chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

And maybe that was all the courage he needed.

Sirius leaned in so slowly it almost hurt.

The tip of his nose brushed yours first, an impossibly soft, almost clumsy touch that made both of you pause instinctively. You felt him hesitate there, close enough that your breaths tangled together, as though he were memorizing the distance before crossing it forever. Then, with all the caution of someone handling something precious, he closed the final inch between you.

His lips met yours.

The kiss was impossibly gentle.

It carried none of the reckless confidence that seemed stitched into every other part of Sirius Black. There was no urgency, no arrogance, no triumphant certainty. Instead, it felt almost like a confession, one he’d been writing silently for years without ever finding the courage to read aloud. Every birthday prank, every ridiculous joke, every stolen glance across the Potter dining table, every excuse to make you laugh seemed to gather quietly into that single moment until the kiss became all the words he had never managed to say.

Time seemed to fold in on itself.

The laughter downstairs dissolved into a distant murmur. The music from the wireless blurred into something soft and unrecognizable. Even the birds outside the open window faded beneath the sound of your own heartbeat, loud enough that you wondered absurdly whether he could hear it too.

You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you.

All you knew was that somehow the hesitation melted away. Your fingers, which had hung uselessly at your sides only seconds before, found the fabric of his shirt almost without your permission, gently curling into it. Sirius exhaled against your lips, the smallest, quietest breath of relief, and you felt his shoulders finally loosen beneath your hands as though he’d been carrying this moment for far longer than either of you realized.

He kissed you again, just a fraction deeper this time, still impossibly careful, still giving you every opportunity to pull away. There was something almost reverent in it, something that made your chest ache. As though he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be this close to you. As though this wasn’t something he had taken, but something you had given him.

When he finally pulled away, it was only by the smallest fraction. His forehead came to rest against yours, both of you breathing the same stolen breath, neither willing to move any farther than necessary. His hand never left your face. His thumb continued its slow, absent-minded journey across your cheek, brushing back and forth in tiny, almost nervous strokes that betrayed everything the rest of him was trying so desperately to hide. He had never looked uncertain a day in his life, yet now, standing in the golden light spilling through the hallway window, his grey eyes searched yours with an unfamiliar vulnerability. There was no trace of his usual smug grin or playful arrogance. No spark of mischief waiting to ruin the moment with a joke. Just a boy looking at the girl he’d spent years making laugh, silently wondering whether he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

A soft smile, small enough that it almost disappeared before it fully appeared, pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Happy birthday.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smile grew by the tiniest amount, though it remained painfully uncertain.

“That’s your birthday present, love.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, searching his face for any hint that he was joking.

There wasn’t one.

“Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“You…”

You laughed quietly in disbelief, shaking your head.

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“And that’s supposed to be my birthday present?”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, wincing almost immediately.

“When you repeat it back to me…” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “…it sounds significantly less romantic than it did inside my head.”

Against every bit of your better judgment, a tiny laugh escaped you.

You watched the tension melt from his shoulders almost instantly, as though that one small sound had untied a knot he’d been carrying since he followed you upstairs. The anxious crease between his brows eased, and for the first time since the sitting room, you caught a glimpse of the Sirius you knew hiding beneath all the uncertainty.

“I didn’t forget,” he said again, this time so quietly you almost missed it. The smile faded from his lips as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something earnest enough to make your chest ache. “I swear to you…I didn’t.”

Your amusement softened into curiosity.

“Then why?”

He sighed, his gaze falling to the wooden floor between you. His fingers disappeared into his dark hair, pushing it back only for the untidy curls to fall stubbornly into place again a second later. He looked strangely embarrassed, as though admitting this somehow frightened him more than kissing you had.

“Because I couldn’t think of anything.”

You frowned.

“Anything?”

“Anything good enough.”

His eyes finally returned to yours, hesitant, almost embarrassed. A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, the kind that appeared only when he was remembering something fondly.

“Every year…” he murmured. “Every year I gave you something completely ridiculous. Purple hair. Singing socks. Garden gnomes. Fireworks that nearly got me permanently banned from your house.”

“They did get you banned.”

“For two weeks.”

“My mother wanted to make it permanent.”

“I know,” he laughed softly. “She looked at me like she was deciding whether Azkaban accepted sixteen-year-olds.”

Despite yourself, a quiet laugh slipped from your lips.

It lingered only for a moment before the silence returned.

Sirius lowered his gaze again, absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns against the sleeve of his jumper with his thumb.

“I always did those things because…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose as though the words felt strangely vulnerable. “Because I liked being the reason you laughed.”

You didn’t interrupt him.

“I knew your parents would always give you something beautiful. Remus would find you a book you’d treasure forever. Peter would bring sweets because he knows you can’t say no to Honeydukes.” Another tiny smile crossed his face. “Everyone always gave you things you could keep.”

His grey eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“So I figured…” He shrugged, suddenly looking far less like the boy who laughed his way through life and far more like someone afraid of being misunderstood. “If I couldn’t give you the nicest present…then I’d give you the one you’d remember.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“This year…” His voice softened until it was almost swallowed by the quiet hallway around you. “I wanted to do better.”

You watched him carefully.

“I spent weeks wandering around Diagon Alley.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Weeks?”

“Weeks,” he repeated with a defeated sigh. “I must’ve walked into every shop at least twice.”

“And?”

“I hated all of it.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“You hated every single present in Diagon Alley?”

“It all felt…” He lifted one hand helplessly before letting it fall again. “Small.”

The word hung gently between you.

“I’d pick something up,” he continued quietly, “and then I’d imagine giving it to you…and it never felt right. It was always just another necklace, another book, another box tied up with ribbon.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You’d smile because you’re kind, but it wouldn’t be you.”

He stepped a fraction closer without even realizing it.

“I kept thinking that after everything we’ve done together…” A soft laugh escaped him. “…after seventeen birthdays of ruining your life, how was I supposed to compete with all those memories using something I bought off a shelf?”

Your heart softened before you could stop it.

His thumb brushed gently beneath your cheekbone, lingering there with quiet affection.

“And then it finally hit me.”

He smiled, a nervous, almost boyish smile that made him look younger than ever.

“The only thing I had left to give you…”

His eyes searched yours.

“…was something that actually belonged to me.”

Your breath caught.

“So…” His ears turned the faintest shade of pink, something you would have missed if you hadn’t been standing so impossibly close. He let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh, lowering his gaze for the briefest moment before looking back at you. “…I kissed you.”

For several long seconds, you simply stared at him.

You should have been annoyed.

You should have reminded him that making someone think they’d been forgotten all evening was an absolutely terrible way to confess feelings.

Merlin, you should have made him suffer at least a little for the emotional torture he’d put you through downstairs.

Instead, the tightness in your chest slowly unraveled.

Like sunlight melting frost.

Your eyes drifted almost involuntarily to his lips, still close enough that you could remember exactly how they had felt against yours only moments ago. When your gaze lifted again, you found him watching you with cautious hope, as though he was waiting for the inevitable moment you laughed in his face or shoved him away.

You did neither.

Without saying a single word, you closed the tiny distance between you once more.

This kiss was different, it wasn’t born from years of hidden feelings finally spilling over. It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t an apology.

It was light.

Your lips brushed his in a kiss so brief it barely lasted longer than a heartbeat, yet somehow it made Sirius freeze far more completely than the first one had. You smiled into it before slowly pulling away, though not nearly far enough to break the space between you. Your noses still brushed lightly, your breaths mingling in the warm evening air filtering through the open window.

“So…”

His eyebrows lifted almost immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching with cautious curiosity.

“So?”

A smile slowly found its way onto your face, not a big one, not yet. Just enough for something to click behind his eyes. You watched the exact moment recognition dawned on him, watched his shoulders tense ever so slightly as he realized that expression had nothing to do with forgiveness and everything to do with the fact that you were about to make his life considerably more difficult. Sirius had known you long enough to recognize that smile instantly. It was the one that usually appeared moments before you proved him wrong in an argument, stole his wand after he’d annoyed you, or spent an entire afternoon refusing to speak to him simply because he’d deserved it.

“You still have to buy me something.”

For one perfect heartbeat, he simply blinked.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Then opened again.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“I absolutely am.”

He stared at you in complete disbelief, bringing one hand dramatically to his chest as though you’d physically wounded him.

“I’ve just poured my heart out to you,” he said, gesturing animatedly between the two of you. “I confessed feelings I’ve been bottling up for Merlin knows how long. I kissed you.” He paused, looking personally offended by your lack of appreciation. “I’ve spent weeks emotionally suffering.”

You nodded with exaggerated sympathy, gently patting his arm.

“That sounds incredibly difficult, Black.”

“It was.”

“I’ll light a candle for you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“A little.”

His expression became even more dramatic.

“I’ve been through an emotional ordeal.”

“And yet…” You tilted your head with practiced innocence, your fingers absentmindedly reaching forward to tap the front pocket of his jacket as though checking whether a mysteriously forgotten present might suddenly appear there. “…I still don’t have a birthday gift.”

Sirius looked down at where your finger had poked his pocket before looking back up at you, scandalized.

“I am deeply offended.”

“You should be shopping.”

“Come on,” he protested, throwing both hands into the air. “I just gave you the most meaningful gift I’ve ever given another human being.”

“You gave me a kiss.”

“The best kiss of your life, Potter.”

You rolled your eyes so dramatically it earned exactly the grin he’d been hoping for.

“Very romantic,” you admitted.

“I knew you’d see reason.”

“…And extremely convenient.”

His mouth fell open.

“You kissed me because you had nothing else.”

He gasped so theatrically that you almost expected him to collapse onto the floor.

“I kissed you because I have impeccable instincts.”

“You kissed me because the shops were closed.”

“The shops were not closed, love.”

“They may as well have been.”

“I refuse to accept that version of events.”

“It’s the only logical explanation.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying very hard to look offended while fighting a smile that refused to stay hidden. The silence stretched between you for only a second before he let out an exaggerated groan, dropping his forehead gently against yours once more.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No,” he murmured, laughing under his breath as his nose brushed yours. “I think you’re actually getting worse.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for me.”

“It really is.”

He sighed with theatrical defeat, letting his shoulders slump dramatically as though accepting the outcome of a battle he’d fought bravely but inevitably lost.

“…Fine.”

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Fine?”

“I’ll buy you something.”

“Good.”

“But,” he added, lifting a finger between the two of you with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty, “I’m still counting the kiss as the main present.”

You looked at him for a long moment before your smile softened into something so bright it made him forget, if only for a second, that he had just lost the argument entirely.

After eighteen years of trying to make your birthdays unforgettable, Sirius Black finally realized the truth: he had been the unforgettable part all along.

[marauder-misprint]

Hello! Could I request a James potter fic? One where he is older than reader and they are no longer in Hogwarts. I’ll leave the details to you but I would like a getting together fic where James is very clear with his intentions with her, always taking care of her, being a gentleman, etc., but maybe she is shy and doesn’t think he is being serious? I'm sure whatever you come up with will be great!

Thank you ❤️❤️ you are an amazing writer

Hi! This request made me think of this song right away and I think it worked out pretty great! ❤︎ I don't know if I made this clear enough in the fic, but reader is a handful of years younger than the Marauders so she knew of them at school more than they knew of her, and she's either halfblood or muggleborn. ❤︎ Also thought this was a lot longer than just under 3k. Oh well.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Oblivious (Alexa Cappelli)

James Potter x fem!reader

2.8k words

cw: fluff, james and reader are oblivious to the other's feelings, attempted shy!reader

You didn’t quite understand how James and Lily could still be friends after they broke up. The years James spent asking her out. Them becoming the It Couple at school during their seventh year, being Head Boy and Girl afterall. How in love they seemed all year. And then it fizzled? Crashed and burned? You weren’t sure if it was a messy break up or not, but given the friendly banter you were witnessing, you’d assume not. 

You didn’t even know that they were broken up until a few months ago when Lily came up in a conversation with Remus. After that conversation, it took Remus a little bit of time before he invited you to hang out with the group. He needed to gauge your interest. The combination of the group being a few years older than you and all close friends from Hogwarts plus your timid demeanor might not have meshed well, but you accepted the invite. 

Remus had said it was always nice to have new people around. He thought you’d help counterbalance James, Sirius, Marlene and Lily. He didn’t know that James would fall head over heels in love with you. 

“Looks like we’re keeping her around,” Peter had muttered to Remus near the end of the first gathering. 

He had his arm up as he leaned against the wall with his complete focus on you. Knowing their friend, the two boys could see James straining himself from reaching out to touch you somehow. 

James had all of his attention on you as you told a story from work that involved Remus and a nasty customer. They had never seen him pay attention so adamantly. 

Before you left, James made it his mission to get your number. He said it was to add you to the groupchat, which he was going to do, but he also wanted it for himself. 

James leaned back in his chair at the bar when Emmeline brought up a different point, which Lily also disagreed with. He rested his arm on the back of your chair like he always did. 

“What do you think?” he asked. 

“I mean, Lily’s right on the first part,” you said. 

Lily didn’t hear you. Sirius was yelling to have his opinion heard. 

James put his free hand over his heart. “Ugh, you wound me, love!”

“Not my fault you’re painfully pure blooded sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he scoffed. “Not knowing that that, that… that plastic thing was money is not my fault!”

“Credit card,” you said with a laugh. 

James had made himself your “shopping buddy.” He had texted you a few days after that first meeting. You weren’t expecting anyone from the group to text you individually, so you were floored when you saw the text was from James. 

<bored. u doing anything?>

You told him you were running errands and he asked if he could come with. You said if he really wanted to. He did really want to. 

“Sorry if my text was out of the blue. I really enjoyed talking to you the other night and I wanted to see you again,” James said as you walked out of the first store. 

“It was unexpected, but it’s… nice to not be shopping alone,” you said, missing his flirtation and trying to cover how nervous you were that James would be secretly judging everything you were buying. 

A later store that you visited was a muggle established and, therefore, you paid with muggle currency via your credit card. He had never seen one before. That was wild to you. Surely, Lily had one. 

Apparently James had such a good time that he wanted to go shopping with you again. And again. Each time he went with, he carried your bags and held open doors. Sometimes he tried to pay, but you usually said no. You didn’t need James to pay for your things. 

Then it started shifting into hanging out. He’d text you, asking if you were doing anything. If you weren’t, you’d say that he could come over if he was bored. Not even ten minutes later, there’d be a knock on your door. 

James was always a quick responder when it came to your texts. He’d be fully immersed in a conversation, hear your text tone, and drop the person he was with. 

/kitchen light is out, can you fix next time you come over?/

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at your door with James holding flowers. 

“Flowers? I need a light bulb,” you said, a little teasingly. 

“Another thing to brighten your kitchen,” he said with a wink. 

You would’ve kept the flowers on your counter far longer after they died, but as soon as they started to wilt at all, James brought another bouquet. And when that one started to wilt, he appeared with another. 

Another time you had shown up to play cards at the boys’ house early. You came straight from work, knowing you wouldn’t have had enough time to go home and eat dinner. 

“Bosses and their last minute meetings,” you said disgruntledly. “Crisps are dinner, right?”

You said it as an offhand comment. You were perfectly fine with munching on the snacks that were on the table. 

But James had already stood up. “I’ll make you dinner.”

Then he disappeared into the kitchen. You thought he was kidding. Or maybe he’d come out with a soup bowl full of snacks. You were chatting with Peter and Remus so you didn’t notice how much time passed until James returned with one of your favorite meals. 

“James!” you gasped. “You really didn’t have to!”

“I’d do anything for you,” he said with a gentle smile. He was waiting for you to take a bite and give him a review. 

Peter and Remus exchanged a glance, both knowing that James wasn’t joking about that. 

A little more than a week before your plans to meet at the bar, the group made plans to go to Diagon Alley. James spent a good chunk of the day getting doors for you, as he always did, and being told to not buy you things. He didn’t see why you shouldn’t have the things you wanted, but if you said no, he didn’t buy it.

The group split up as James, Sirius, Remus and Peter all wanted to go into a small joke shop and you and Lily were dragging Marlene into a jewelry store. Surprisingly, you were done first and told the other girls you’d wait outside. James saw you looking at the display window in the shop next to the jewelry store. He had half a mind to go join you. 

Not even five minutes later, there was a thud from the neighboring shop and the boys could see two drunk wizards stumble out into the street, pulling out their wands. James was immediately heading for the door to make sure you didn’t get in the way of the fight. Not that you couldn’t defend yourself. He was just making sure. 

He barely had time to yell your name before he sprinted across the street and pushed you into the opening next to the shop. The duelers barreled past you. It took you both a second to realize the position James had you in. 

Back against a wall and pressed against James. Really pressed against James.

He was breathing heavily and your heart rate was skyrocketing. If you were any other girl and the others saw you in this moment, they’d assume they interrupted something rather intimate. But this was you and James. So it wasn’t. 

“Are you okay?” James asked, letting the pressure off of you. 

“I-I think so?” you said. You looked past James. “What was that?”

“Drunkards.”

“Oh.”

James put one hand on your shoulder and used the other to turn your chin towards him. 

“You’re sure you’re okay? I didn’t grab you too hard? I just wanted to make sure you were out of the way and-“

“James, I’m okay,” you said, immediately shutting him up. 

You were trying to keep your thoughts straight as neither you nor James moved. You swore his eyes dropped to your lips. You figured you imagined it as immediately after he cleared his throat. 

“They’re gone, so I suppose it’s okay…”

“Right,” you croaked, and then proceeded to clear your own throat. 

Seeing the two of you emerge, both with noticeable blushes, your friends assumed that James had finally kissed you. He didn’t have to tell them that he wanted to. With how you were, they just knew it hadn’t happened yet. 

But when you didn’t hold hands or do anything out of the normal for the rest of the day, they weren’t sure if it had happened. Surely something would’ve changed if he had kissed you. 

“Anyone else need a refill?” you asked, standing up from the table with your empty glass. 

James scanned the table. “I think we’re good, love.”

You nodded and headed up to the bar. Only once you’re gone did he let his arm fall from the back of your chair. 

“So, you two official yet?” Lily asked once you were out of earshot. 

James sighed. He was watching you walk away. 

“She doesn’t fancy me.”

Half the table started laughing. You wished you hadn’t looked back at the noise. Several of them were looking your way. Were they laughing at you?

“I can tell you for a fact that she does,” Remus said. 

“She tells you who she fancies?” James asked disbelievingly. 

“Well, no, but it’s the most obvious thing in the world.”

“She doesn’t object to you being all over her,” Marlene pointed out. 

“I’m not-“

“Your arm lives on her shoulder!” Peter said. “And didn’t she have her feet in your lap last week?”

That was after cards had finished and you were lingering at the boys' house. James had turned on the television. You got comfortable. Could you be blamed?

“Don’t forget when he moved her hair out of her face for her!” Lily added. 

“I’ve moved Sirius’ hair out of his face,” James said. 

Sirius barked a laugh. “We were smashed. Doesn't count.”

James shook his head. 

“I don’t see how that proves she fancies me. If she did, wouldn’t she have-“

“Called you every day after work this week? Yeah, she did do that,” Remus said, cutting him off. 

One of your coworkers was being a full-on bitch and you needed to rant. Who else were you going to rant to?

“Well, I don’t know how to be more clear that I like her without literally spelling it out. I like being around her so I’m not going to go spilling my heart to her if there’s a chance she’ll take it poorly.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Emmeline said. She waited until you got back to the table before asking, “Y/N, loo?”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” you said, setting your drink down next to James and then following her into the restroom. 

You stayed out by the sinks while she went into a stall. 

“So, you and James, huh?” 

You blinked, staring at the closed stall door. 

“Me and James what?” you asked. 

“You’re properly dating, aren’t you?”

You let out a startled laugh. “I wish!” Then you covered your mouth, not that Emmeline could see. “Don’t tell him I said that!”

There was a flush and then Emmeline came out to wash her hands. 

“He seems pretty smitten with you. Didn’t you come together?”

James did ditch the boys to walk with you from your flat to the bar. 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t like me like that.”

“No?” she asked, looking at you through your reflection in the mirror. 

“How could he? He’s…” You flourished your hand in front of you. “All that. Always has a joke or a story, love the attention on him, you know? And I’m a one comment here and there. I would rather die than be the center of attention.” You capped it off with a shrug. 

“Opposites attract.”

“With magnets, maybe. But think about it. Sirius? Just as crazy as James. Marlene and Lily too.”

Emmeline had started to go for the door but stopped. She turned around and gave you a look that was almost pitiful. 

“If you’re thinking that James couldn’t fancy you because he once fancied Lily, forget that. There’s a reason it didn’t work out,” she said. 

After that, you started overanalyzing everything James did. The way he held open the door for you when you were leaving.  The way he walked on the road-side of the sidewalk. Asked if you were all good before he went home himself, offering his late-night chef abilities. 

“Okay if I come round tomorrow? Flowers are looking a little… droopy,” he said from your doorway. 

“You’re always welcome, James.”

He pulled you in for a hug and rested his chin on the top of your head. He wanted to spend the night. He’d sleep on the couch, on the floor, wherever you deemed fit, just so he didn’t have to leave. You didn’t want him to leave either, but you couldn’t say that. 

Over a week passed. You found yourself staring at the flowers. James had replaced them again and you swore the bouquet was larger this time. It was stunning. 

You could pretend the calls and texts were friendly. Him going shopping with you was because he was bored. You hung out all the time because you were friends. Emmeline thinking you were dating? That sat in your mind. And the flowers… You couldn’t explain those away. 

Your phone buzzed. 

<eaten yet?>

/no/

<good. I want to try a new recipe. Be there in 10>

You laughed softly at your phone. He was coming to your flat to make dinner. You were capable of going to his place, but he had once said it was nice to get away from the boys. A change of scenery. 

When James arrived, he had arms full of groceries. 

“What are you making?” you asked, taking a bag from him. 

“Found it on the inter-web. But also picked up some things for you…”

You looked into the bag you had taken. It was filled with some items you always kept on hand and were actually running low on. 

“Did you look in my cupboards last night or something?” you asked. 

“I go grocery shopping with you. I know your list,” he said with a shrug. 

“Uh-huh.” 

It didn’t quite explain how he knew you’d be running low. You didn’t buy these every week. Had he noticed when he was here last? You weren’t sure. 

James got to work cooking and you turned on the radio to a low volume. You knew he would hum along to the songs he knew. You leaned back against the counter to watch him at work. 

Merlin, he was so pretty… 

“You alright, love?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve just been… staring. Not that I mind. I know I look good,” he said, flexing at the end. 

“I just… I… Do you like me?” 

He chuckled softly and smiled at you. “I only spend all of my time with you.”

“Sorry, silly question…” you said with your voice barely louder than a whisper and then turning to walk out of the kitchen. “Of course you like me. We’re friends.”

There was a tinge of bitterness to the word friends and James caught it. Once again, he thought his answer was clear. He thought that you had maybe caught on that he really liked you. 

He reached out for your arm. 

“Friends if that’s all you want to be,” he said. He swallowed. “Cause I’m willing to be whatever you want me to be.”

You slowly put your hand on top of his. 

“If you want things to stay as they are, I’ll do my best to stomp out any feeling that’s more friendly than you want. But if you-“

“James,” you whispered. 

You squeezed his hand and then removed it from your arm so you could properly hold it and turn around. 

“Yes?”

“Would you, kiss me?” 

Part of him wanted to say that he thought you’d never ask. But that gave you time to change your mind and in that moment, James wasn’t risking that. Not when he had wanted to kiss since the day Remus got to join the group. 

James cupped your face with his free hand and kept holding onto your hand with the other. He kept the kiss brief. Even if you did ask him to, he didn’t want to do too much. When he pulled back, he kept his hand on your face, gently rubbing his thumb across your cheek. It was as soft as he had imagined. 

“Did that really just happen?” you whispered. 

“You asked me to,” he said, voice just as soft. “Did it feel like a dream for you too?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” James said before pulling your face towards his again. 

tags: @navs-bhat @faceache111

[loislanesprotegee]

KISSEPHILE XX

contains: Johnny Sinclair × nerdy!reader. inspired by a post i cannot find for the life of me. cinephile!Johnny (thank you @/ducetbrooks) (and hence the title...) truther account. Lego construction. kissing. reader has hair. fluff. Johnny 'kiss-oholic' Sinclair. 239 wc.

• a/n under the cut

Lounged next to you clicking plastic bricks together according to the manual booklet laid open on the mattress in front of your criss-crossed legs, Johnny's hand found your back, skin warm under the fabric of your shirt, for some contact while his eyes focused on the laptop screen between you both, playing some movie from his never ending watchlist.

You glance up from your construction at the sound of heavy breathing, the female main character kissing the male lead. Lip turning ever so slightly up at the memory of a girl's post, you decide to recreate it.

"4D!" you exclaim, turning back to Johnny reclined against his pillows, ducking down to peck a kiss on his mouth.

He doesn't register the action till your lips are mushed together, and his hand on your back slips out from beneath your shirt, sliding up the nape of your neck, into your hair, keeping you against his mouth.

"It was meant to be a quick kiss," you mumble amidst Johnny still kissing you.

"I know," he nods.

"So you can unhand me now," you playfully tell him.

"You said 4D! They're making out!" Johnny lightheartedly argues, gesturing to the screen with his free hand. You look at the laptop.

"Well, now they're having sex," you state as he continues kissing down your neck.

"You're the loser that said 4D," he reminds you, moving your shirt collar aside to kiss across your shoulder.

a/n: "loser" he says with barely controlled lust and immeasurable fondness

HEEEYYYLLLLOOOO!!!! sorry this is quick and lowkey ass and kind of the most ooc I've written Johnny (unless purposely for a [whatever]!Johnny)...it's my peace offering while I work on other things before yall start thinking I've died (which isn't unreasonable given my life)

also gotta keep flexing that writing muscle so i don't lose it 😭😭 so its better to write something bad than nothing at all (- i say, rocking back and forth in front of my laptop, open on a tumblr draft)

[nightshiftnotes]

❥ comfortable

♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.

♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff

♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡

banner by @pixopix

The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.

You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.

Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.

He looks as exhausted as you feel.

"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.

"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."

Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."

"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"

"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."

"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."

"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."

"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.

"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."

"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.

"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."

"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."

"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.

"Our death," he agrees solemnly.

For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.

His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.

"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.

"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.

"I'd just block her."

"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."

"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"

"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."

"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"

"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.

His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

But then his hands start to wander.

It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—

He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.

"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."

"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"

"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"

"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."

"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"

"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."

"That's not science, you idiot."

"It's my science."

You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.

"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.

"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it."

For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.

You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.

"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."

You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.

"We were having a nice moment."

"We still are."

"You've got a boner."

"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."

You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"

"You are absolutely the problem."

"I literally haven't done anything."

"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."

"I hummed?"

"You hummed."

"I don't hum."

"You do when you're really comfortable."

You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."

"I have."

You glare at him.

"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."

You snort. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"Are you?"

Silence.

"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."

Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."

His voice is quieter now. "So happy."

You burrow your face further into his shoulder.

"…I like when you're like this."

You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."

"Only for you."

There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.

"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."

"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."

Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.

When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."

"Up where—"

But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."

"Satoru—"

"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."

How are you supposed to say no to that?

"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.

"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."

"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—

"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.

He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."

But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.

"Satoru—"

"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.

It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.

"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."

"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.

"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.

Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.

"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."

His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.

"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"

"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”

His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.

"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."

"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.

But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.

"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"

"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."

He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.

"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"

"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster. 

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.

When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.

"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."

"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh really?"

"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.

"Oh, baby."

He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.

"Fuck, baby—"

"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.

"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."

"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.

"Yeah." His voice is strained. 

He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.

"Satoru—"

"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”

His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.

"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."

"Satoru, please—"

"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"You know what I want."

"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."

"You're killing me—"

"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."

His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.

"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."

"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.

"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."

"Satoru—"

"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."

Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.

"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.

"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”

"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."

He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."

"Satoru—"

"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"

"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"

"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."

His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.

"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"

"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.

"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."

"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.

"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Yes—fuck—right there—"

"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."

The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."

"Don't stop—"

"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."

The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.

"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."

When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.

"Satoru—"

"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.

"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.

"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"

"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"

"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."

"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.

"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."

His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.

"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."

You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.

He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"

You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"

He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."

He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.

"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."

"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”

The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”

His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him. 

"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”

His composure finally snaps.

"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."

He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.

"Not until you."

His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"

Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.

"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"

The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.

"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.

"Holy shit," you mumble.

"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."

"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.

"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."

"I love you too, you needy disaster."

"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.

He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.

"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.

"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."

"Clingy."

"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."

"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.

And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[art-story-by-deroko]

"They weren't allowed to make Sokka too hot"

Movie concept art under the cut