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cumironi · 12 days ago

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THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO GOJO’S D$CK. g.s

feat. gojo satoru

sum. what’s the best sex position ever? loud and clear you said missionary. the result? got called slut by shoko and dared by geto to fuck the stupidest man in the group, gojo satoru. and you, also the stupidest take the bait just to prove a point only to get the best missionary you’ve ever had. which, also got called slut by your friend.

wn. college au, all characters are adults (early 20s), depictions of alcohol and weed consumption, explicit sexual content including graphic foreplay and intercourse, strong language, sexual humor, slut-shaming jokes between friends, emotionally charged intimacy, consensual rough play (e.g. scratching, hickeys), praise-kink, bit dirty talk,

gojo’s basement was a whole ecosystem of indulgence, an architectural fuck-you to minimalism. the moment you stepped off the last step, it was like descending into a pleasure den disguised as a frat boy’s fever dream and a luxury showroom had a threesome with a tokyo nightlife bar and decided to never leave.

soft, dark lighting glowed along the edges of the ceiling, hiding in strips of LED that shifted color every few minutes—right now it was a moody wine red that made everyone look flushed and half-possessed. a speaker system was embedded into the walls, not blasting but thumping low enough to feel in your molars, something beat-heavy and spacey, rhythmic enough to keep your hips rocking even if you were only sitting. the walls were textured concrete, but with art—huge framed prints, some classical, some hentai, because gojo was a pretentious bitch and also a walking disaster.

it was sectioned in loose, chaotic zones. one end had a full bar, real wood counters, glass shelves, and an overhead mirror with LED backlight that made the various alcohol bottles sparkle like gemstones. there were no mixers—just hard liquor and gojo’s “personal stash” of imported shit that tasted like burnt syrup and regret. behind the bar, nanami stood like a reluctant bartender, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, stirring something too elegant for this crowd. he’d lost rock-paper-scissors and now he was stuck mixing drinks with military precision, ignoring everyone yelling that they just wanted a whiskey coke with extra whiskey and no coke.

a few steps away, there was a billiards table, dark green felt, cue sticks leaned against the wall, and haibara trying to make a shot with his head resting on the cue, eyes squinting like a sniper but swaying like a drunk tree. geto and shoko were stretched on the oversized couch that curved around a low table cluttered with empty shot glasses, an open pizza box with one lonely crust, and the remnants of three joints passed back and forth. gojo had dragged over a bean bag chair and was currently lounging in it like royalty, shirt half unbuttoned, pale collarbones peeking out, sunglasses still on indoors, of course, because he said the lighting was “too aggressive.”

you were on the rug, thighs warm from the alcohol, back against the couch, in the exact perfect spot to feel everyone’s presence all at once—geto’s knee brushing yours every time he shifted, shoko’s lazy hand resting in your hair because she liked to play with it when she was high, gojo’s long leg stretched out so his bare foot kept nudging your ankle. the rug smelled like old perfume and weed and a little bit like someone spilled gin and didn’t clean it up, and honestly? it was perfect.

“i think,” gojo announced, gesturing with his drink, something neon blue in a martini glass, “we should all officially drop out.”

“again?” geto asked, one eyebrow raised as he exhaled smoke and passed you the blunt. “you say that every thursday,” you added, grinning as you took it, the burn sweet and sharp on your tongue.

“yeah but this time i mean it,” gojo said, rolling over onto his stomach like a bored cat, chin resting on his arms. “what’s even the point of college? knowledge? community? shared trauma?”

“you only show up to class to cheat off nanami,” shoko pointed out. “he has such neat handwriting,” gojo said with a dreamy sigh. nanami rolled his eyes. “because i don’t get high the night before a midterm and forget how pens work.”

“that was one time,” you mumbled through a cough, handing the joint off to utahime who looked scandalized but still took it.

“you cried,” geto added helpfully.

“it was a stressful exam,” you defended, but the laughter already drowned you out. even nanami cracked a tired smirk. “okay but like—” haibara missed his shot and collapsed dramatically over the pool table, face pressed into the felt “—real talk. if we all dropped out, what would we do? jobs don’t exist. go.”

“porn,” you said immediately.

gojo made a high-pitched noise like a choking dolphin. “you can’t just say that, baby.”

“i said it,” you grinned, shrugging. “onlyfans. but we make it elite. like art-house, black-and-white stuff.”

“you want to direct?” shoko asked, voice slow, eyes heavy-lidded. “or star?”

“both,” you said. “duh.”

“visionary,” geto murmured, passing you a new joint, already lit. you took it without question. “okay okay okay,” haibara said, still face-down, voice muffled into the table. “but if you had to teach one sex position. like, for beginners. what’s lesson one?”

“doggy,” nanami answered without blinking.

“perv,” gojo coughed.

“efficient,” nanami corrected.

“missionary,” geto said, tapping his ash into a tray. “eye contact, full penetration, kiss access. versatile. emotionally devastating.”

“you’re so romantic,” you teased.

he smirked. “always.”

“cowgirl,” shoko added, licking salt off her hand. “control. visuals. core workout.”

“you’re all cowards,” gojo said, sitting up now, eyes glinting. “nobody said reverse cowgirl.”

“that’s because you’re the only one who wants to get kneed in the stomach,” utahime muttered, taking another sip. “worth it,” gojo sighed, pressing his hand over his chest like he’d been touched by god. and then—he turned, sharp and sudden, and pointed directly at you, mouth curling in a smirk that was all teeth and trouble.

“what about you, pretty girl?”

your throat went dry. his voice was soft now, low, sliding under your skin like warm syrup. everyone else fell quiet. not waiting in judgment—just watching. geto leaned back. shoko raised one eyebrow. even nanami tilted his head like your answer might end a war.

“hmm,” you hummed, tilting your head, pretending to think even as your lips curled. “honestly? missionary. but only if you’re trying to ruin my life,” you add, casually, sipping whatever tragic cocktail you’d ended up with—mostly rum, mostly sugar, entirely chaos—and immediately regretted it, because the second the words left your mouth, the basement erupted. broke in a howl of laughter. shoko nearly dropped her drink. geto choked on his exhale. haibara clapped the table.

“LAME!” haibara shrieked like you’d just confessed to listening to elevator music during sex. “liar,” geto said flatly, but the smile tugging at his mouth made it impossible to take seriously.

“no fucking way,” shoko barked, already leaning over the armrest like she needed to look you directly in the soul. “no. you? miss i make eye contact while ordering food like it’s a come-on?”

you groaned, trying to disappear into your shirt. “shut uuuuup.”

“there is no way your favorite position is missionary,” she said, flicking your forehead with sharp precision. “get the fuck out of here. you’re not fooling anyone.”

“maybe i’m romantic,” you offered weakly, already bracing as the room devolved into shrieks again. gojo wheezed, flopping onto his back and kicking a throw pillow off the couch. “romantic she says. oh my god. oh my fucking god.”

“missionary my ass,” utahime added, kicking your shin lightly with her socked foot. “that’s like saying your favorite food is plain rice.”

“with butter!” you shouted defensively.

“shut the fuck up!” everyone howled in unison.

“full nelson,” shoko said immediately, stabbing her finger at you. “you’re into some demon shit. like tied up, folded in half, legs behind your ears—"

“—that’s not even anatomically possible for most people—” nanami muttered in the background, but no one was listening. “you give power bottom with a penchant for suffering,” geto added smoothly, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand like he was about to psychoanalyze your soul.

“stop profiling me,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “what if i just want soft sex? with love? with candles and eye contact and maybe a backhand to the cheek, but mostly like… romance.”

utahime gagged so hard it sounded real. “you’re disgusting.”

“i am romantic,” you insisted, chin raised, eyes defiant. “i want to be held. i want love.” shoko tossed a grape at your head. “you want to be held in a chokehold with your face pressed to the mattress.” you caught it in your mouth and chewed, flipping her off with flair. “maybe. but gently.”

gojo rolled back upright like a cartoon character, elbows resting on his knees, eyes gleaming under the dim lights. “i can do gently,” he said, voice low and syrup-sweet.

“no,” utahime said flatly.

“you don’t get to volunteer,” nanami said, not even looking up from whatever he was mixing now. gojo grinned and tilted his head toward you, his hand slowly sliding into the pocket of your hoodie, the one you were wearing. “but i wanna,” he said, and his voice dipped just enough to warm the pit of your stomach.

you elbowed him. “we’re still talking about metaphors.”

he smiled wider. “are we?”

shoko groaned. “i’m gonna throw something at both of you.”

geto passed her a half-empty beer can like a gentleman. “use this.”

“missionary,” shoko repeated again, like she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t accept it, couldn’t believe it even existed in your vocabulary as anything more than a punchline. she said it like a curse, her voice thick with smoke and judgment. “missionary. you absolute fucking liar.”

“i’m not lying!” you whined, but it came out with a stupid grin stretching your mouth because you knew—you knew—they were right to doubt you. “nah, you’re lying,” geto said, not even looking up from his delicate task of ash-flicking with the grace of a noble concubine. “you’re lying and you know it and we all know it. missionary. yeah right.”

gojo, who had been half-lying across your lap like a loyal, slutty dog, perked up at the confirmation. “she is lying,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “i’m hurt. betrayed. flabbergasted.”

utahime barked a laugh from the bean bag she’d stolen from nanami when he went to refill his drink. “missionary only if he’s choking you out and whispering dirty things about your future kids.”

“WHICH IS STILL VERY ROMANTIC,” you argued, throwing your hands up in pathetic defense. “not when it includes the words ‘breed you dumb,’” nanami said calmly from the bar. “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE,” you screamed across the basement, as if that would help.

haibara was bent over wheezing, red in the face and tears in his eyes. “you—missionary—you’re the same bitch who moaned watching that fight scene in that one show—”

“he had his veins out and a chain around his neck, i was provoked!”

shoko pointed directly at you like she was driving a stake into your coffin. “you want missionary the same way a raccoon wants tap water. not cause it’s good, cause it’s easy access before you crawl into the sewer.”

“i am not a raccoon!”

“you are the racooniest,” geto said. “fucked-up little hands and all.”

gojo, smug and now fully reclined into your lap with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs kicking up a little in rhythm with the music, looked up at you upside down with that shit-eating grin. “no shame in liking missionary,” he said sweetly. “as long as it’s not the only thing you like.”

“oh no no no,” geto said, sitting up straighter now, attention focused, looking deadly and delighted. “you don’t get to backpedal now. no retreat. you committed.”

“i did not commit—”

“you’re committed. one hundred percent. missionary ride or die. all in.”

“you’re making it sound like a cult.”

“IT IS,” shoko yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at your head that she’d stolen from god knows where. “missionary only when the moon is waxing, the candles are teal, and your playlist is all sad acoustic covers of 2000s bangers.”

“that sounds fucking dreamy actually,” you said, offended but also taking mental notes.

geto leaned over, narrowing his eyes, voice dipping low and daring, that teasing menace blooming in the corners of his mouth like sin: “then do it. with satoru. go full missionary. full eye contact. no jokes. no choking. no freaky shit. vanilla as fuck. and afterward—then tell us if it’s still your favorite.”

the room fell silent.

gojo sat up.

utahime choked on her drink.

shoko slapped her knee and screamed, “YES. YESSSS. YOU WON’T. DO IT. I DARE YOU. PUT YOUR LOVE WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS.”

“THAT IS NOT THE PHRASE,” you cried.

“IT IS NOW,” haibara shouted, fist in the air.

gojo was looking at you like you just became his favorite episode of a fucked-up reality show. slowly, slowly, he leaned in, blinking those pale lashes in mock innocence, like a predator trying to play sweet. “do you want me to hold your hand, princess?” he cooed, voice dragging over each syllable like it was rolling in honey and filth. “whisper how pretty you look while you say missionary is your favorite?”

you flailed, completely red, pressing your palm to his face and pushing him back with a groan. “shut uuuuuup, i hate you—”

“you love me,” he sang.

“you’ll love him more with his dick in you like an afterschool special,” shoko muttered, and you almost died.

“this is not how peer support groups work,” you whined.

“this is how our support group works,” geto corrected, cool as ice, brushing ash off his sleeve. “we support you… into making the worst decisions imaginable.”

“i hate this friend group.”

“you started it!” utahime yelled. “you could’ve said cowgirl and we would’ve moved on!”

“i wanted to be authentic!”

“authentic my ass,” nanami mumbled. “your idea of authentic includes handcuffs and a soundtrack.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

gojo grinned wider, tongue tucked behind his teeth, eyes narrow with mischief. “baby, you say one time, but your eyes are saying again.” you groaned, staring up at the string lights twinkling on the ceiling like they were your last remaining allies. “i hope you all choke on your weed.”

“romantic choking,” geto said.

“god is dead,” you muttered.

“he died in missionary,” shoko declared.

and the room screamed again.

the yelling hadn’t died down. it had evolved—evolved into a full-blown, unholy ritual, like you’d summoned something cursed just by saying “missionary” in this den of godless chaos. the music still thumped in the background—some bass-heavy beat vibrating low enough to shake the pool cues on the wall—but it was drowned beneath the choir of filthy voices rallying around your damnation.

“come onnnn,” haibara practically whined, dragging himself across the floor like a tragic little beast of pressure and peer influence. “just do it once. like, clinical trial shit. for science.”

“for data,” geto added solemnly, passing the joint back to you with all the pomp of a ceremonial dagger. “you know he’s down,” utahime said, gesturing lazily with her drink toward gojo. “he’s always down. satoru would do it with a smile on his face and his dick already out.”

“i’d do it with flowers,” gojo offered sweetly, chin in hand, smiling like the most deranged boy in a dating sim. “i’d put a little post-it on her hip that says you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“you are a menace,” you groaned, tossing the joint in the ashtray, flopping your head against the back of the couch. “okay, but for real,” shoko cut in, snapping her fingers like a sitcom villain. “we have to settle this. you can’t keep saying that’s your favorite and then not test it with the absolute worst candidate.”

gojo lit up. “i’m honored.”

“he’s dumb as shit,” nanami added, calmly wiping the bar down with a cocktail napkin like he wasn’t verbally assassinating his friend. “there’s no way he can make it romantic. not even ironically.”

“he’d come while trying to say something nice and end up crying,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the world’s most beautiful disappointment. “he doesn’t even know how to look romantic,” geto chimed in, now entirely leaned back and smoking like he was watching live theater. “that man sends memes after sexting.”

“he once tried to dirty talk me by saying i looked like i had good knees,” utahime added. the room died.

“they were good knees,” gojo whined.

“SEE?” shoko shrieked, pointing wildly. “this is what we’re dealing with! that’s who she wants missionary with! that’s what she calls romance!”

you covered your face, weakly laughing into your hands. “you’re all insane.”

“and yet,” nanami said smoothly, pouring himself another drink, “you’ve fucked most of us.”

your head snapped up. “WHAT—”

“you have,” shoko agreed, nodding casually like she was reading a wine label. “it’s canon now.”

“absolutely,” geto said, exhaling smoke like a sexy devil. “you’ve whored your way through 70% of this friend group. missionary with gojo would be the least slutty thing you’ve done.”

“don’t slut-shame me while calling me a slut,” you groaned, laughing despite yourself. “slut is not derogatory here,” shoko said, patting your thigh. “it’s like saying you’re talented. you’re our slut. community slut. the people’s princess.”

“i’m gonna cry.”

“oh, so now you wanna act innocent?” nanami’s voice was ice in a cocktail glass. “not when you were drunk texting me ‘wanna ruin my future?’ at 2am last weekend.”

“i was having a moment!”

“you were also wearing gojo’s hoodie with no pants and humping a pillow,” geto said, eyes glittering like he kept this memory polished for personal use. you slapped your palms over your face again. “can’t a girl be romantic in peace?”

“not in this house,” utahime deadpanned. “but like,” gojo piped up, head now resting on your thigh again, completely unbothered, probably hard, absolutely thrilled, “they’ve got a point.”

you looked down at him, exhausted. “i swear to god, satoru—”

“no no, hear me out,” he said, holding up both hands like he was offering a legal defense. “i’ve seen you horny for nanami just cause he tied his tie right. i’ve seen you get wet over geto saying the word ‘problematic.’ you let shoko suck a bruise into your thigh because she was bored.”

“and that was her fault,” you pointed to shoko. “i was drunk and passive.”

“uh huh,” she hummed, mouth twitching.

“all i’m saying is,” gojo said, sitting up now, hands on your knees, looking up at you like a dog who just learned to beg, “if you’re gonna be a slut, be an honest slut. missionary with me. prove them wrong. show them you’re a woman of taste and tragedy.”

you stared at him, mouth parted, blinking.

“this is sexual peer pressure,” you mumbled.

“this is justice,” geto corrected.

“this is foreplay,” gojo whispered with a wink.

“i hate you all,” you grumbled, cheeks hot, lips twitching despite yourself.

“but you’ll do it?” haibara asked, eyes wide and dumb and so hopeful.

“maybe.”

“HA!” gojo shouted, launching a throw pillow at shoko. “that’s a yes!”

“that’s not a yes—”

“you heard her!” geto called, standing up to stretch like a smug, half-naked giraffe. “she agreed! and now we shall bear witness to the least romantic, most catastrophic missionary session ever.”

“you’re gonna be pinned to the mattress like a frog in biology class,” shoko said, wheezing. “gojo’s gonna forget to take off his socks,” utahime muttered, disgusted. “you know i have those toe socks,” he said proudly.

you groaned again, but deep down your stomach fluttered with heat and laughter, and your thighs pressed together, and despite the chaos—despite all of it—you were already thinking about how it’d feel to have him above you, stupid, naked, sweet, mean, sloppy, and whispering something that almost sounded like love.

and stupidly, in the end, you look behind you as you walk toward the hallway with gojo—your hand clutched in his like a fucking idiot—with the bedroom door at the end blinking at you like it knew exactly how many sins were about to unfold inside it. he’s practically bouncing beside you, grinning with his arm slung around your waist like he won a prize at a fair and it was you, half-drunk, giggling, humiliated, and undeniably curious about how the stupidest fucking person in your friends group was about to missionary the everloving shit out of you.

you glance back once, just once, and of course—of course—the entire couch crew is watching, each one of them grinning like hyenas on bath salts.

shoko, drink in one hand, tongue out like she’s in a punk band photo shoot, flips you off and mouths, “TAKE THE D.”

nanami lifts his glass, deadpan as ever, and mouths, “condoms are in the drawer.”

haibara is full-on doubled over, clapping like you’re being sent off to war.

geto gives you the filthiest two-thumbs-up you’ve ever seen, followed by a pantomimed gesture that can only be described as “jackhammer pelvic annihilation.”

utahime just shrugs like “you brought this on yourself.”

you don’t know if you want to laugh or scream or combust.

you’re all stupid fucks.

and you’re the stupidest one of all.

gojo drags you through the door with a dramatic flourish, like you’re being ushered into a honeymoon suite, except it’s the spare bedroom in his overdesigned basement—dark walls, plush mattress, fairy lights clinging to the corners, a single massive bed that has held too many sleepovers, too many hangovers, too many half-naked bodies tangled under that navy comforter.

he slams the door shut behind him with an unnecessary thud and then locks it.

locks it with intent.

you look at him, raising an eyebrow.

he grins, all bright eyes and too much teeth, and says, “we don’t want anyone walking in on your emotional awakening.” you shove him in the chest, laughing despite the heat pooling low in your belly, but his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, the giddiness gone softer now, warmer.

“you really want this?” he asks, murmuring it against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting, fingers rubbing slow lazy circles against your spine. “you wanna prove ‘em all wrong?”

you tilt your head back, a little buzzed, a little high, heart thumping in your ears from the absurdity and anticipation and just… him—this dumb beautiful man who you’ve known since freshman year, who once drank a bottle of cooking wine on a dare, who calls you names that make your skin warm, who sends you memes at 2am and confesses his feelings with a smirk like it’s not real.

and now he’s asking like it’s the first time he’s ever taken anything seriously. you hum, smirk lazy, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “go on, missionary me, satoru.”

he laughs—not loud, not sharp, just this sweet, stupid, delighted sound that vibrates into your chest before he grabs your jaw, kisses you once, hard and messy and full of promise, and then gently backs you toward the bed like he’s actually going to try to make this romantic.

“i’m gonna missionary you so hard you’ll cry,” he says, completely deadpan.

“you’re such a fucking idiot,” you murmur.

“yours,” he whispers, pushing you down onto the mattress like prayer, like penance, like romance—but only if romance came with a hickey and a headboard slam.

gojo doesn’t even rush you, which is fucking weird. normally he rushes everything—his speeches, his shots, his half-baked plans that end with haibara covered in glitter and someone’s laptop in the bathtub. but now, now that you’ve willingly walked into this basement bedroom with him like some horny lamb in a thrifted hoodie, he moves slow. suspiciously slow. like he’s savoring it. like the thought of doing missionary—actual missionary, not his usual chaotic acrobatic nonsense—has turned into something sacred.

his hands are on your hips first, thumbs dipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts as he leans over you, not yet pushing you down but crowding you close enough that you feel the press of his grin against your skin.

“you sure you don’t want something more… you?” he murmurs, voice like a low vibration against your neck, smug and teasing, but softer than usual.

you blink up at him, lying back slightly on your elbows atop the bed, the fairy lights in the corners of the ceiling casting soft gold against his white hair, making him look like the dumbest, prettiest boy the devil ever handcrafted in a rush. his shirt is wrinkled, half unbuttoned from earlier when he got dramatic during your defense trial in the living room, and you can see the curve of his collarbones, the start of his chest. he’s flushed, high, and still smiling like he’s on a game show and he’s about to spin the wheel of “ruin your life.”

you smirk back. “you saying i’m not a romantic?”

he kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed and slow. “i’m saying you’re a slut with a dream.”

you groan. “fuck off.”

“i will,” he murmurs, mouthing just below your collarbone, “right after i make you fall in love with me like a virgin on prom night.”

you burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and you don’t push him far. his hands slide up your sides, dragging your shirt with them, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing bare skin. you can feel him watching your face, that infuriating way he always does, like he’s daring you to show how much you want him, how much you feel him even in these dumb, tender moments.

you let your head fall back on the mattress with a sigh, staring at the ceiling, arms up to let him pull your shirt the rest of the way off. the lights glow amber above you. the room smells like weed and gojo and leftover cologne and heat. you’re suddenly aware of how warm you are, how warm he is—kneeling one knee between your thighs now, eyes slow and greedy as they rake over your torso.

he runs his fingers up your stomach, watching the way your skin jumps under the touch. “see?” he says, voice soft but smug. “missionary’s good already. look how romantic this is. i haven’t even said the dumb shit yet.”

“say it,” you challenge, breath catching when he leans down again, kisses trailing over the swell of your breast, hands still warm and splayed along your ribs.

his mouth brushes your sternum. “you feel so pretty under my hands.”

your thighs twitch. “that’s not even a sentence.”

“shh,” he says, nuzzling the underside of your breast. “i’m practicing.”

his tongue flicks out, barely tasting your skin, not even on your nipple, just everywhere else—stupid, teasing little licks and kisses that feel more intimate than any fast-grab hookup ever did. one hand slides down to your hip, the other dragging along your arm, fingers lacing with yours, like he’s doing this half slow to spite everyone outside the door. look at us, he seems to say with every breath. look how fucking tender missionary can be.

“i swear to god if you light a candle—”

“i’m going to whisper how much i admire your work ethic.”

“satoru.”

he kisses the inside of your elbow.

“i’m gonna say i love your playlists.”

“oh my god.”

he climbs up, mouth ghosting over your jaw now, weight sinking into the mattress as he settles between your legs fully, both your hands pinned above your head with his, gaze locking onto yours with that glint—equal parts mockery and reverence. his breath is warm, lips millimeters from yours, teasing.

“i’m gonna make you come while telling you how smart you are.”

you stare, blinking, lips parting like you’re gonna come up with a good retort—and then moan when he shifts his hips, not even grinding, just pressing, enough friction to spark heat through the fabric.

he smirks.

“told you,” he whispers. “romantic’s just foreplay with better lighting.”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck like it’s trying to reach your brain and set fire to what little reason you have left. he’s too close. he’s too warm, too gojo, too smug, and the worst part is—he’s not even being his usual chaotic self. this is worse. this is soft. this is slow, deliberate, dragged-out torture disguised as affection, and it’s working way too fucking well.

your arms are stretched above you, wrists pinned by one of his big, veiny hands—so unnecessarily hot—while his other trails down your side again, fingers curling like he’s mapping you out by touch, like every new inch of bare skin is a piece of his personal love letter.

“you’re so warm,” he says, voice quiet now. a little surprised. “you always run hot?”

you groan, cheeks hot as hell. “satoru.”

“i like it,” he adds, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your wrist. “feels like you’re already worked up for me.”

you glare. “this is supposed to be romantic.”

“it is,” he grins, leaning down just enough to drag his nose along your jaw. “i’m romancing you right now. you’re being romanced. fully seduced. by my incredible personality and outstanding emotional depth.”

you burst out laughing, face turning toward the pillow to muffle the sound, and he takes the opportunity to mouth along your neck, pressing an open kiss just below your ear. not biting, not sucking, just soft and slow, his lips dragging along your pulse point like he’s trying to memorize your heartbeat.

his hand leaves your wrist, and you instinctively move to touch him, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, over your collarbone, across your shoulder, moving down with maddening patience. he pulls at your waistband gently, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s asking without words, and you nod, breath catching in your throat.

he slides your shorts down, dragging the fabric slowly past your thighs, kissing his way along your hipbone as he goes. nothing rushed. no bravado. just him and the stupid heat of his mouth on your skin, the gentle press of his hands as he settles between your thighs.

he exhales against your inner thigh like a sigh, like he’s been waiting his whole dumb life for this exact moment, and you shiver. “still think this isn’t romantic?” he asks, glancing up with a crooked smile, his breath ghosting over where you’re already embarrassingly wet.

you tug at his hair lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

“a romantic idiot,” he corrects, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “the best kind.” he kisses higher now, slow and trailing, hands rubbing soft patterns into your thighs as he settles deeper between them, anchoring you there like he’s making himself a new home.

“i’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispers, dragging his lips up toward the place you’re aching for. “gonna make you feel so fucking good… and the whole time, i’ll be looking at you like we’re married and i just made you breakfast.”

you snort. “is that your fantasy? missionary and eggs benedict?”

he hums against your skin, lips curving. “yeah, but you’re the eggs. i’m gonna ruin you.” you squeak, shoving at his head, but your legs don’t move. they can’t, not when he’s got them opened like this, not when his mouth is that close, not when your whole body’s vibrating from anticipation.

he chuckles again, smug and soft, and presses one more kiss just shy of where you want him, before leaning back up and dragging his body over yours, forearm bracing beside your head.

his mouth finds yours again, slow and coaxing, like he’s drinking from you, like every sound you make is holy. he kisses you like he’s got forever. like tonight’s the only night that matters. and even though it’s still teasing, still laced with filth and humor and all the usual gojo mess—you feel the care in it. the attention. the goddamn sweetness.

his nose brushes yours as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“missionary’s lookin’ pretty good right now, huh?”

you can’t speak. you just nod.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he murmurs, and kisses you again, deeper now, hungrier.

and somehow—stupidly, undeniably—it is romantic.

his kiss deepens and it changes something—slips out of that playful, teasing rhythm and sinks into a weightier kind of heat, slow and intentional. like he’s not just kissing you because he wants to, but because he needs to, like there’s something about your mouth he’s been thinking about every night he lay awake jerking off with his phone on silent and your face stuck in his memory.

gojo presses closer, one arm sliding beneath your back to lift you into him, like even now, he can’t stand a sliver of distance. your thighs fall open around his hips without resistance, your body pliant, high and fuzzy and ready, even as your brain’s still catching up, trying to convince you this is actually happening.

and still—still he doesn’t go for your panties yet. he’s grinding against them through his jeans, slow, careful, more like he’s testing pressure than chasing friction. he doesn’t need to rush, not with you already sighing into his mouth, your nails dragging light patterns over the back of his neck, legs wrapping around him like a question you don’t know how to ask.

he hums against your lips, low and pleased. his voice sounds deeper now, like it’s sitting low in his chest, like lust’s finally dragging it down out of his usual chirpy register and into something that sounds like intent.

“fuck,” he murmurs, breath hot against your cheek, “you feel so fuckin’ good already and i’m not even inside you.” his nose nuzzles yours as his hand ghosts down your side again, over your waist, over the soft of your hip, sliding slow between your thighs—warm and steady, pressing the heel of his palm against your center, not touching anything properly yet, just there, enough to make you buck a little without thinking.

he pulls back to watch you, eyes blown out, grin lazy and eyes focused in a way that’s almost too much—like he’s trying to memorize the way your face changes with each drag of his hand. “don’t hide your face,” he whispers, brushing hair from your forehead. “i wanna see everything. this is the romantic part, remember?”

you glare at him weakly, lip caught between your teeth. “you’re such a dick.”

he beams. “a romantic dick.”

his fingers hook into your waistband slowly, dragging your panties down your thighs, and even then he doesn’t move too fast. he stops just to kiss the crease of your thigh, to mouth the soft skin above your knee like he’s got nowhere else to be. he keeps talking under his breath, too—his filthy little monologue of worship and teasing:

“so pretty. so soft. you always smell this good? i shoulda done this years ago. god, the way you’re lookin’ at me right now—fuck. fuck. this is better than porn.”

you groan, hiding your face again. he just laughs and pulls your hands away, pinning them gently beside your head. “you’re not allowed to be shy now, babe,” he murmurs. “not after all that talk.” then, he grinds again—slow, hips rolling forward against your now-bare heat, his cock thick and hot through his jeans before he slowly push it off his legs, dragging perfectly along your slick folds, not in, not yet, just enough to make you whimper, thighs tightening around his hips.

you say his name and it breaks on your tongue, half a moan, half a warning. his mouth finds yours again, and it’s gentler this time, breathier, softer, like the kind of kiss you give someone after an argument, or a goodbye, or a promise. “this,” he whispers, between slow rolls of his hips, “is what they don’t get about missionary. it’s not boring.”

he kisses your cheek. your jaw. your throat.

“it’s close.”

he cups your breast with one hand, thumb brushing over your nipple until your back arches. “it’s eye contact.” he pushes the tip of his cock just barely against your entrance, just a tease, not even enough to press in, just the heat and pressure and promise, and it’s maddening. “it’s feelin’ every twitch you make.” his other hand cradles your face now, thumb brushing over your cheek, his eyes locked on yours.

“and when i finally fuck you—”

you tremble beneath him, fingers gripping his shoulders like you’re drowning.

“—you’re not gonna be able to look away.”

your breath catches. your lips part. your thighs shake.

and he’s still smiling, so slow, so patient, hips rocking against yours in a way that’s somehow sweeter than anything you’ve done with him before. “see?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “romance. just with more lube.”

his cockhead slides slick and hot along your folds—slow, teasing passes up and down the length of your pussy like he’s learning you by feel, like he’s savoring every tremble you can’t suppress. he doesn’t push in yet, just drags the tip lazily, catching your clit on the upstroke, smearing your slick over the flushed head with every patient, maddening grind. it’s warm and messy and obscene, his hips rolling slow, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, arms braced on either side of your head, body coiled but unhurried.

you’re breathing through your mouth now, lips parted, chest rising fast. his forehead’s still resting against yours, breath hot, both of you in this sticky, perfect moment suspended just before the fall. you lift one hand, threading your fingers into his hair—so soft, even now—and the other slips to the buttons of his shirt.

“i need—” you start, but don’t finish. he just nods.

you work the buttons open one by one, trembling fingers moving slow at first, then faster, frantic for skin. every button undone reveals more of him—long lines of lean muscle under smooth skin, flushed now, glowing in the golden halo of the fairy lights. his collarbones, his sternum, the subtle dip down the center of his chest, the way he moves above you with every breath—it’s fucking perfect. stupidly, unreasonably perfect.

your palms flatten against his chest, dragging down over the flex of his abs, feeling him shudder under your touch. he’s warm, a little sticky with sweat, skin like silk over steel. your nails graze his ribs and he gasps into your neck.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

“shut up and fuck me,” you breathe back, and it’s not even desperate—it’s reverent. his cock nudges against your entrance, hips rolling forward, and then he pushes. slow. impossibly slow. inch by inch, your pussy stretching around him, swallowing him, your breath caught in your throat as the fullness builds, thick and unbearable and perfect.

his forehead presses back to yours. his mouth drops open, eyes squeezed shut, groaning soft and hoarse like the pleasure hurts. you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him in deeper, your hands sliding up his back. your nails dig in—deep—carving red lines into the flex of his shoulder blades and down along his spine. he hisses against your lips, a sound that’s more pleasure than pain, hips stuttering.

“shit—baby—fuck—”

he bottoms out with a shaky grind of his hips, buried so deep inside you that you feel like you’ve been marked from the inside out. every twitch of him against your walls sends sparks up your spine. and he just stays there for a moment, not moving, breathing you in.

“you feel—” he tries, but then laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. “—i don’t have the words. you feel like heaven and punishment and fucking home.” your hands curl tighter into his back, your lips brushing his cheek as you whisper back, “i told you i was romantic.”

“you’re a fucking dream,” he whispers.

then his hips start to move.

his hips begin to move with the kind of slow, reverent rhythm that makes your throat tighten. like every inch he draws back is a silent apology, and every inch he pushes back in is a promise he’ll never leave. it’s not just sex—it's the ache of something bigger pressing down on both of you, thick in the air like incense, like heat, like the way his mouth brushes yours with every shallow thrust, not always kissing, just there, sharing breath, the smallest space between you charged and crackling.

you’re wrapped around him fully now—legs looped over his waist, hands tangled in the open cotton of his shirt that’s slipped halfway off his shoulders, your nails still painting invisible trails down his back. you can feel the burn where you scratched him raw, and he’s still groaning every time your nails dig a little deeper, like it feeds him, like he likes the proof of you on his body.

but it’s slow. fucking unbearably slow.

he’s not slamming into you like some desperate teenage fantasy. no—gojo is making love to you with the body of a sinner and the mouth of a man who knows every joke will hit harder with your cunt squeezing around his cock.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning through a groan, forehead still pressed to yours. “like—fuck, like you’re trying to keep me forever.” you whimper softly, one hand sliding into his hair, tugging at the roots just to feel him react. and he does, hips hitching slightly deeper, eyes fluttering shut as he pants against your cheek.

“that what this is?” he breathes. “romance as entrapment? mm—baby, if that’s what you’re after, you’ve got me.” he pulls out almost to the tip, dragging the ridge of his cockhead against your soaked entrance, then sinks back in slowly—too slowly—and you arch into him, breath catching with a soft, gasping moan.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice cracked. “listen to you.”

his hand slips between you now, palm flat against your stomach first, then lower, his fingers finding your clit like second nature, rubbing soft circles that match the slow grind of his hips. the pressure makes your thighs tighten around him, your hips canting upward, breath stuttering.

“so good,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “satoru—fuck—don’t stop.”

“never,” he promises, eyes locked on yours now, wide and bright and open, not cocky this time, not laughing—just full of that stupid, terrifying sincerity he hides under every joke. “fuck, you feel so good. so soft. warm. like your pussy’s in love with me even if your mouth won’t say it yet.”

you let out a broken laugh, hands clutching his shoulders, your body moving with his now, rolling into every thrust, every tender rub of his fingers over your clit. “i hate you,” you whisper, dazed, overwhelmed, completely gone.

he grins, mouth brushing yours again. “no, you don’t.”

“i really do—”

“then why’s your cunt fluttering every time i say something romantic?”

you choke on a laugh that dissolves into a moan, and he kisses it off your lips, his thrusts picking up just barely—still slow, still deep, but with a heat that builds under your skin, spreading outward like a wave you know you won’t survive. “missionary,” he breathes, like he’s blessing you with the word. “best position in the world.”

“fuck you—”

“you are,” he laughs, cock twitching inside you. “you’re so fucking mine right now.”

you grab his face, pull him down into another kiss—sloppy, wet, real, all tongue and teeth and heat. he’s moaning into your mouth now, every roll of his hips drawing a whine out of your throat, every filthy little circle of his fingers making your stomach twist tight. “you’re not allowed to be good at this,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “oh, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed back to yours, cock grinding deeper, his voice dropping low and filthy. “you haven’t even seen me try yet.”

his hips drag deep and slow like he’s sculpting the inside of you with his cock, and you’re shaking beneath him—sweat-damp skin sliding against his, toes curled, fingers sunk into his back so hard you know you’ll leave scratches he’s going to brag about for weeks. gojo’s face is buried against your throat, his breath coming out in broken little groans, every sound pitched high and wrecked like he’s unraveling with you, held together by nothing but the rhythm of his thrusts and the heat blooming in your core.

you’re soaked around him, clenching every time he rolls his hips into you with that slow, relentless grind that drags the thick head of his cock across your sweetest spot just right, again and again. the slick sound of him fucking you fills the room, obscene and wet, echoing off the walls like music behind the ragged whimpering of your breath and his deep, shuddering groans.

your thighs twitch around his waist, your head thrown back against the pillows, mouth open, voice cracking as you moan, “fuck—fuck—satoru—i’m gonna—i can’t—fuck—”

“yes, baby,” he pants, voice completely shot, wrecked and desperate, every word punctuated by a thrust that goes just a little harder, a little deeper. “come on, i feel you—shit, you’re squeezing me so—fuck, come for me, baby, come on me, i wanna feel you break—”

your back arches and you scream—loud, raw, real—hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, pussy fluttering around him, tight and hot and soaked. your entire body locks up, toes curling, thighs shaking violently as pleasure rips through you in sharp, electric pulses that have you gasping his name again and again—“satoru—satoru—fuckfuckfuck—oh my god—”

he’s losing it above you, losing his fucking mind, his cock twitching hard inside you as your walls milk him with every spasm. his forehead’s pressed to yours, mouth hanging open, breath coming in short, wrecked little moans—“f-fuck—oh fuck, baby, oh my god—your pussy’s choking me—gonna—gonna—i’m gonna—”

he slams into you one last time, hips jerking as he moans so loud right in your ear, deep and guttural and shaking with how hard he comes, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, filling you up, his whole body shuddering as he gasps, "oh fuck, yes—yesyesyes—oh my fucking god—yes."

you’re both panting, legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms pulling him down, needing him close even as your bodies tremble against each other. his cock is still twitching inside you, your walls still fluttering with aftershocks, and he’s breathing your name like he’s worshipping it, forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “that was—fuck—baby—i felt everything. you—you killed me.”

you laugh, hoarse and fucked-out, body buzzing like live wire. “missionary?” he pants, lips brushing yours. “best fucking position,” you gasp, still clenching around him, making him groan all over again.

he smiles. “god, i love being right.”

his body is still trembling against yours, muscles twitching under your hands as he slowly, reluctantly, starts to move again—like he’s not ready to let go of the feeling, like being buried in you with your legs locked around his waist is something he’d live inside if the world would just let him.

he’s panting into your neck, soft little exhales against your damp skin, and you can feel the shape of every breath, the way his chest stutters against yours like he’s still trying to come back to earth. and inside you, he’s still thick, still sensitive, every subtle squeeze of your cunt making him whimper.

you grin, dazed, half-dead, fully fucked out, dragging your nails up his back with gentle pressure now, tracing along the red welts you carved earlier like a painter admiring their masterpiece. “you’re leaking inside me,” you murmur, voice rough and slurred, hips shifting just enough to feel the warm, wet spill of him dripping down your thighs.

he groans, long and low, and lifts his head to look at you. his bangs are plastered to his forehead, eyes glassy and blown wide, lips swollen and parted as he breathes. there’s sweat at his temple, a flush high in his cheeks, and the expression on his face is somewhere between holy shit and i could marry you right now and cry doing it.

“you keep squeezing me like that, baby,” he says, voice shredded, “and i’ll give you another load without even moving.”

you laugh breathlessly, biting your lip, and he kisses you—messy, slow, full of tongue and heat and that unbearable sweetness that he only ever shows you in quiet moments like this. his hips roll forward just a little, and even though you’re both sensitive, you both moan, gasping against each other’s mouths.

“fuck,” you breathe, nails digging gently into his shoulder blades again. “you came so much, satoru.”

“‘course i did,” he pants, pulling back just enough to look down at where your bodies are still joined. he moves his hips in the slightest circle, still buried inside you, cock twitching, and watches your cunt flutter around him like it’s still begging for more.

“how could i not?” he continues, eyes wide, voice soft with shock. “you—you milked me. i didn’t even get to fuck you hard. you came and just took it from me. you robbed me. you’re a criminal.” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him back down into your chest. “you liked it.”

“i loved it,” he groans, pressing kisses to your collarbone, mouthing against your skin like he can’t stop. “missionary’s never gonna be the same. i’m gonna be useless. this pussy’s got emotional consequences.”

you snort, and he keeps talking like he’s possessed, rambling sweet and filthy things against your skin. “gonna write about this in my journal. not even a sex diary. just regular journal. ‘dear diary, the love of my life fucked me dumb in my own basement. i cried a little.’”

“you didn’t cry,” you say, even as you’re laughing again.

“not yet.”

you’re still full of him, and he’s still twitching inside you like he’s thinking about round two, and honestly—you are too. the room’s still glowing soft with the fairy lights. your bodies are stuck together with sweat and come and the kind of heat that doesn’t cool easy. your thighs are sticky around his hips. his fingers haven’t stopped stroking your side. you can hear your friends still laughing distantly from the living room, and none of it matters.

he presses his forehead to yours again, noses brushing. “you wanna go again?” he asks, voice soft now, full of a wicked little smile. “slow this time. slower than this.”

you blink at him.

“that was slow.”

he grins. “i can go slower.”

your breath catches, your body already aching in the best way.

“what, you gonna put on music and cry while you fuck me?”

“only if you want me to,” he whispers, and then kisses you again, tender and deep.

and god help you—you might.

after a few moments of so-called dramatic silence—it’s not, because gojo’s incapable of shutting up even post-orgasm—you finally sigh, drop your head back with a groan, and sit up on the edge of the bed, still dazed, still soaked, still trying to remember how to be a functioning human being. your thighs stick together when you shift. the air is thick with sex and sweat and that particular smugness that only gojo satoru can radiate like body heat.

meanwhile, he’s half-dressed and strutting around like a peacock that just won a dance battle. his jeans are back on—sloppily buttoned, zipper half-down, belt missing—and his shirt is absolutely not on because it’s somewhere across the room where he tossed it like a used napkin. he’s humming to himself as he pokes through the wreckage of the bed’s surroundings, eyes sparkling like he just found religion.

“where the hell did your bra go?” he mutters, pulling a sock off the lampshade and examining it like it might transform. “jesus, did i eat it?—oh, nope. got it. it was under my back.”

you groan again, arms folded across your chest, hair a tangled halo around your face, watching him with your chin tucked against your knees. “can you just—bring me my shirt before you go on another satoru soliloquy?”

“no can do, miss missionary evangelist,” he says, holding your crumpled shirt in one hand and dramatically placing your bra over his shoulder like a sash. “not until you publicly acknowledge that you were wrong and i, gojo satoru, bringer of orgasmic truth, proved—beyond reasonable doubt—that missionary is the best position known to mankind.”

you throw a pillow at him.

it hits his face, bounces off, and he keeps smiling.

“fine,” you mutter, reaching out as he steps in close. “yes. missionary with you, the stupidest man in our group, was good. amazing. disgustingly good.”

“romantic,” he corrects, kneeling in front of you now, the shirt falling from his hand onto your lap, the bra dangling from two fingers as he smirks up at you. “romantically stupid,” you clarify, grinning despite the embarrassment curling under your skin.

“they’re gonna die when they hear you let me make love to you like a Jane Austen adaptation,” he says, gently nudging your thighs apart so he can help you step into your underwear. “haibara’s gonna combust. shoko’s gonna stage an intervention.”

“shoko’s gonna accuse me of spiritual regression,” you say, lifting your hips so he can slide the fabric back over them. “and i’m gonna prove her wrong. i’m gonna look her in the eyes and tell her: ‘even doing missionary with the dumbest man i know, it was still the best.’ and you know what? i’m gonna mean it.”

gojo grins like the devil with a heart of gold.

“now that’s the kinda testimonial i wanna hear in a courtroom,” he says, fingers dragging slowly up your thighs, hooking your shorts next. “tell the jury, sweetheart. tell ‘em what it felt like.” you swat his shoulder, cheeks flushing again. “just help me put my bra on, casanova.”

he does—surprisingly gently, fingers cool against your back, hooking the clasp with practiced ease before pulling your shirt down over your head, smoothing the fabric over your hips like he’s dressing a doll he won in a fucked-up carnival game. and when he stands up again, you reach for his bicep, eyes catching on the faint red lines blooming just under the curve of his muscle.

your fingers trace one—long, angry, scabbed slightly already. the mark from your nails. from when you came so hard you clawed him like you were drowning in him. your breath catches a little.

“does that hurt?” you ask, voice low, thumb brushing it softer now.

he looks down at your hand. then at you.

and grins.

“hurt? no, baby. it’s proof.”

“proof of what? that i mauled you like a cat in heat?”

“proof that missionary ruins lives.” you choke on a laugh, and he throws his arms out dramatically, flexing the arm with the red lines like a trophy. “i’m gonna show everyone,” he says proudly. “i’m gonna walk out there and tell them: this? this was earned through slow, passionate, eye-contact-heavy fucking.”

you blink. “you’re gonna brag about being scratched during tender sex?”

“hell yes i am. this is a scarlet letter and i’m wearing it with pride.”

you bury your face in your hands.

“i’m gonna have to move cities.”

he leans down, kisses your hair, still giddy.

“no you’re not. you’re gonna go out there, sit on that couch, and smile smugly while they cry about how you got the good shit.”

“what, missionary?”

he winks. “romantic missionary.”

you shake your head, grabbing his hand to stand up with a sigh. your legs still tremble slightly, and he catches you with an arm around your waist. “we tell them,” he whispers in your ear, “but we don’t tell them everything.”

“deal.”

you walk out first, mostly because gojo insisted on dramatically opening the door for you like some fucked-up victorian husband escorting his blushing bride after the most sacred consummation of their union—which is rich, considering there was nothing sacred about what just happened unless you count the part where you saw god for a few seconds while pinned beneath the dumbest man in your life.

the moment the door creaks open, the silence is immediate and vicious. like the eye of a hurricane. the group sprawled across the living room snaps their heads toward the hallway in unison like a pack of wild animals smelling the aftermath of debauchery—and the look on their faces?

oh yeah. they know.

you’re glowing. not figuratively. literally. your skin’s flushed and gleaming with sweat, your shirt slightly off the shoulder, your lips swollen, your hair a disaster that no dry shampoo or dignity could save. a fresh constellation of hickeys blooms across your neck like you had a one-night stand with the concept of poor decision-making. you’ve got that post-sex daze in your eyes—the kind that says your soul left your body for twenty-seven minutes and came back softer.

and gojo?

gojo looks worse. or better, depending on how deranged your standards are.

shirtless. completely unbothered. jeans slung low like gravity’s trying to preserve the last shreds of your dignity and failing. his hair’s a wild mess, fluffed and chaotic, the way it always gets when you’ve pulled it hard—and oh, you did. his face is pink and flushed, lips bitten, pupils blown, and he’s got this grin, this absolutely illegal, felony-level smug grin, like he just won a championship no one else knew they were playing.

his back and arms are fucking wrecked. scratch marks everywhere. some long and shallow, others deep and angry, crisscrossing like tally marks on a prison wall. his biceps? ruined. shoulders? decorated. lower back? absolutely mauled. he’s walking like a man who survived the trenches and wants everyone to know it. he’s not even pretending to be humble.

you both step into the room and immediately—

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—” haibara lets out a guttural scream like he’s witnessing a murder. he drops the pool cue he wasn’t even holding right and clutches his face. “you look—he looks—i didn’t even know backs could bruise like that,” utahime says, pointing, voice somewhere between horrified and hysterical.

shoko slowly sits up straighter, blinking at your neck, her eyes narrowing as she catalogues the damage. “that’s… impressive. Disgusting, but impressive.” geto whistles low, lounging on the couch with his legs crossed like he’s the judge in a porno talent show. “is that a bite on your collarbone? did you actually leave teeth marks?”

gojo throws an arm around your shoulder like a victorious war hero returning home, full of glory and sin and not a shred of guilt. “ladies,” he says, voice hoarse and soaked in self-satisfaction, “gentlemen. sluts of all genders. i am here to confirm that romantic missionary is not dead.”

you smack his chest but don’t move away.

you’re already laughing, breathless, flushed, and shameless. “even with him,” you announce to the room, lifting your chin, “missionary is still the best position. maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

dead silence.

and then the couch erupts.

haibara throws a pillow at you so hard it ricochets and hits nanami in the face. utahime screams. shoko collapses backward, legs kicking, full-body laughing like a woman betrayed. geto claps slow and dramatic, head shaking. “you’ve broken her,” shoko howls, “she’s gone, she’s converted. next she’ll say handholding’s hot!”

“it is,” gojo says, absolutely delighted. “you’re a slut,” utahime says, pointing at you, but her voice is grinning. “every position is the best for you. you could get railed in a dentist chair and you’d moan about how it’s your new favorite.”

“i’m versatile,” you say proudly, flicking your hair like it isn’t a crime scene. “you’re deranged,” nanami mutters, finally lifting his head just to sip something dangerously amber. “no, no, wait,” haibara gasps, pointing at gojo. “he still doesn’t have a shirt on. why doesn’t he have a shirt on? is that blood? IS THAT BLOOD?”

“scratches, sweetheart,” gojo coos, turning around like a model showing off his back to the judges. “proof of passion. her nails did all this. i am but a humble canvas.”

“he moaned when i did it,” you add, deadpan.

shoko screams into a cushion.

“i need bleach for my eyes,” utahime mutters. geto nods solemnly. “i knew missionary would be the one to take you down. i didn’t think it would actually work.”

gojo slumps dramatically into the couch, dragging you with him, arms still around your waist like he can’t let go now that he’s ruined you emotionally and spiritually. he kisses your temple with obnoxious affection, legs spread wide like a man proud of the ruin he left behind.

“this,” he says, motioning to his face, “is the face of a man who made love and won.” you lean back against his chest, sighing like a satisfied villain. “and this is the face of a woman who has no regrets.”

utahime flings her slipper across the room.

“take your slutty love story and get the fuck out.” and all you can do is laugh, tangled with the man who made missionary feel like a religious experience, glowing like a filthy miracle, while your friends spiral in the wake of your post-sex enlightenment.

the scene that follows is nothing short of a cinematic meltdown, a group mental collapse broadcast in full color under the low glow of gojo’s cursed mood lighting. the basement already reeked of weed and spilled cheap whiskey, but now it’s thick with the stench of defeat. your victory. his absolute, unapologetic, shirtless triumph.

gojo leans back into the couch like he owns the fucking place—well, he does, technically, but now it’s like he owns the narrative, the mythos. his arms spread over the back of the cushions, one dangling casually behind your shoulders, the other resting across your thigh like a hand claiming territory. he’s not even pretending to put his shirt back on anymore. it lies somewhere in the corner, forgotten, like decency itself. his chest gleams with sweat and scratches. his hair looks like a bird tried nesting in it during the act. and he smiles.

that dumb, cocky, post-sex smile like he just unlocked a new religion and you’re the first disciple.

you’re still glowing. cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, shirt stretched from being pulled halfway over your head at one point and now just barely covering the constellation of hickeys painted from your neck to your collarbone. you look like you just committed a crime and are so proud of the mugshot.

“it wasn’t just good,” you declare, fingers lazily adjusting your hair with all the grace of a slutty war general. “it was enlightenment. i saw god and she winked at me.”

“was she into missionary too?” geto asks, eyes squinting as he exhales smoke through his nose.

“she invented it,” you say solemnly.

shoko’s lost in the corner of the couch, one sock off, one sock on, a throw blanket over her head as she moans, “i am going to exorcise this entire night from my memory. i am going to bleach my soul.” utahime looks at you, then gojo, then you again, pointing a trembling finger as she says, “the worst part is you’re not even ashamed. you’re not even pretending.”

“what is there to be ashamed of?” gojo grins, tilting his head and stretching his legs out like a lounge chair with a heartbeat. “i made her come with eye contact and emotional intimacy. you’re welcome.”

“you did not make me cry,” you say through your teeth, blushing all over again.

he just hums and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you wanted to cry.”

“you literally told me you’d fall in love with me if i kept clenching.”

“and did you?” he raises an eyebrow.

you flick his nipple. he gasps like a scandalized housewife.

“anyway,” you sigh dramatically, like you didn’t just have your soul rearranged missionary style by a man who can’t name five vegetables, “i stand by it. even with gojo. especially with gojo. missionary is the best position ever.”

haibara’s curled up in the fetal position on the beanbag, face buried in a throw pillow, groaning loud enough to qualify as a siren. “i hate this timeline. i hate this dimension.”

“you’re all just mad it wasn’t you,” gojo chirps.

“no one wants to do missionary with you!” utahime shouts.

“she did,” he says smugly, nudging you with his knee.

“she’s a slut!” shoko yells from beneath the blanket. “every position is the best for her! she’d say reverse piledriver is romantic if you called her ‘sweetheart’ while doing it!”

you shrug unapologetically. “what can i say? i value connection.”

“you value getting railed while someone holds your hand,” nanami deadpans, not even looking up from the book he inexplicably pulled out sometime during this hellish conversation.

“yes, and?”

“honestly?” geto exhales smoke, eyes thoughtful. “it’s kind of poetic.”

“oh don’t you start,” utahime groans.

gojo tucks his chin over your shoulder now, holding you close, his voice a warm hum in your ear. “i’m gonna write a manifesto. ‘missionary for the modern man: an erotic treatise.’ subtitle: with love, and balls-deep penetration.”

you start laughing so hard you nearly fall off the couch.

“you’re insane,” you say, wheezing.

“i’m revolutionary,” he murmurs, planting a kiss just behind your ear. “i’m a pioneer. i’m the christopher columbus of tender fucking.”

“he committed genocide,” you say.

“okay,” gojo says, thoughtful, “then i’m the neil armstrong of romantic nut.”

“you didn’t discover the moon, satoru,” nanami says flatly.

“maybe she’s my moon,” gojo murmurs, dramatically clutching his chest, “and i left my footprints all over her surface.”

you grab a throw pillow and smack him in the face.

he catches it, kisses it, throws it back.

your friends are all either screaming, sobbing, or plotting your deaths.

but you?

you’re smiling.

and glowing.

and still a little sore in the best fucking way.

#jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru smut #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #anime smut #gojo fluff #jjk fic

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disgustingtwitches · 10 months ago

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MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141 (pt. 4)

You thought it was a mistake when someone called in reserving a party of 14 for a birthday. The voice on the other line assures you it is not, and that they'll be arriving at 7pm. You inform everyone.

"Who wid want a birthday in this shithole?"

Johnny gaffaued, spraying down some dishes.

"Probably just a prank call."

Kyle replied, arms wrapped around your waist and head resting on your shoulders. But it wasn't a prank call. The first half of the party arrive and you and Gaz have to scramble to push tables together. It's overwhelming, everyone is talking all at once, demanding things left and right. Gaz swoops in to help deal with one half the table while you the other. The food comes out, leaving you to be able to sit in the back for a few minutes, talking to the guys about nothing. Walking back out, some older man was snapping his fingers at you, waving his arms as if they weren't the only fucking people in the joint.

"Steaks burnt to hell, remake it."

He slides the plate to you, making you catch it before it falls off the side of the table. You apologize profusely and send it back to the kitchen. Price raises an eyebrow,

"Looks fine to me."

He stares at the piece of charcoal on the plate.

"Fucks sake, lemme do it."

Simon grabs his shoulder and cooks another steak. You set it down infront of the old man, watching him take a bite. He throws his fork down,

"Still burnt. How hard is it to cook a fucking steak?"

You look at the plate, meats still pink in the middle. Apologize again and offer to remake it.

"No, don't bother. Jesus."

He stares daggers into you. You wring your hands nervously.

"Actually, everyone's food was shit. None of us should have to pay for this."

Your mouth goes dry. You look over your shoulder to meet eyes with Kyle at the bar. He immediately walks over.

"Everything alright?"

He puts on his nicest customer service voice and that charming smile that can melt anyone. Except this asshole apparently.

"No everything is not alright, this was the worst dining experience I've ever had! Everything came out wrong, and it all tastes like shit!"

Spit flies out from the mans mouth. Kyle stands between you and the customer, trying to diffuse the situation. And much to your horror, one by one, the table starts to leave. You try to say something but they ignore you.

"Go get Johnny."

You run back, trying to act casual in front of Simon and John while tugging Johnny by the sleeve. He looks down, concerned.

He's on the floor before you can finish telling him what happened,

"Ye'r gonnae have tae pay sir."

His tone is more firm than Gaz, arms crossed and looking down at the old man. You're almost in tears as you watch more of the table file out the door, you turn back to look at Gaz. He frowns, furious. There's a heated argument at the table, the old man is yelling now. Not at Kyle or Johnny, but the only person he wasn't afraid of; you. The commotion makes John and Simon step out. This idiot is gonna get himself killed. You can see the moment when the customer loses the fight in his eyes. Shuts right up as soon as Simon says,

"Problem?"

Like a fish out of water, all the old man does is open and close his mouth wordlessly.

"Grab the cheque."

You don't know who Simon said that to but you and Soap crash into each other turning around and walking to the POS system. Ghost gently grabs the bill from your shaky hands and shoves it into the customers chest,

"Cash only."

"I don't have cash."

"There's an ATM around the corner."

The old man nearly jumps out of his seat,

"Right. Be right back."

He rushes to the door, Kyle and John follow.

"Oh there's no need-"

"Making sure you don't get lost."

Kyle smiles, eyes dangerous. It's about five minutes when they're back, the old man placing some 20s down before complaining under his breath. Then he gets kicked out,

"I need my change!"

He looks over Johnny's shoulder, looking to you for help. You shrug, arms crossed. When the door closes you sigh, running fingers through your hair

"You alright, darling?"

Gaz asks, voice as sweet as ever, gentle hand on your face. You nod.

That evening was pleasant. More than that really. They pampered you, cooed and soothed you as you huffed and sniffled. Ran you a hot bath,

"Poor thing, dinnae deserve tha."

Johnny massaged shampoo into your hair.

"Won't let you stay around next time we deal with something like that again."

Kyle kneaded the tension out your shoulders. John sat you in his lap, brushing hair out of your face while saying sweet nothings. You really do enjoy milking this for all it's worth, sad eyes looking up and huffing like you didn't get over that bullshit as soon as that old man walked out the door.

"Pampered little princess, you know that?"

Simon's lips are pressed up to your neck, just under your ear. You just nod, his words rattling around your brain while you got fucked senseless. You're tired, but the boys promised to coax an orgasm out of you. From each one of them. Then another. Well, you're a trooper, so what's one more round? Showered with soft kisses and praise, a foolish smile is painted across your face in a pleasurable state of stupor; Gosh, aren't you just spoiled rotten?

**sorry if it's short! I am on holiday ( ╥ω╥ )**

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keeryhours · 8 months ago

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please please please - eddie munson

Eddie Munson x female! Hopper! reader

Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Eddie is no stranger to the Hawkins legal system. It’s no surprise to anyone when he’s dragged in in cuffs again, but it is unexpected when someone catches his eye - the police chief’s daughter.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, a little bit of sub!eddie, delinquent!eddie, talk of drugs, weed use

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N:

I’ve been stuck in the worst writing slump! So glad to finally finish something I feel good about and share with you guys :)

—

You spent most days after school sitting around the Hawkins police station, working on your homework until your dad was ready to take you both home. You weren’t the biggest fan of sitting in the empty house alone, and waiting for him here beat having to walk home since you still didn’t have a car.

You sat at an empty desk, chin in your hand as you tapped the pencil against your paper. The gentle chatter of the station filled your ears. You were bored, tired of fighting with your math homework, wishing you could be off with your friends instead of here.

The sound of the door opening abruptly caught your attention, your eyes moving to the source of the noise. Officer Callahan came in, leading a man in cuffs. A man - as if you ever could have mistaken Eddie Munson. The ‘Freak’ of Hawkins High. With his tall, lanky build, his mess of curly hair, and his metalhead attire, he was hard to miss.

Your dad stepped out of his office, a hand running over his mustache with a sigh. “What are you doing in my station again, Munson? Didn’t you and I have a good talk?”

“Just missed ya so much, Hop,” Eddie quipped back with a grin, looking much too cheerful for his current predicament.

“Caught him trespassing at the old factory,” Officer Callahan supplied, holding onto Eddie by the back of his jacket.

“Drugs?” Jim Hopper asked.

“Just half a joint,” Callahan answered.

Hopper let out another deep sigh. “I’m trying to work with you here, Eddie. This is your fifth arrest this school year alone. Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you ending up behind bars for years of your life.”

Eddie shook his head with a grin, curls bouncing wildly. “I hear ya, Hop. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Evidently I do,” Hopper muttered. “How about this? You can spend the night here with us tonight, and you can think about whether that’s how you want to spend your life.” He claps Eddie on the shoulder hard before he’s turning to walk back into his office.

Officer Callahan leads Eddie through the station, Eddie smiling at the other officers as they pass like they’re on a first name basis, which they probably are. When his eyes meet yours, his grin grows even wider. He has a beautiful smile, which is something you’re just now noticing for the first time. He’s really hot in general, you realize. Only when your heart starts beating out of your chest at his attention. He shoots you a flirty wink as he passes, and then Callahan is roughly taking him back to the cells.

You think about Eddie for the rest of the day. Even when your dad comes out, pulling on his coat and says it’s time to head home. Even when you’re riding home in the passenger seat of the police vehicle, Hopper trying to make conversation about your day. When you sit down and eat dinner together. And especially as you’re laying in bed in the silence of the night.

You’re leaving school 2 days later, walking through the parking lot with your backpack slung over your shoulder when you’re stopped by a voice.

“Hey, Hopper!”

You turned at the sound, eyebrows raising at the sight of Eddie Munson walking towards you. “Weird to say that name and not be talking about your dad,” Eddie laughed when he reached you, a hand running through his curls.

You looked at him, confused why he was talking to you in the first place. “Uh, can I help you?”

Eddie gave you that big smile, bowing his head to you. “I was hoping you might do me the honors of spending the afternoon with me.”

You looked at him skeptically. “Me? Why?”

“Why not?” Eddie laughed, and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful of a smile he had again. “You seem cool. I want to get to know you better.”

That was how you found yourself in the back of Eddie Munson’s van, watching his long fingers rolling up a joint. Some kind of metal blasted from the car’s speakers, some band you definitely weren’t familiar with. Your stomach was in knots as you watched him deftly roll the paper.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you asked as Eddie finished up, realizing you’d run out of time to stall.

“‘Course it’s okay,” Eddie laughed, running his tongue along the paper. You watched intently as his long tongue poked out to trail along the seam of the joint. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“My dad…”

Eddie waved you off before you even finished your sentence. “Hop’s never gonna know. Calm down.” He produced a lighter from his pocket and handed you both with a flourish. “M’lady.”

You took them from him cautiously, as if they might explode in your hand. You looked over the foreign object. You were pretty sure you knew which side to light.

Your inspection was interrupted by Eddie’s chuckling. “You really haven’t done this before, huh?”

Your eyes met his and you blushed, casting your gaze downwards. “No. I’ve never smoked anything.”

“Ooh, a good girl,” Eddie teased, reaching forward to pluck the joint from your fingers. “I’ll get it started for you, baby.”

Your cheeks heated even more at the pet name, but you watched as Eddie placed the joint between his lips (you were correct about which side gets lit, at least) and flicked the lighter, bringing it to his face. The flame caught evenly, burning perfectly as Eddie breathed in a long drag. Once he’d taken two big puffs, he handed it back to you.

You took it from him with shaking hands. You brought it to your lips and breathed in just like you’d watched Eddie do - only to feel like your throat was on fire and start coughing your lungs out.

Eddie laughed hard, reaching to grab you a bottle of water. “It’s okay. Just try again. You don’t have to take a huge hit.”

Once your coughing fit had ended and you’d wiped the tears off your face, gratefully accepting the water bottle and taking a big sip, you worked up the courage to try again. You breathed in slower this time, following the instructions Eddie was giving you. This time you were able to get the smoke into your lungs and hold it there, letting it out in a shaking breath before you started coughing again.

“Atta girl!” Eddie praised, taking the joint back from you and bringing it back to his own mouth. “You’re a natural. Knew you’d like it.”

It didn’t take long before you began to feel it. The music sounded so good you just had to sway along, and everything Eddie said was so funny. Time felt like it moved in slow motion and life looked like you were watching a movie.

“Enjoying yourself?” Eddie asked, making himself nice and comfortable in the back of the van. His long legs were spread out before him, crossed at the ankles while his hands rested intertwined on his stomach.

You nodded, a dopey smile on your face. “Yeah, I’m…having a great time,” you said before falling into a fit of giggles.

Eddie laughed along with you. “Yeah, looks like it.” He looked you over, like he was admiring every part of your body. “I knew I could get you to loosen up.”

His music sounded heavenly in your ears now. You were so warm and cozy, you could have stayed here all night. You spent most of the night there with Eddie, just talking and laughing about any and everything. You realized it had been a long time since you’d laughed so hard and felt so free.

Eddie drove you home, thankfully early enough that you beat your dad there. Your head still felt fuzzy but you weren’t as blasted as you had been.

“Thanks,” you said shyly as you climbed out of the van. “For the ride home and the, uh…weed.”

Eddie gave you that huge grin again. “Any time, sweetheart.”

You spent yet another night with your thoughts full of Eddie. He was actually a cool person. But you knew your dad would never approve of that friendship, or what you had been up to tonight.

Hopper came home with pizzas in hand. You were relieved, since you’d had the munchies for hours and the snacks you and Eddie had devoured in the back of the van had long since worn off. He looked at you suspiciously when you laughed far too hard at his cheesy dad jokes, but didn’t question you.

You and Eddie were fast friends after that. Spending just about every day after school together, getting high, exploring abandoned buildings you weren’t supposed to be at, sitting in on Corroded Coffin band practice and Hellfire Club meetings. You had become near inseparable, something that was strange to his friends when he first brought you around, but now you were like a package deal. Where Eddie went, you were sure to follow, and vice versa.

Eddie continued having his run-ins with the Hawkins police, including your father. It seemed he was just incapable of staying out of trouble. He got bored, and once that boredom hit, he was sure to be off doing something stupid to entertain himself, no matter how you put your foot down or begged him not to.

You could hardly even be surprised when you were home one night and Hopper walked in, looking pissed as hell and grumbling under his breath as he slid off his jacket.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him, brows furrowed. You hadn’t seen him come home this worked up very often.

Hopper turned towards you, eyes softening as he took in his daughter’s face, not wanting to take his frustration out on you. He sighed again. “It’s that Munson kid. Caught him doing a deal and he ran. Had to put a warrant out for him.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised, but your mouth nearly dropped. You reined it in, however, since your dad isn’t even supposed to know you know Eddie at all. “Wow,” is all you can think to offer.

Hopper began heading towards his bedroom to shower and change before dinner. “I have tried and tried to help that boy,” he muttered, seemingly only to himself. “But he just doesn’t want the damn help.”

Eddie was on your mind as usual that night, but this time it was worry. You tossed and turned in bed once you laid down. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

Ping. Ping.

The sound of something hitting your window jolted your attention in that direction. Sure enough, the sound came again, accompanied by a pebble smacking against the glass.

You climbed out of bed in your pajamas, feeling nervous as you approached the window. You pushed it open, leaning your head outside.

“Eddie?”

Sure enough, the metalhead stood beneath your window, looking more disheveled than usual. He gave you a big smile. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair…”

You rolled your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice as low as possible. Because really, how dumb is he to show up to the police chief’s house when there’s a warrant out for his arrest?

“Needed to see you,” Eddie said simply with a shrug of his shoulders. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, eyebrows raised high.

“Does it matter?” Eddie smiled.

You debated on it. You knew this was a terrible idea. But hell, it was more fun than being in your room alone. You held up a finger telling him to give you a minute before you slipped back into the room and threw on a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie over the t-shirt you were sleeping in. Socks and sneakers on your feet and then you were climbing out your window for the first time ever, falling to the ground safely with Eddie’s assistance. His hands lingered on your hips once you were on the ground, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks.

Eddie had parked his van around the block. The two of you walked together in mostly silence, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves. Once you were safely in the van it felt like you could breathe again. Eddie cranked his music up, and took off.

“Are we fugitives now?” you teased, nighttime breeze blowing through the open window and whipping your hair around your face.

“Just me,” Eddie laughed. You laughed too, even though nothing about the situation was funny, really.

Eddie pulled the van to a stop on a back road, a spot hidden from prying eyes. “I thought we could sit here and just hang out,” Eddie explained as he saw you taking in your surroundings. “Maybe smoke a little, listen to music, whatever you want.”

That’s how you ended up in the back of the van again, a common hangout for the two of you. A joint shared between you and good music playing through the car’s speakers, you were both feeling amazing. You sat next to him, leaned against his shoulder as you enjoyed each other’s company.

“I always thought you were so pretty, you know.”

The words caught you so off guard you suspected you’d imagined them. But you turn to Eddie and he’s looking right at you, like he’s waiting for you to say something. Like he’s nervous.

“Y-you did?” is all you’re able to respond.

Eddie smiled softly. “Yeah, of course.” His hand comes up to cup your cheek gently. “I still do. You are pretty. The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire. You knew you had to be red as a tomato right now, and you hoped the dim lighting in the van was enough to hide it from Eddie’s searching eyes. You knew you needed to say something, but you couldn’t make the words come out of your mouth.

Eddie brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. He was looking at you so intensely now, it made your heart beat out of your chest. He calls your name, and it sounds more beautiful on his tongue than you’ve ever heard it.

“I like you,” he said, looking right into your eyes. “I really like you. You’re the coolest girl I’ve ever met. And you’re hot, funny, smart. The whole package.”

You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of Eddie’s mouth, and you were pretty sure the weed was making your brain work in slow motion. But he wasn’t laughing at his own joke, or saying he didn’t mean it. He was looking into your eyes, waiting for you to say something, anything, back.

“I…” you began, quickly realizing your throat was extremely dry. Eddie handed you a water bottle with a chuckle, and you took it gratefully. Once the water had soothed your throat (and given you a second to stall), you had enough courage to turn back to him. “I…I like you, too.”

Eddie’s face lit up at your words. “Yeah? You do?”

He was so cute, like an excited puppy. It was so easy to forget that this guy saw the police station as a second home and had a warrant out for his arrest that very moment. You briefly wondered if being here with him put yourself in any legal trouble, but you also didn’t really care. “Yeah. I really do.”

Eddie’s hand remained on your cheek, thumb rubbing softly over your skin. He brought his other hand to your other cheek, and then he was pulling you in. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you let him pull you until his lips were on yours.

Kissing Eddie felt more natural than you ever could have thought. It felt like you had always been doing this, his lips so familiar to you it was like you knew exactly what to do to drive him wild. Or maybe that was just the effect you had on him.

Eddie’s hands began to wander as you kissed him back deeply, leaving your face to trail up your thigh and to your hips, rubbing your sides over your hoodie.

He reached for the hem of your hoodie and quickly pulled it over your head. You were left in the thin pajama shirt, no bra underneath. You prayed he couldn’t see your nipples through your shirt, but with the way he was staring, you suspected he could.

“So hot,” Eddie moaned, his large hands reaching out to grasp your breasts over your shirt. Chills spread through your body as his fingers trailed over your hard nipples, and he moaned again. He groped at your tits for a while until he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled your shirt over your head, hands going straight back to your now-bare breasts. He leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, his fingers still working the other.

The sensation caught you off guard and you gasped, a hand involuntarily shooting up to grab ahold of Eddie’s curls and accidentally pulling, which made him groan against your skin. Moans spilled from your mouth as he ran his tongue over your nipple, circling around it before puckering his lips around it and sucking. You arched your back into his mouth, wanting more, more of this feeling Eddie was providing that was making you feel like you had died and gone to heaven.

Eddie switched sides, wrapping his hot mouth against your other nipple as he attended to the other with his fingers, rubbing and pinching. The wetness left on your now exposed nipple made the cool air even more noticable against the sensitive bud. Your head leaned back against the wall of the van as Eddie worshiped your tits, his jeans growing uncomfortably tight. He palmed himself, desperate for some relief on his aching cock.

He pulled off your nipple with a pop and moved back to your lips, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and licking everywhere he could reach, kissing you hungrily, filthily. You were both moaning into each other’s mouths, tongues tangled together, trading heavy breaths between you. You could feel your clit throbbing, you couldn’t remember the last time you had been so turned on.

“I’m so hard for you,” Eddie moaned against you, biting down on your bottom lip harshly. You let out a mix between a gasp and a moan, making Eddie chuckle darkly.

“Can I…feel?” you asked, feeling shy.

Eddie groaned at the question, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “God, baby, you don’t even have to ask.”

Nervous, you reached over towards the bulge in his jeans. It looked intimidating enough from here. The second your palm pressed against it Eddie let out a desperate sounding groan, pushing his hips up against your hand even harder. You could feel that he was absolutely rock hard. It surprised you how hard he was, and you briefly thought he had to be uncomfortable trapped in there. He had too many clothes on, anyway.

You tugged on his shirt, wanting it out of the way. Eddie smirked at you, picking up the hint immediately as he shrugged his leather jacket off his shoulders before pulling his t-shirt over his head. You took in his bare chest in front of you, the pale skin now exposed to you. You rubbed your fingers over his belly and chest, feeling every part of him you could reach. Eddie just let you, head leaning back against the wall as he enjoyed your touch.

“Feels good, baby,” he breathed, eyes closed. He looked so pretty like this, you thought.

You trailed your hands lower, down to the bit of hair leading beneath his jeans. Eddie’s eyes shot open to look at you when your fingertips brushed there. Your hand moved lower, rubbing over his hard on over his jeans again, earning another delicious groan from his lips.

“You seem uncomfortable in here…” you said teasingly as you rubbed him.

He looked up at you, the expression in his eyes nearly pained. “Yeah…I am,” he said, voice quiet and gruff.

“I could help you with that…” you said, giving him a squeeze that dragged an even more delicious sound from him. “If you want me to.”

“Yes, god yes, please,” Eddie begged, sounding as desperate as he felt. “Please touch me, baby.”

You hadn’t realized you would like the sound of him begging, but you absolutely do. Your hands moved to his belt, working open his buckle. Eddie watched you work, big brown eyes focused on your lithe hands undoing his belt before moving to the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Wait-“ Eddie said, causing you to halt your movements immediately and look up at him, concerned. He smiled at you sheepishly. “Can you take yours off first? Wanna enjoy the view.”

You rolled your eyes at the dopey grin on his face, but obliged. You gave him a little show as you wiggled your hips, pushing the denim down your body until you kicked it away. Eddie’s eyes never left you once.

Left in only your panties now, you moved back to Eddie, fingers hooking onto the waistband of his jeans. He lifted his hips off the ground as you pulled them down for him. He was left in nothing but his boxers, your eyes immediately drawn to the very, very large tent in them.

“You look like you need some attention,” you teased.

It took everything in Eddie to resist wrapping his own hand around his cock, pulsing and aching and neglected, but he wanted you to be the one to touch him. “Yeah, uh…could definitely use some,” Eddie said, his cheeks flushing pink. Cute.

You watched him as you leaned forward, licking against the tip of his cock over his boxers.

Eddie shuddered, a shaky groan leaving his lips. “Don’t tease me sweetheart, please,” he begged. You could see his dick twitch beneath the material.

As much fun as you were having, you decided to take mercy on him. Eddie lifted his hips again for you to pull his boxers down, his girth slapping against his abdomen. Your eyes widened at it - long, hard, and needy. Tip red and leaking, cock twitching as he looked at you looking at him.

You wrapped a hand around his base, drawing a hiss from Eddie. You started stroking him slowly, thumb running over his tip and smearing his precum along his length. Eddie groaned, resisting the urge to buck his hips up for more. “God, baby,” he moaned, head thrown back and eyes closed.

“Feel good?” you asked him, eyes darting between your hand moving along his beautiful cock, and his beautiful face, contorted in pleasure.

“Fuck yeah,” he moaned, eyes opening to look into your face. “Faster, sweetheart, please.”

You sped up your movements, jerking him faster. You reached your free hand down to grasp his balls, making Eddie whimper. “Fuck, please, your mouth, babe…”

You didn’t think you could deny anything he asked of you right now. You got yourself comfortable on your knees in front of him before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his tip. Swirling your tongue around the head, flicking over the slit and tasting him. Eddie’s hand shot up to grab your hair, his thighs trembling beneath your hands. You sunk your head down his length, determined to take as much of him as possible. You gagged about halfway down, already feeling like you were taking so much.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” Eddie said, his voice strained and fist shaking against the back of your head. “You can take all of me. Open that pretty mouth nice and wide for me.”

You moaned around him at his dirty words, and Eddie couldn’t help the way his hips bucked up into your mouth. “Shit! Sorry!” Eddie exclaimed as you came off him quickly, gagging and coughing.

“It’s okay,” you said, wiping the tears from your face once you were breathing normally again. You wrapped your lips around him again and sunk down, opening your jaw as wide as you could. Tears started falling again once you had taken almost all of him, and you nearly gave up, if not for the sinful noises Eddie was making as you took him deeper and deeper. When you finally felt your nose pressed against the brown curls at his base, you felt accomplished. You hummed around him, pleased with your work.

Eddie, however, was hanging on by a thread.

“Shit, shit!” he hissed, fist clenched in your hair and whole body shaking at the feeling of his entire cock buried down your throat. He knew you probably couldn’t breathe, so he only held you there for a few glorious seconds before he let go, resting his hand on your head instead of forcing it.

You began to bob your head up and down, taking as much of him as you could every time. Eddie moaned wantonly above you, fingers brushing through your hair affectionately as you gave him the best head of his life. “God, baby, that’s…fucking incredible, shit…”

You pop off of his cock and move down to lick at his balls, sucking them into your mouth which makes Eddie’s moans go higher. You take his length back in your mouth and suck him messily, saliva dripping down onto his thighs. Neither of you cared. It caught you by surprise when Eddie pulled on your hair, pulling you off of him entirely. You looked at him confused.

“I was about to bust down your throat, babe,” Eddie laughed, completely breathless. “And I wanna fuck that cute little pussy first.”

Eddie pushed you against the floor of the van as he crawled over you, long curls reaching down to tickle your face. You giggled, which Eddie loved, and he dipped his head, shaking it to tickle you with his hair even more.

He dipped his head lower to press kisses to your neck. He started slow, placing kisses across the skin, before he started nipping at your pulse point, biting and sucking the sensitive spot. The feeling drove you crazy, and you arched into him, turning your head to give him full access. Eddie absolutely devoured your skin, moaning as he left dark love bites to remember him by.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your panties, fingers tracing through your glistening folds. “So wet for me…” Eddie mumbled against your ear, sending chills through your body. He held his hand up to show your wetness covering his long fingers, before sticking them in his mouth and sucking them clean with a groan. “And so sweet.”

Eddie was on his knees between your legs before you even realized what was happening, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties as he slowly began to peel them off your body and down your smooth legs.

He placed his hands on your knees and spread your legs apart, eyes drinking in your pussy spread out before him, all for him. “God…” he muttered to himself, and his cock kicked up with anticipation.

“Want you, Eddie,” you begged him, as he was taking far too long just to stare. You couldn’t really blame him, though, as your eyes lingered on his body a little too long, too.

Eddie smirked at you. “Yeah? Want my cock, sweetheart?” he teased, leaning forward to trail his lips along your jaw.

“Please,” you begged him, pushing your hips up against him, his cock sliding against your slick folds. Eddie groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he rocked his hips against you more.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asked, lifting your legs around his waist and rubbing his cockhead against your throbbing clit, lining himself up at your entrance. “‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

“Please, please,” you begged again, writhing beneath him, so desperate to feel Eddie inside you. You felt your pussy clenching around nothing, your mind running with thoughts of what it will feel like to have all of him.

Eddie needed no further encouragement. He began to push in, groaning as he sunk into you inch by inch. The stretch was intense but also incredible. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock. You grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as he stretched you more and more with every thick inch. Your brow was furrowed, eyes closed tight as he finally bottomed out, keeping himself still despite his every instinct to absolutely ruin you.

“You okay, baby?” Eddie asked, eyes intently on your face. You opened your eyes, letting out a shaky exhale. The pain was starting to fade as you got used to his girth.

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “You can move.”

He pulled his hips back, slowly drawing out of you. Despite the pain you had felt, being empty was worse. You wanted nothing more than for him to fill you again. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long.

Eddie set a steady pace, thrusting into you slowly yet powerfully. You couldn’t help but moan with every thrust, each push inside of you pressing right up against something that felt absolutely incredible. Your body trembled beneath him as Eddie leaned over you, rolling his hips into yours again and again.

“Shit, you’re so tight, baby,” Eddie muttered against your cheek as he pressed deep inside you, causing you to cry out at the intense pressure against your bundle of nerves. “Taking me so well. You’re so good for me.”

You moaned at his praise, wanting to be a good girl for him. “Faster, Eddie, please,” you whined.

With the permission he’d been waiting for, Eddie sped up his hips, fucking into you harder and faster. The van was rocking, windows fogged up, the obscene sound of your skin slapping together and loud, uninhibited moans filling the space and tuning out the music.

Eddie buried his face in your neck, loud whines coming from his pretty lips. You never imagined he could make the noises he was currently making, and it made your clit throb even harder, your pussy clenching tightly around his length.

“So good baby, perfect little cunt,” Eddie rasped out, sounding like he was utterly lost in the feeling of you. He began to babble, mind lost to the pleasure. “That’s my good girl, taking my fat cock like that. Letting me spread her wide and take what’s mine. Filthy little slut, all for me, fuck, so fucking tight and wet, pussy’s perfect.”

All you could do was hold onto his strong shoulders, desperate for some sort of lifeline as he fucked you stupid. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head as he began to move even faster, hips snapping into you brutally now as Eddie sets a relentless pace. Desperate moans spilled from your lips uncontrollably. Eddie’s free hand gripped onto your thigh tightly as he rutted into you, his other arm holding all his weight above you.

“So…so good, Eddie, feels so good, you’re so deep, s’big, can’t take it…” you find yourself rambling without a single coherent thought in your brain.

“You can take it, sweetheart, you are taking it, taking me so good,” Eddie encouraged. He bit down on your shoulder, and you cried out, squeezing around him. You felt something building deep inside you, growing rapidly with every move of Eddie’s hips.

“Eddie…’m close…” you whined, and he moaned against your neck.

“Pretty girl, my girl. I want you to come all over my cock,” Eddie begged, hips pistoning into you at a rapid pace. He let go of your thigh and moved his free hand between your bodies instead, pressing down on your swollen clit and rubbing circles against it. “Wanna feel you make a mess all over me.”

The moans leaving your lips were so whiny, desperate sounding and loud, you hardly even recognized them as coming from you. You didn’t even know you were making noises at all. Eddie shoved you right off the edge, and your release hit hard. You tightened your legs around his waist as you arched beneath him, hips bucking up to meet his movements as you moaned his name over and over again. Eddie pressed his lips onto yours hard, swallowing your moans as he licked into your mouth again, his own moans growing in intensity now.

“Fuck…shit, sweetheart, ‘m gonna cum, ‘m almost there, keep squeezing me just like that, Christ,” Eddie babbled as his thrusts turned quicker, frantic and sloppy with no rhythm as he desperately chased his release. He pumped into you roughly a couple more times before he stilled with a cry, painting your walls with his seed deep inside. He pumped his hips slowly through the last of his orgasm, making sure you got every last drop.

Your bodies were wrapped around one another as you came down from your highs, both trembling and trying to catch your breath. Once Eddie had composed himself enough he began placing kisses all over your neck, up to your cheek until he eventually reached your lips, where he placed a sweet, lingering kiss.

Eddie rolled off of you, not bothering to go farther than the floor of the van next to you. He reached for his cigarettes and pulled one out, placing it between his lips and lighting it. The smoke filled the van, and you scrunched up your nose at the smell.

“That was fucking incredible,” Eddie laughed, breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Yeah. It was.”

Eddie draws circles onto the skin of your belly with his free hand as he drags on his cigarette. “Maybe…you should be my girl.”

Your gaze shot to his face, your eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie smiled, brushing some of your sweaty hair out of your face. “You’re the coolest girl I’ve ever met. I love spending time with you.” A smirk grew across his face. “Perfect pussy, too.”

You smacked him on the arm, making Eddie laugh. “You’re such a perv.”

“I just can’t help myself around you.” Eddie looked at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen in his life. A revelation. A goddess.

You sighed, noticing the time on the van’s radio. “Shit. I probably need to get back home before dad realizes I’m gone.”

Eddie sighed heavily, too, as he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. “Yeah. I’ll drive you back.” He didn’t want to see the night end, but he knew you were right. He began to pull his clothes back on as you did the same.

The whole ride home, you thought about Eddie. Not just the incredible night you’d shared, or that he’s your boyfriend now, but thoughts of the warrant creep back into your mind, interrupting the happier thoughts. “What’s going to happen?”

You didn’t have to explain what you were referring to. “I’ll, uh, have to do some time,” he said, like the only thing he was sorry about was that it was hurting you. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You nodded, feeling like tears were going to spill from your eyes at any moment. You had just found this amazing, beautiful thing that made you so happy, and now it was going to be taken away. Locked away.

Eddie reached over and held your hand in his. He gave it a comforting squeeze. “It won’t be long though, promise. You’ll wait for me on the outside, yeah?” he asked, teasing grin on his face.

You mustered up a smile in return. “‘Course I will. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you.”

Eddie smiled at that, bringing your hand to his mouth to place a kiss on the back of your knuckles. “I don’t deserve you.”

He stopped the van a safe distance from your house again. After a goodbye kiss that turned into an accidental makeout session, Eddie walked you back to your window.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease as you prepare to sneak back into your bedroom.

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist. “Always.” He kissed you again, and just like every time he’s kissed you, you melt right into it. It could have turned into another makeout session if it wasn’t for your dad’s bedroom light turning on, snapping you back to reality.

“Be safe, Eddie,” you told him, kissing him one last time.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he said. He lifted you up to help you reach the window easier and you climbed back inside, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

You turned back to the window when you stood. Eddie gave you a wink, smirk on his face, before he turned and disappeared back into the darkness.

That night as you laid in bed you could still feel him all over you. Tingles all over your body everywhere he touched. You would never be the same, you felt.

Eddie Munson was going to be the death of you.

#eddie munson #eddie #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #joseph quinn #keeryhours writes #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine

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tearsof-scarlet · 22 days ago

Text

The Wrong Target

Pairing: Josh Washington x afab!reader Spoilers for the game Until Dawn! Warnings: MDNI /// Psychological Horror // Quite smutty (Josh is a bit rough) // Josh is a bit creepy at parts // Blood, some gore // Swearing // Mentions of Death and Loss // Trauma and Survivor's Guilt //Mental Illness // The word “crazy” is used in this story purely to aid the narrative in depicting Josh’s mental breakdown. I do not agree with this terminology.

Summary: Josh and you have always been too shy to recognize the connection between you. Just as you finally start to explore what might be, the mysterious disappearance of his sisters forces everything to a halt. A year later, he invites you and his friends back to the old lodge to relive the past and maybe, this time, you’ll find the courage to finally confess your feelings for Josh. Words: 19.3k (Buckle up lol)

A/N: Please note the events in this fic do not exactly add up with the canon gameplay! I finally got to play the remastered version of Until Dawn, and I have fallen back down into the rabbit hole. I am so happy to see the fandom is still going strong. This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I'm exhausted. I don’t know how people do it lol.

The weight of your bag dug into your shoulder with every step, a dull ache that had been growing since the base of the trail. The icy air bit at your cheeks, turning your breath to mist as you trudged through the thinning woods. Just when your patience began to wear thin, the silhouette of the old cable car station finally emerged through the trees, weathered, silent, and waiting.

You scanned the clearing, half-hoping to spot a familiar face, but it was empty. The silence pressed in around you, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You pulled out your phone for the fifth or sixth time, still no signal. A part of you knew it was a long shot, but you'd held onto the hope that someone else might be running late too. Maybe Mike or Sam.

The cable car sat still on its track, slightly tilted, like it hadn’t been used in years. Rust clung to its metal joints, flaking off in orange smears. You grabbed the handle and pulled. The door groaned open with a reluctant squeal. You tossed your bag inside and followed, the cold metal floor shuddering under your weight.

With a mechanical jolt, the cable car lurched into motion, the squeal of the pulley system echoing off the mountainside as it dragged you higher and higher into the snow-covered peaks. Inside, it was barely warmer. You rubbed your hands together and slumped into the cracked seat, pulling your phone out again to distract yourself from the groaning of the cables and the increasingly distant ground below. No bars.

You flicked through apps aimlessly, your thumb eventually wandering back to your messages. There, buried near the top, was one from Josh. You tapped it.

“Hey ______, I’m planning a weekend up at the lodge. I want it to be just like old times. Snow, booze and some questionable decisions. I really hope you can make it. Wouldn’t feel right without you. You in? :)”

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering. He never said it outright, but all of you knew what the date meant. Almost a year to the day since the night Hannah and Beth disappeared into the snow. Maybe Josh just wanted to feel close to them again or this was his way of honouring them.

The cable car jolted with a loud metallic screech, making your phone slip from your hands and clatter to the floor. You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and looked up just in time to see the platform ahead. The car had reached the top. Letting out a breath, you grabbed your bag and jumped out, glad to be done with the rattling machine.

You glanced around, but the area was still empty. No sign of your friends. The snow-covered path ahead stretched into the trees, quiet and undisturbed. Your eyes landed on the numerous footprints. Several of them trailed off into the woods, a good sign that the others hadn’t gone far. You rubbed your arms against the cold, then started walking, following the trail.

The air was still, but every few steps a sound from the forest made your ears perk up. Twigs cracked, branches shifted, and even though you kept telling yourself it was probably just the wind or small animals, your head kept turning toward the noise. You shook it off and kept going, focusing on the prints ahead, trying not to let your imagination get the better of you.

The snow crunched steadily beneath your boots as you followed the trail, head down, breath fogging in the cold. The forest around you was still unnervingly quiet except for the occasional creak of trees shifting under the weight of snow. You kept walking, trying not to think too hard, trying not to look too long into the thick shadows between the trunks.

Then you heard it.

A sound sharp, high, and fast cut through the air. Not a scream exactly, but not an animal either. Something in between. It echoed once, then vanished. Your footsteps stopped. The woods suddenly felt heavier. You stood still for a second, listening. Then another sound, deeper this time. A scraping? No, more like something dragging across bark. It came from up ahead, off the trail and into the thicker trees.

You turned slowly toward it, brow furrowed, trying to spot the source through the branches. Your heartbeat picked up as you took a cautious step forward.

Then -

Warm hands suddenly settled on your shoulders.

You flinched hard, letting out a scream. You spun around, gasping and there was Josh, grinning, too close, his eyes crinkled with mischief.

“Woah, easy,” he said, laughing softly. “Just me.”

“Jesus, Josh!” you snapped, hand clutching your chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He broke into full laughter at your reaction, clearly proud of himself. That only made it worse.

Fuming, you shoved at his chest, hard. “Asshole.”

He barely moved, like he was planted there. “Wow,” he said, grinning. “Is that all you’ve got?”

You scowled, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at the edge of your mouth.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said, utterly unapologetic. “You had that little forehead-crinkle thing going. It was too tempting.”

Your breath was still catching up with your heart. “I thought you were-” You glanced back toward the trees, then shook your head. “Never mind. Did you hear that noise?”

Josh didn’t answer right away. His smile faltered, just slightly. His hands, still gently resting on your arms, gave a light squeeze.

“Woods are creepy this time of year,” he said after a beat, tone light but not entirely convincing. “They whisper. Crack. Groan. Just nature doing its spooky thing.”

You looked up at him. He was obviously teasing you attempting to scare you. He was watching you carefully, the humour softening in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, more gently now. “You seemed… off.”

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped. The wind blew snow down through the trees like falling ash. For a second, everything felt far away.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. “You just surprised me.”

Josh stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “Come on, it’s freezing out here.”

Without needing to ask, he slipped the strap of your bag off your shoulder and swung it onto his own back with ease. You let him. As the two of you started walking, the tension slowly gave way to quiet conversation, light small talk, nothing heavy. It was almost comfortable.

Then a question crept into your mind.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?” you asked, eyeing him. “You weren’t even on the trail.”

Josh shot you a crooked grin. “I was coming down to get you. You were the last to arrive. As usual.”He bumped your shoulder playfully, and you rolled your eyes.

“And you knew I’d arrived?” You raised a brow at him.

Josh grinned to himself like he’d been caught. “Not exactly. I was on my way down to wait at the cable car. Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

You let out a short laugh. “And stand around in sub-zero temps just in case I showed up?”

“Obviously,” he said, tone casual. “Couldn’t have you walking up here alone.”

The simple answer hit harder than you expected. That quiet thoughtfulness buried beneath his usual sarcasm tugged at something in your chest. You hadn’t expected anyone to meet you, especially not him.

You glanced sideways at him, but he was looking straight ahead now, snow crunching beneath his boots like it didn’t mean anything.

You weren’t really sure what was happening between you and Josh anymore. You hadn’t spoken since the incident. Even before that, things had been... blurry. Pulled apart by time, distance, and whatever it was Josh was going through.

Your vision finally caught the outline of the lodge, rising like a shadowy monument through the trees. Relief bloomed in your chest. The idea of a warm fire, and maybe a beer or two, was already making you feel warmer.

As you and Josh approached the door, he moved ahead to open it. But instead of letting you in, he stopped, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the doorframe, his body angled to block your way.

“Josh,” you groaned, crossing your arms. The cold was slicing through your coat. “Seriously? We’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

Josh laughed at your dramatic pout, eyes lighting up.

He laughed at your dramatic pout, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Still cute when you whine,” he muttered, mostly to himself. His words caused your checks to flush at the flashbacks of him and you appeared in your mind. You rolled your eyes in an attempt to still appear annoyed at him.

“I know, I know,” he said louder, glancing back at you. “I just… wanted to say something before we go in.”

You blinked. The cold stung your face, but you stayed still. He hesitated, his expression softening. His voice dipped, more serious.

“Before we go in, I wanted to say something. I want tonight to be… good. I want everyone to have fun. And I don’t want you here because you feel bad for me.”

You opened your mouth to object, but he held up a hand, gently cutting you off.

“I mean it. I want tonight to feel normal. No grief. Just dumb jokes and too much alcohol and, I don’t know, something that feels like before.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And despite the grin tugging at his lips, there was something earnest behind his eyes. Something fragile.

“I’m really glad you came,” he added quietly.

Your heart tugged. You reached out and rested a hand on his arm, smiling up at him.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you said. “But Josh, you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. We’re here because we care. Not out of pity.”

He nodded, looking down at his feet like he needed a second to gather himself. Then he laughed softly, shaking off the moment.

“Okay, okay emotional speech over. Get inside before you turn into a popsicle.”

You grinned. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not letting me freeze my ass off.”

You both laughed as he opened the door, warm air rushing out to greet you. The sound of voices and music echoed through the lodge, familiar and alive. The past might’ve still hung in the corners of the place but for now, for just this night, it could wait.

Hours had passed since you’d arrived with Josh. After the hugs, the “I missed yous,” and the shared glances that said more than words, everyone slowly settled into the lodge. To your surprise, the mood was light. Surprisingly light. Josh had dragged up two crates of beer from the basement to a round of cheers, and now your group was circled around the fire he’d built, basking in warmth and buzz.

You’d lost count of how many beers had been passed around. Mike was deep into a ridiculous story about catching Matt and Emily making out last summer, complete with dramatic reenactments, and the group was in stitches. The alcohol gave you that warm, floating feeling, but even without it, you felt strangely at ease.

Josh’s arm had somehow ended up draped over your shoulders. You weren’t sure when it happened. You hadn’t pulled away. Every so often, you caught him looking at you out of the corner of your eye and when you glanced back, he’d already be looking somewhere else, as if he hadn’t been staring at all. Still, you couldn’t help the stupid smile on your face. You felt like some lovesick schoolgirl with the dumb grin on your face.

While Mike kept rambling, Sam stood up from the couch and stretched.

“Well, my beer bottle’s officially a graveyard,” she said. “I’m going to grab more from the basement.”

You sat up, finishing the last sip of your own drink and blinking at the sudden wave of dizziness.

“Me too,” you said, standing a little too fast. “I’ll come with.”

Your balance shifted, the alcohol tugging you briefly back toward the couch, but you caught yourself and laughed.

“Perfect,” Sam said, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go.”

As the two of you started toward the basement door, Josh’s voice rang out behind you.

“Careful down there, ladies,” he called with a mock-warning tone. “It’s dark. Creepy. A perfect setting for a horror movie.”

You both rolled your eyes.

“Thanks for the PSA, Josh,” Sam said over her shoulder, smirking.

You pulled the basement door open. A cold draft met you, rising up from the shadows below. The stairwell was nearly pitch black. You and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that didn’t need words. You both pulled out your phones, switching on the flashlights. Narrow beams of white light cut through the darkness as you made your way down, step by creaking step.

“Josh seems in a good mood,” Sam said as you both carefully descended the creaky steps.

You nodded. “Yeah. Honestly? Better than I expected. I thought coming back here would bring everything back.”

It was the first time all night someone had acknowledged it; what happened last year.

“I’m sure he knows it was a horrible accident,” Sam said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Another silent understanding passed between you. Neither of you had been involved in the prank. You weren’t there when it happened. But you’d heard the stories, how it spiralled out of control, how no one had stopped it. Whether it was an accident or not, it had still been cruel.

You reached the shelves stacked with beer crates. The cold was more biting down here. Sam turned toward you, voice low and hesitant.

“I know we’re not supposed to bring it up,” she said, “but… I never asked. What were you doing? When it all happened?”

You bent down, grabbed a crate, and handed it to her. It was heavier than you remembered. No wonder Josh had impressed everyone by carrying two at once. No wonder you’d always thought he had some kind of quiet strength about him. You picked up another for yourself, using the moment to stall.

“God, it feels like forever ago,” you said, stalling again.

But the truth was, you remembered everything.

You remembered the cupboard in the Washingtons’ lodge stocked full of booze like some teenage dream. At some point that night, you and Josh had ended up alone. You weren’t exactly sure how it happened. You had your suspicions. Your friends had been nudging you two toward each other all evening, not so subtly.

You reached in and pulled out a half-full bottle of vodka, started pouring shots for the two of you while Josh wandered over to the stereo and flicked it on. Music thumped through the room, heavy on bass, the kind that made your bones buzz.

You were already drunk. Not tipsy, very much drunk. The kind where your vision smudged at the edges and your limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. But it didn’t stop you. You grabbed the two shot glasses, wobbling slightly as you made your way toward him, doing a half-dance, half-strut to the music.

Josh laughed at your theatrics, his smile soft and genuinely amused. “God, you’re ridiculous,” he said, taking a glass from your hand.

You stuck your tongue out at him and handed him his shot.

He raised the glass to the ceiling with mock ceremony.

“To the best night ever.”

You giggled, hiccupped, and clinked your glass to his before downing the vodka in one go. The burn lit a fire down your throat that you welcomed. The beat of the music sank into your skin. You started swaying, hips rolling in slow rhythm. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Josh watching you. Not pretending. Not even trying to hide it. His gaze moved from your face to your hips, back up. Blatant. Drunk. Honest.

“See something you like, Joshy?” you teased, arching a brow.

He stepped closer, playing along. “Just admiring your insane, once-in-a-generation dance moves.”

You laughed, loud and free. Then, bold with liquor, you grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. His fingers flexed instantly, tightening just a little. You felt them hook into the belt loops of your jeans, grounding you in place. Your hands slid up around his neck, pulling him closer until there was barely any space between you.

“You know,” you said, one hand toying with the soft hair at the back of his neck, “you’re kind of handsome when you’re drunk.”

Josh leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Just when I’m drunk?”

You smirked at Josh’s answer, your fingers still lightly playing with the curls at the back of his neck.

“I mean, you’ve always been handsome,” you admitted, eyes glinting. “But maybe the vodka is helping me say it out loud.”

Josh’s hands flexed a little more at your hips, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles over the denim. His eyes stayed on you, not darting away this time, not joking it off.

“So you have been thinking about me,” he said, his tone that perfect mix of teasing and just a little vulnerable. “Kinda wish I knew that before I spent the whole summer convincing myself you hated me.”

You laughed softly, the warmth in your chest blooming outward. “I don’t hate you, Josh. I just didn’t know if you were serious.”

He tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

“Me.”

That answer seemed to hit him right in the chest. His expression changed, still smiling, but quieter now, a little more careful.

“You’re kind of hard not to be serious about,” he bluntly stated.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard.

Josh must’ve felt it too, because for once, he didn’t follow the moment with a joke or a grin. He just stood there, his eyes on you, and you saw something there that hadn’t been in his voice before, something raw, almost uncertain.

Your hand, still curled in the fabric of his shirt, tensed slightly. You weren’t drunk enough to miss what that meant.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice barely audible above the low hum of the stereo.

Josh swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Silence stretched for a beat, just the music thudding softly in the background and the sound of both your breaths. Your heart kicked up in your chest. Your fingers slipped from his shirt to his jaw before you could think twice, tracing just beneath his cheekbone.

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into the touch.

His hands were still at your hips, not teasing now but steady. Grounded. His forehead came to rest against yours, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t want to say the next part but couldn’t stop himself.

“I think I’ve always meant it.”

The tension curled between you, no longer playful. It was charged now. Real. You felt the heat of his body, the closeness of his breath, the weight of everything that hadn’t been said in the months you’d spent dancing around this.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “I thought maybe it was just messing around. For you.”

Josh shook his head, just barely. “Not with you.”

Your noses brushed, not quite a kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Josh’s forehead still rested against yours, his hands unmoving, like he didn’t dare risk breaking the moment. His eyes flicked open, searching yours, silently asking a question he’d never spoken out loud.

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead, you leaned in just a fraction. Your lips brushed his once, testing, soft. And then again, firmer this time, like you both realized at the same time that there was no going back.

Josh kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for a year. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, and you rose onto your toes, arms curling around his shoulders. The music blurred out, the warmth of the vodka forgotten. All you felt was him and his mouth on yours, the way he tasted like liquor and something sharp underneath it.

His fingers moved slow and tentative at first. Sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough for his thumbs to brush the bare skin at your waist. Warm and steady. Possessive in the gentlest way. You shivered under his touch, not from cold but from the sudden awareness of every place your bodies touched.

Then he whispered it soft, like it wasn’t meant to be heard, his lips still barely parted from yours.

“You don’t know what you’ve been doing to me.”

You stilled for a moment, heart thudding.

He kissed you again before you could reply, slower now. Not just urgent, but tender, like he was memorizing it. Like he didn’t want to risk forgetting what it felt like. One of his hands slid up your spine, fingertips grazing each ridge of your back, pausing between your shoulder blades like he could hold you there forever.

Your breath hitched as his mouth found the corner of your lips, your jaw, the slope of your neck then returned to your mouth, almost desperately.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair now, your balance swaying. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the heat of him pressed to you or both, but you didn’t care. Not when he was kissing you like he meant it. Like he’d never stopped thinking about it. Like he never wanted it to end.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close his forehead pressed to yours again, both of you smiling without quite meaning to.

Josh exhaled a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay.”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“And I didn’t even have to dance for it,” he joked, the smirk back but softer now.

You grinned. “Don’t get cocky. That was a charity kiss.”

“Right,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Absolutely. No personal satisfaction here at all.”

But he still didn’t let go of you.

You finally shook your head, trying to clear the fog of the moment, and glanced over at Sam.

“I was just hanging out with Josh and we kind of passed out,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

Sam smirked and gave you a knowing look. “Uh-huh. ‘Passed out,’ sure. Sounds legit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

Sam laughed softly. “Sure. Just don’t start ‘passing out’ on me every time we need more beer.”

As you and Sam began making your way back toward the basement stairs, a sudden loud bang echoed through the concrete walls, sharp and jarring. You both froze in place, the sound slicing through the air like a crack of thunder.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you spun around, your phone’s flashlight barely piercing the thick darkness that swallowed the far end of the hallway.

Something moved.

A metallic clatter followed. A tin can, rolling slowly across the floor, its hollow rattle unnervingly loud in the silence that followed.

You and Sam instinctively stepped closer together. Your light caught just enough to see the can spin to a stop then nothing. Just black.

You felt it almost immediately, the drop in temperature, the way the air seemed to press in tighter around your skin. Your breath came out in a visible puff, and goosebumps prickled your arms despite your jacket.

Sam shifted beside you, her voice a whisper. “We should check it out, right?”

You hesitated. Every nerve in your body screamed to turn around and go back upstairs. However, curiosity, or maybe something deeper, rooted you in place.

Wordlessly, you both began inching down the hallway. Your flashlights shook slightly in your hands, casting long, twitching shadows along the walls. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft sound of your footsteps against the cold concrete.

The hallway seemed longer now, like it stretched out with every step. The air grew heavier, pressing against your lungs, and the flickering overhead bulb near the back door offered no comfort, only more shadows.

Just before you reached the rough wooden door at the very end, splintered, old, and slightly ajar. A sudden creak echoed from behind it, like something shifting just out of view.

You and Sam froze again.

Sam reached out, hand just barely brushing the door handle when—

“Hey!”

Both of you jumped nearly out of your skin as Josh’s voice rang out sharply from behind you.

You spun around to see him standing at the top of the basement stairs, bathed in faint light from above. His expression was tight, unreadable, but his voice was firm.

“You two forget how stairs work or something?” he asked, tone light but with an edge. “Come on seriously. That part of the basement’s off-limits.”

You started to protest, “We heard—”

“I know,” Josh interrupted quickly, already descending a few steps. “This place is old, okay? Pipes bang. Stuff falls. It’s nothing.”

You weren’t convinced. His tone was calm, but his eyes darted once, past you toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Come on,” he repeated, this time with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t leave me alone with Mike. He’s started doing impressions of everyone and it’s getting scary.”

You and Sam exchanged a look, unsettled but unsure. Still, you turned, following Josh back up the stairs. Behind you, the wooden door gave one final creaking groan.

Another couple of hours had passed, and the alcohol showed no signs of slowing down. Whatever buzz you'd started the night with had bloomed into full-on drunken joy. Everything felt lighter, funnier, louder. Even breathing felt easier.

Music thumped from the old stereo, something familiar with just enough bass to shake the floorboards. Someone had turned off most of the lights, leaving only the fire crackling and a few warm lamps casting a golden haze over the room.

Half the group was already passed out in corners or curled up under throw blankets, empty bottles littering the coffee table. A couple of your friends were making out shamelessly on the couch like it was freshman year all over again.

You leaned against the wooden beam by the fireplace. For the first time in what felt like forever, the house was full of laughter instead of tension. No whispered concerns, no heavy silences. Just friends being friends. You smiled, quietly to yourself, and scanned the room.

Then your eyes landed on Josh.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs across the room, slouched deep into the cushions with a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t laughing. He was watching.

Specifically watching you.

Your smile faltered just a little, not gone but thinned. You met his gaze across the chaos, the noise, the glow of firelight.

He didn’t look away.

Something about the way he was staring made your skin prickle. Like he wasn’t with everyone else in the room. Like, somehow, he was somewhere else entirely and just wearing the mask of this moment.

But then he blinked, and the look was gone. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He raised his bottle in a lazy toast just for you.

You smiled at him lifted your drink back at him with a small nod, unsure whether you were reassuring him or yourself.

The moment stretched, a beat too long, like the world had held its breath just for the two of you. The fire crackled again, snapping you out of it, and the sounds of your friends filtered back in, someone giggling in the kitchen, a chorus of half-drunken lyrics from the hallway where someone had revived karaoke.

You took a sip of your drink, the taste less sharp now, more like melted courage. Josh was still watching, but the smile on his face softened. Less strange. He looked tired, maybe. But in a way that made him seem honest, stripped of whatever front he normally carried.

You pushed off the beam, feeling the pleasant weight of your buzz in your limbs as you crossed the room. When you reached him, he tilted his head up lazily, still reclined in that deep chair.

“You’re quiet,” you said, standing just close enough to see the pink flush of alcohol on his cheeks.

Josh shrugged one shoulder. “I like watching people when they’re happy.”

“That’s creepy.”

He grinned. “Only when you say it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but it tugged a smile out of you. He patted the arm of the chair in silent invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, you sat, perched on the armrest, your thigh brushing his shoulder.

His hand rose, like he might reach for your knee but thought better of it. His fingers hovered for a second before dropping again.

“I just… I like this,” he said softly. “Being here. With you. With everyone. It feels like something real, you know?”

You nodded, though something about his tone had shifted again. Quieter. Almost reverent. And behind that easy smile was something you couldn’t quite name, longing, maybe. Or maybe it was regret.

Your voice came gentler. “You okay?”

Josh looked up at you then, and for a second, the grin vanished. “You ever get the feeling that the best nights, the really good ones, always feel a little haunted?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head like he wasn’t sure either. “Like it’s too good.”

You stared at him. The firelight made shadows dance across his face. You weren’t sure if the chill that crept up your spine was from his words or the thought that Josh saw something coming that the rest of you didn’t.

Before you could ask anything more, he leaned forward slightly, voice dipping low, almost conspiratorial.

“But hey,” he said with a crooked smile, “if the world ends tonight, at least we got a hell of a send-off.”

He clinked his bottle softly against yours.

You tilted your bottle to meet his, the clink ringing faint and strange, like it echoed through something deeper than just the room. You tried to laugh it off, but the weight of his gaze lingered, and so did that feeling, like you were standing too close to something you didn’t fully understand.

Josh was still watching you, his smile quieter now. More knowing.

“You’ve got that look again,” you said, aiming for playful. “Like you’re about to say something stupid and poetic.”

His smile deepened. “Maybe I am.”

He shifted in the chair, his hand brushing your thigh lightly as he moved. Just enough to feel it, to notice he didn’t pull away. His fingers lingered there, warm through the fabric of your jeans, like a question he hadn’t asked out loud. Your heart gave a tiny, inconvenient lurch.

“You’re drunk,” you said, but your voice was soft, not scolding.

He raised an eyebrow. “A little. But not enough to make this up.”

There was a long pause. The fire cracked. Somewhere behind you, someone shouted out the wrong lyrics to whatever song was playing.

Then, deliberately, Josh turned his body toward you. One hand slid up, slow and sure, resting lightly on your waist. His thumb brushed a slow arc just above your hip.

“You’ve been in my head all night,” he murmured. “Hell, longer than that.”

You swallowed, your drink suddenly forgotten in your hand. “Josh…”

“If I’m wrong, tell me.” His voice was low, the kind that made your skin hum. “But don’t lie.”

His other hand came up, knuckles grazing your jaw, then your cheek. His fingers tucked a piece of hair behind your ear like it was the most important thing he’d ever done. You leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

Instead, you looked at him and saw all the things he wasn’t saying. The vulnerability hiding behind the grin. The way he was holding back, just barely, waiting for your answer.

So you didn’t answer.

You leaned down slowly, heart hammering as your forehead pressed gently to his. He closed his eyes like that one small gesture undid him.

And then, he kissed you. It started careful, almost cautious, like he still thought you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you kissed him back, your hand curling into the hair at the back of his neck, he deepened it with a hunger that surprised even him.

His hand tightened at your waist, the other sliding behind your neck, anchoring you to him. He kissed like he was afraid this moment might vanish if he didn’t memorize every second of it. You gasped against his mouth, and he paused just long enough to breathe your name like a confession.

When you finally broke apart, the fire flickered low, casting soft, swaying shadows across the room. His lips lingered just above yours, breath warm, his gaze searching, quietly intense, like he didn’t want the moment to slip away.

You leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

Josh’s eyes lifted to meet yours. Those big brown eyes, wide and uncertain in the soft light. You could see the question written all over his face: Are you sure?

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing gently along the edge of his jaw, your thumb tracing the faint curve of his cheek. “Yeah,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. “I want to.”

A large grin slowly spread across Josh’s face, lighting up his features in the firelight. You couldn’t help but laugh at how easily his mood shifted at your words.

Before you knew it, he slid one arm under your legs and the other beneath your back, effortlessly lifting you out of the armchair.

You giggled, caught off guard by how strong he was as he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

“Hey, put me down!” you teased breathlessly, but he only tightened his grip, chuckling softly.

Josh started walking toward the door, your laughter trailing behind him. Everyone else was too far gone in their own haze of alcohol and conversation to even notice.

Josh opened his bedroom door without once loosening his hold on you. Before you could even reach the bed, his lips found yours again, fierce and urgent. Pressed against the wall, your body suspended in his arms, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands framed you firmly on either side as you deepened the kiss.

Your hands clutched his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as the kiss deepened, electric and desperate. Josh’s breath hitched against your lips, and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth, voice low and rough, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your heart hammered as his hands slid from the wall to your waist, gripping you tighter as if afraid you might disappear. Every inch of you burned with the need that matched his.

Josh guided you onto the bed with deliberate care, his hands cradling you as he lowered you into the softness of the sheets. His lips found yours first, slow and deep, before trailing down your neck in a series of lingering kisses. Each press of his mouth was deliberate, savoring the way your breath hitched as he found your sweet spots, sucking just enough to draw a shiver from you. A quiet moan escaped your lips as your head sank back into the pillow, surrendering to the warmth of his touch.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, the initial coolness of his fingers a sharp contrast to your heated skin but the chill quickly melted into pleasure as they traced slow, worshipful paths along your ribs. His palms rose higher, cupping the weight of your breasts with a reverence that made your back arch. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt how soft you were, how perfectly you fit against him. His fingers slipped beneath your bra, teasing in slow circles until your nipples peaked under his touch. You gasped, hips shifting restlessly as the sensation coiled deep in your stomach.

He didn’t rush. His mouth followed where his hands had been, kissing along the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking lightly before sucking just enough to make your fingers tangle in his hair. All the while, his hips pressed against yours in a slow, rhythmic grind, the hard length of him dragging against your core. You could feel how much he wanted you, the heat, the tension, and the ache between your thighs grew unbearable.

“Josh… please,” you whispered, voice trembling.

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin before he finally pulled back, his darkened eyes locking onto yours as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans. He took his time, peeling them down your legs with agonizing slowness, his fingertips grazing your inner thighs just to hear you whimper. When he finally had you bare before him, he paused, drinking in the sight of your soaked underwear, his breath ragged with want.

“You’re so pretty, _____,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning down to kiss the inside of your knee, his lips beginning a torturously slow ascent back up your body.

His mouth took its time, tracing a slow, worshipful path up your thighs, each kiss lingering like a whispered promise. When he finally reached your core, he paused, just to look, just to savour the sight of you, your damp underwear clinging to your heat. His breath ghosted over the fabric, warm and teasing, before he pressed a single, deliberate kiss against your clothed sex. The sensation was maddeningly light, just enough to draw a soft, needy moan from your lips.

You arched beneath him, fingers twisting into the sheets, impatience simmering beneath the pleasure. You wanted more, but Josh was in no hurry. He savoured you, his hands sliding beneath your hips as he hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your underwear. He peeled them away with agonizing slowness, his lips brushing your inner thigh as he did. You barely even noticed when he tucked them into his back pocket, his little trophy, a secret he’d keep for later.

Then, without warning, he buried himself between your thighs, his mouth hot and open against you. The first slow, wet stroke of his tongue dragged a gasp from your chest, your back bowing off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine as he laved at your folds with deliberate, worshipful strokes. He took his time, tasting you, learning every sensitive curve before finally circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands tangled in his hair, not to guide him, but to anchor yourself as pleasure rolled through you in thick, honeyed waves. The room was thick with the sound of his devotion, the slick, sinful noises of his mouth on you, the low hum of his satisfaction, the broken sighs spilling from your lips. He was relentless in his adoration, drinking you in like a man starved, yet every movement was controlled, every flick of his tongue designed to unravel you piece by piece.

“Josh” Your voice was a breathless plea, your thighs trembling around his head. “Please. I’m close.”

He answered with a deep, vibrating groan, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you steady. “I know, baby, I know” he murmured against you, his breath hot. “Let me feel it.”

And then he slowed down. Just to watch you squirm. Just to hear you whimper. Just to prove he could take his time, even as your orgasm coiled tight in your belly, even as your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.

Then he surged back into you. Hungry, relentless, his mouth claiming you with the same feverish intensity as before. Your body arched, every nerve alight as pleasure crested, overwhelming, unbearable. You fisted your hands in Josh’s hair, pulling, pleading, but he didn’t relent. Even as your orgasm shattered through you, even as your thighs clamped around his head, your breath coming in broken, desperate cries, he refused to stop. His tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles, wringing out every last tremor, every aftershock, until you were writhing beneath him, oversensitive and shaking, his name a ragged gasp on your lips.

“Josh—ah!” Your voice was a broken whimper, your hips jerking away instinctively, but his grip on you was iron. He held you down, his tongue swirling slow, torturous circles around your clit, drawing out the pleasure until it hurt, until every nerve was alight with sensation.

You gasped, your back arching, your hands pushing weakly at his shoulders. “Too much—fuck, please, I can’t—”

He only hummed against you, the vibration wringing another choked moan from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you spread open for him as he dragged his tongue through your folds one more time, slow and deliberate, savouring the way your body shuddered in response.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with want.

You barely had time to protest before his mouth was on you again, his tongue flicking over your clit in quick, teasing strokes, coaxing another wave of pleasure from your oversensitive body. Your breath came in ragged sobs.

“No—no, I can’t—” You twisted beneath him, but he held you firm, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking gently just as your climax hit. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful in its intensity, your entire body tensing as you came with a broken cry. His tongue worked you through it, gentler now but unyielding, until you were whimpering, your hands fisting in the sheets, your voice a hoarse plea.

“Josh, please” Your voice cracked. “I can’t take anymore.”

Finally, he pulled back, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh before lifting his head. His lips were glistening, his breathing uneven, his gaze dark with satisfaction as he took in the sight of you trembling and utterly ruined.

“Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his thumb over your swollen flesh, just to hear you whine. “Look at you.”

You could only gasp, your body still pulsing with aftershocks, your mind hazy with pleasure. And when he leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, you melted into him completely and helplessly his.

Josh let you catch your breath, his fingers working the buckle of his belt, the slow drag of denim down his hips deliberate, maddening. He caged you in, palms pressing into the mattress beside your head, his gaze tracing your face, flushed, dazed, still trembling from his mouth. You smiled up at him, drunk on pleasure, and reached to push his hair back, your fingers lingering against his temple.

"If it hurts." His voice roughened, a sudden gravity cutting through the haze between you. "You tell me. Immediately."

You nodded, biting your lip at the way his concern twisted something warm in your chest.

"Say it." His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding.

A shiver raced down your spine. You swallowed, throat tight with want. "I want you."

His mouth brushed yours, teasing. "To what?"

The words spilled out in a breathless rush, "I want you inside me. Now."

A low groan escaped him, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck, you’re perfect."

He pushed into you slowly, each inch a deliberate surrender. His gaze never left your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every sharp inhale as he filled you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, your body stretching to accommodate him, a silent gasp catching in your throat. He groaned, a rough, reverent curse as he sank deeper, your warmth slick and tight around him. God, you were perfect, clenching just for him. He knew it then, with every ragged breath you shared; you were made for him.

He held there for a moment, buried deep, letting you both savour the way you fit together. Then, with a low groan, he began to move. Gentle at first, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate strokes, his hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you’d vanish. But the tension between you was too much, the need too sharp.

His pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper, rougher, until the room filled with the sound of skin against skin, your breathless moans, his ragged curses. "Fuck, you feel—" His voice was wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you harder against him. "So goddamn perfect. So tight, so fucking sweet."

You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back, and he growled, his rhythm turning desperate. "Thought about this," he panted, "every night. How you’d look under me. How you’d sound." His thumb brushed your cheek, his eyes dark, possessive. "You’re even better than I dreamed."

And then he was losing control completely, his thrusts turning erratic, his mouth crashing onto yours in a kiss that tasted like sweat and sin. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop not until you were both trembling on the edge, pleasure coiling too tight to bear.

He didn’t let up. If anything, he drove into you harder, deeper, his grip on your hips ironclad as he pinned you beneath him. Every snap of his pelvis sent a shockwave through you, the slap of skin echoing like a drumbeat, relentless. You gasped his name, broken, pleading, but he only growled in response, his voice gravel and flame.

“Tell me,” He demanded, fingers pressing into your flesh. “Does it feel good? Fuck, tell me how much you love it.”

You could barely form words, your moans fracturing with each punishing thrust. He didn’t wait for an answer, just swore under his breath and pushed you further back into the bed, his mouth searing a path down your throat. “Yeah, you do,” he rasped, teeth scraping your pulse point. “Can feel how bad you need it. How fucking perfect you take me.”

His rhythm turned brutal, primal, the bedframe slamming against the wall as he chased his own release, dragging you with him. You clawed at his shoulders, his name a sob on your lips, and he groaned like the sound wrecked him. “That’s it—come on ______, let go. Wanna feel you come apart on me. I’ll take care of you.”

At his words you were coming apart, your spine arching like a snapped bow, a scream ripping from your throat as pleasure split you open, white-hot and brutal. His name wasn’t a prayer anymore, it was a filthy, shattered demand, raw as the fingers digging bruises into your hips, holding you down as you thrashed beneath him.

He fucked you through it, relentless, his own release slamming into him like a punch. A guttural groan tore from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, pumping his cum so deep inside you that you felt it claiming you. His forehead dropped to yours, panting, your sweat and his mingling, the air between you sticky with sex and sin.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

The bed was a wreck of tangled sheets and the heavy scent of sex, but neither of you moved to fix it. He had rolled onto his back beside you, one arm draped over his forehead, his chest rising and falling in slow, satiated rhythm. The heat between you had settled into something quiet, something tender.

You turned your head to look at him, the sharp line of his jaw, the sweat-damp hair at his temples, the way his lips were still slightly parted as he caught his breath. As if sensing your gaze, he shifted, turning onto his side to face you. His fingers found your hip, tracing absent circles there, feather-light compared to the bruising grip he’d had on you earlier.

"Come here," he murmured, voice rough but warm. He didn’t pull, just waited, leaving the choice to you.

You shifted closer, and his arm curled around you, drawing you in until your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear, strong and sure. His other hand brushed your hair back from your face, tucking a loose strand behind your ear before his fingers trailed down your shoulder, your arm, as if relearning you in the stillness.

"You’re shaking," he said softly.

You hadn’t even noticed, just the faint tremble in your limbs, the aftershocks of pleasure and the slow return to earth. His palm smoothed over your back, steadying.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, lips pressing against the crown of your head. "Always."

There was no urgency now, no hunger demanding more. Just the quiet between breaths, the way his thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the way his body curved around yours like he could shield you from everything.

"You know that, don’t you?" he asked after a moment, voice low. "That I’m not letting you go."

It wasn’t a question, not really. It was a vow, wrapped in the dark and the warmth of the bed, in the way his fingers laced with yours.

“Should we head back down?” You asked him.

He shook his head, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at you with a lopsided grin.

“Go back down? And risk someone walking in on us with bedhead and judgment in their eyes? No thanks.”

You snorted. “So you’re staying in bed forever?”

“Exactly,” he said, settling deeper into the pillows. “Tell my friends and family I’ve retired. Full-time blanket burrito. Part-time cuddler.”

You cringed at his corny response, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Besides,” he murmured, “why would I leave when you’re literally right here being all soft and gorgeous and mine.”

You felt your cheeks warm as he pulled the blanket higher around both of you.

“Wake me up in five to seven business days,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, let the weight of him, the scent of him, the safety of him, sink into your bones. Before you knew it, the sound of his heartbeat lured you to a deep sleep.

Something in the house stirred you awake.

You let out a quiet groan and buried your face into the pillow, trying to cling to the last threads of sleep. Your head throbbed with a dull ache at your temples, the unmistakable consequence of too many drinks and too little water. You immediately regretted everything you had consumed that night.

Still half-asleep, you stretched your arm across the bed, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of Josh beside you. But your fingertips brushed only cool sheets. You blinked, confused, and lifted your head slightly, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light filtering in through the curtains.

Josh was gone.

Frowning, you sat up fully, pushing the blankets aside as you glanced around the room. His clothes were missing from where he’d left them. The space where he had been lying was already cool to the touch. He hadn’t just gone to the bathroom.

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to make sense of it. He hadn’t said anything about leaving, and there was no note or message left behind. You knew he was the host tonight. Maybe someone downstairs had needed something, or he was helping clean up the inevitable chaos. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy that he had left so quietly.

The house had gone unusually still. No music. No voices. No footsteps on the creaky stairs. Just the low hum of silence pressing against the walls.

You grabbed your clothes from the floor and quickly dressed, your ears straining for any sign of movement, footsteps, voices, laughter, anything to suggest someone else was awake.

But there was nothing. The silence felt unnatural, like the house was holding its breath.

You hesitated at Josh’s bedroom door, hand on the knob. You wanted to call out, but something about the stillness made you stop. You didn’t want to be the one to break it.

Maybe everyone was still asleep. Maybe it was early. You had no idea what time it was, your phone was still somewhere in the chaos of the night before.

You opened the door slowly and stepped into the hallway, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounding ten times louder than it should. The air was colder out here, biting at your skin.

You made your way down the stairs, the wood groaning softly under your weight, and entered the main room where everyone had been drinking and laughing just hours ago.

The fire had long since died, leaving only a faint smell of smoke in the air. Empty beer bottles and red plastic cups littered the tables and floor. A few blankets were still bunched up on the couch, but no one was under them.

A quiet, creeping urgency bloomed in your chest.

You moved faster now, checking the kitchen, the side room, even peeking down the hall toward the guest bedrooms. Nothing. No signs of anyone. It was like they had all just vanished.

Your heartbeat pounded faster, the silence around you growing heavier with every second.

They wouldn’t have gone outside, not in weather like this. You turned toward the front windows, where snow fell in thick, relentless waves, burying the world in white. The storm had only intensified since nightfall. No one in their right mind would leave the safety of the cabin now.

But your friends hadn’t been thinking clearly. The drinks, the laughter, the stupid jokes. What if one of them had dared the others to step outside? The thought sent a jolt of panic through you, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t just sit here until morning, pretending everything was fine. Not when they might be out there, lost in the freezing dark.

Hands trembling, you jammed your feet into your boots and snatched your jacket from the hook. Every second wasted was another second the storm swallowed them whole. You had to find them before the mountain had them forever.

As you shrugged on your jacket and turned toward the front door, something caught your eye. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, swaying with an eerie, rhythmic creak. The wind, you told yourself. It had to be the wind, someone must’ve left the window open. But the logical explanation did nothing to stop the icy prickle of dread crawling up your spine. Your mind conjured images of shadowed figures lurking just out of sight, watching from the darkness.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself toward the bathroom. The floorboards groaned under your weight as you inched closer, each step too loud in the suffocating silence. With a shaky breath, you pushed the door open.

Cold air rushed over you. The window gaped wide, snowflakes swirling inside like spectral fingers. Your gaze darted across the empty room, searching for movement, for anything. Then you saw it.

The mirror.

Dark, crimson letters smeared across the glass, still glistening wet. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a gasp. The metallic tang of blood hit your nostrils. Your lungs locked. A scream clawed at your throat, but terror had stolen your voice. All you could do was stare, frozen, at the words staring back at you:

WELCOME BACK

The words were scrawled across the mirror in dark, dripping red. You couldn’t stop staring. The letters were uneven, smeared like they’d been written in a hurry or by someone who wanted them to look that way. Blood slid slowly down the glass, a thick line breaking through the last word.

Your body locked in place, fear rooting you to the spot. Every hair on your arms stood up. You didn’t need to touch it to know it was real.

Whoever wrote that they were here. And you were alone.

Your breath hitched as the cold from the open window bit deeper into your skin. The storm outside no longer felt like the danger, it felt like the only way out.

You turned and ran, the sound of your boots pounding on the floor loud in the silence. The walls seemed to close in as you sprinted through the hallway, adrenaline numbing your fingers as you grabbed for the front door.

Your hand was just about to touch the knob when you heard it.

A muffled scream.

You froze.

It was distant, but unmistakable. Ragged, broken, and coming from somewhere deeper inside the lodge. Someone was here and they were screaming for help.

Your body shook as dread gripped you tight. You knew exactly where the scream had come from, the only place you hadn’t checked.

The basement.

Every instinct screamed at you to run. To get out, to find help, to survive. But you also knew it would be too late. Help wouldn’t come fast enough. And if someone was still alive, every second mattered.

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you turned and headed for the basement door.

You opened it slowly, trying not to breathe too loud. When you and Sam had been down here earlier, it was dark, but now, it was pitch black. A suffocating kind of dark. You cursed under your breath and fumbled for your phone, the small flashlight beam flickering on as you started down the stairs.

The silence followed you. Heavy. Oppressive. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty.

At the bottom, your light skimmed across the floor, revealing overturned beer crates and broken furniture scattered across the basement. The old wooden chair Josh used to joke about being haunted now lay on its side, splintered.

There had been a struggle. No question.

You tried not to gag at the thought.

Then your flashlight caught it. The door at the end of the hallway. The one Josh had told you never to open.

It was open now. Fully.

You swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in your throat. The scream had come from there. You knew it.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward, crossing the basement and slipping through the open doorway. What you saw on the other side made your skin crawl.

It wasn’t just a room.

It was another section of the basement entirely. Narrow hallways branched off in different directions, lined with doors, storage rooms, utility closets, you couldn’t tell. The space felt hidden, secret. Like it wasn’t meant to be found.

That’s when you heard the scream again.

This time it was louder, clearer. Raw and panicked, echoing off the walls. And this time, you could make out the voice.

Ashley.

This time, your body didn’t freeze. Adrenaline surged like a current through your veins, propelling your legs into motion. You sprinted toward the sound of her scream, heart hammering, breath shallow. As you rounded a corner, the screaming doubled. Ashley’s voice now joined by Chris’s, both echoing in distorted waves through the concrete walls.

Your fear didn’t slow you. It sharpened you.

You turned the final corner and there they were.

Ashley and Chris were backed against the far wall, their faces bone-white in the dim light. Between you and them stood a mountain of a man, his silhouette swallowing the space. The grotesque Halloween mask leered at them, the eye holes black and depthless.

He didn’t notice you enter.

He was focused entirely on them, moving in slow, deliberate steps. In one gloved hand, he held a damp cloth, soaked with something dark and unidentifiable. You didn’t want to guess what it was meant for.

Chris and Ashley’s eyes snapped to you then widened.

You lifted a finger to your lips and silently begged them not to speak.

The masked man kept advancing.

Silently, your gaze swept the room. A weapon. Anything. Sweat stung your eyes as you spotted it, an empty beer bottle, half-hidden under a toppled crate. You snatched it, the glass slick in your palm. You clutched the neck tightly in your hand. Every muscle tensed as you crept forward, the floorboards mercifully silent beneath you.

You were close now. Just behind him.

Ashley’s eyes flicked from him to you again.

That did it.

The man’s head twitched, he sensed it. He sensed you.

You screamed and brought the bottle down with everything you had. Glass exploded against the back of his head. He roared in pain, stumbling forward, one hand clamped to his skull. Blood seeped from under the mask, but he didn’t go down.

The mask had taken the worst of the blow.

“Run!” you shouted.

Chris grabbed Ashley’s wrist, dragging her toward a side exit that led deeper into the basement halls, avoiding the path blocked by the man. You turned, ready to bolt back the way you’d come.

That’s when you heard it.

A voice.

Deep. Warped. Distorted through some kind of voice modulator.

It said your name.

Your name.

Your blood went cold. He knew who you were. You ran harder, crashing through the basement door and sprinting into the hallway beyond. Behind you, you heard the thundering footsteps of boots hitting the floor. He was up. And he was coming. Now, he was after you.

Your feet pounded the floor as you tore down the hallway, your breath tearing through your throat like fire. The air was thick, damp, the walls closing in as the thunder of boots echoed behind you, closer with every second.

You flew up the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping on the top step. As you burst back into the main floor of the lodge, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You knew the layout. You had seconds, maybe less to think.

You grabbed the nearest hall table and flipped it onto its side, shoving it hard across the floor. It scraped loudly against the wood and crashed down at the top of the basement stairs, blocking the entrance. It wouldn’t stop him, but maybe it would slow him. You ran again, past the flickering firelight of the main room, dodging fallen chairs and discarded beer bottles.

He was coming.

You could feel it. That awful, unrelenting presence behind you like gravity itself.

You turned sharply into the back hallway, eyes searching for any door, any place to hide. Your chest burned, your legs already heavy. You stumbled into a guest room, slammed the door shut, and pressed your back to it, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your breathing.

A long moment passed.

Silence.

Then the crash of wood splintering. The table at the top of the stairs had been obliterated. The makeshift barricade hadn’t bought you more than a few seconds.

He was inside. He was hunting you now.

Inside the guess room you immediately scanned the space. A bed. A closet. A dresser. No time to think. You dropped to the floor and slid beneath the bed, pressing yourself flat against the cold, dusty boards, forcing your breath to stay silent.

The moment stretched endlessly.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed through the lodge. He was already upstairs, and his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor as he moved through the halls, methodically checking rooms one by one.

The hallway creaked under his weight. Then the doorknob turned, slowly.

The door opened with a soft groan, and his boots stepped into the room.

He stood there for a moment, perfectly still, and you could almost feel his presence filling the space. Your heart pounded so loudly you were convinced it would give you away.

Then his voice filled the silence, low and drawn out, distorted through the modulator.

“I seeeee you…”

Your breath froze. His boots shifted slightly as he stepped forward.

“You always had to go and help them, didn’t you?” he said, voice calm, almost amused. “Couldn’t leave the lodge like the rest of them.”

He crouched down.

From under the bed, you saw his gloved hand press to the floor just inches away from your face. He tapped his fingers slowly, rhythmically, like he was thinking, maybe savouring the moment.

“Hiding… really?” he murmured. “You’re smarter than that.”

Your entire body tensed. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, barely blinked.

“I could drag you out right now,” he said, tone almost playful. “But where’s the fun in that?”

He stood again.

His boots turned and walked back toward the door. As he reached the hallway, his voice drifted back, distorted and singsong.

“I’ll give you a head start.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him.

You stayed frozen, still flat against the floor, too afraid to believe he was gone. The house had gone quiet again, but you knew the silence didn’t mean safety.

He was still here.

And now he was hunting.

You stayed pressed to the floor, waiting until your breathing slowed and the roar of your heartbeat dulled in your ears. Your hands were still shaking, the weight of what had just happened sinking in fully now. Somewhere in the house, that masked man was still moving. Still searching.

You couldn’t stay here. Not alone.

A plan began to form through the haze of fear. You had to find Chris and Ashley. Being together gave you a chance, splitting up would only make you easier targets. If you could get back down to the basement quietly, carefully, maybe you could all find a way out together.

You crawled out from under the bed and rose to your feet as slowly and silently as possible. Every creak of the floorboard made your skin tighten, but the room remained still. Just the low hum of the wind pressing against the lodge.

You slipped the door open a crack and peered into the hallway. Empty.

The hallway stretched out in eerie silence, every shadow too long, every corner too dark. You slipped out, closing the door behind you with barely a click. With each step, you kept low, your body tense and alert, listening for any shift, any breath that wasn’t yours.

You reached the staircase and paused at the top.

The darkness below yawned open, wide and waiting. Somewhere down there, Chris and Ashley were still hiding hopefully. You swallowed hard and began to descend, one step at a time, your hand trailing the banister to steady yourself. The wood creaked faintly beneath your weight, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to keep moving.

At the bottom of the stairs, you stopped to listen again.

Still nothing.

You turned down the hallway, the one leading toward the section of the basement where you last saw them. The silence pressed harder now, as if the air itself didn’t want to breathe. You reached a closed door, one you hadn’t checked before.

Maybe they were hiding in here. Maybe they’d found another way through.

You curled your fingers around the handle, turned it slowly, and eased the door open just a crack.

And froze.

He was there.

Standing on the other side, just inches away.

The masked man.

You stared straight into the empty black eyeholes of his mask. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He was just standing there as if he’d been waiting for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He tilted his head.

Just a little.

Like he was smiling.

The eyeholes of the mask stared through you, and for a second, your brain refused to believe it was real.

Then he moved.

Just a shift of his shoulders, a slight step forward but it was enough.

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you before you could stop it, sharp and panicked, echoing off the concrete walls. You stumbled back from the door, heart in your throat, breath ragged.

Your first instinct was to turn and run upstairs. Just get away. Put space between you and that thing, that man, whatever he was.

But you stopped yourself.

Chris and Ashley were still down here. Hiding. Waiting. Maybe bleeding.

You couldn’t leave them.

You spun and ran, not back upstairs, but down the hall, toward the far side of the basement. You didn’t hear him behind you at first, but you felt him. The floor seemed to vibrate with his footsteps as he gave chase.

You didn’t have a plan, just instinct. You turned hard at the first junction, then another, ducking into the maze of back corridors and storage rooms, trying to loop him, trying to shake him. You ducked through a low doorway, dodging a hanging pipe, nearly slipped on a damp patch of concrete but caught yourself just in time.

Behind you, the sound of his boots grew louder, closer.

You ducked into another side room, one filled with shelving and crates stacked high. You moved fast, pushing through the narrow gaps, weaving your way to the far side and slipping out just as he entered the opposite end.

You heard him stop. Then nothing.

You held your breath, pressed against the cold wall, heart hammering so loud you thought it might echo.

Had you lost him?

No. Just bought yourself seconds.

You had to get back to that side room where Chris and Ashley had gone. If you could loop through the utility corridor on the left, you might just beat him there.

You slipped back into the corridor, keeping low, your footsteps barely audible. You took a sharp left, cutting through the old utility passage with its rusted pipes and exposed wiring. Your chest burned, your legs ached, but you kept going, convinced you’d looped around fast enough to get ahead of him.

The hallway was still. Empty. You moved quietly, hugging the wall, ears straining for any hint of footsteps, breathing, anything.

Nothing.

You reached the intersection near the room Chris and Ashley had fled into, just a few steps away. Your heart lifted slightly.

Maybe you’d actually lost him.

But the moment you turned the corner -

A hand clamped down on your arm like a vice.

He’d been waiting.

He yanked you back hard, and you barely caught yourself before slamming into the wall. You screamed, twisting in his grip, but it was like being held by a wall of stone. His mask was inches from your face now, close enough to see the cracks in the paint, the dried blood on the chin. He was tall. Taller than you’d realized. Broader. Inhumanly still.

Panic surged through you. You flailed with your free hand, scrambling for anything and your fingers closed around something cold and smooth on the shelf beside you.

A vase.

Small. Decorative. Useless, until you smashed it into his forearm.

The glass shattered, sharp pieces slicing across both of you, but it did the job. He grunted and recoiled, grip loosening just enough.

You ripped free and stumbled back, your arm throbbing, tiny cuts stinging along your hand. He lunged for you again, but you ducked low and bolted toward the door.

You ducked under his arm and bolted, lungs burning, but your foot caught on a jagged piece of wood jutting from the floor. You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring up through your elbow and into your shoulder. Your scream echoed through the corridor, loud and raw. Pain exploded in your arm as you rolled onto your back, instinctively trying to push yourself up, but it was no use. The shooting ache froze your muscles, and your breath hitched in panic.

Then you heard it. The slow, deliberate sound of boots. He was coming.

You turned your head and saw him advancing through the shadows, unfazed, unhurried. The mask gleamed faintly in the dark, its hollow eyes fixed on you like a predator that already knew it had won. You scrambled backward on your elbows, dragging yourself over the cracked concrete, ignoring the sting of every movement, the burn of broken skin against the floor.

Your voice broke into a sob. “No—please—!”

But he didn’t stop.

You kicked at him, flailing, your heel catching his thigh. It barely staggered him.

His hand shot down, grabbing your ankle so tight it sent another jolt of pain shooting up your leg. You screamed again and kicked harder, clawing at the floor, reaching for anything to hold onto. But there was nothing.

He began to drag you backward, your body scraping roughly along the floor. You felt every bump, every uneven groove in the concrete biting into your spine and hips. Your jacket bunched at your shoulders as you were yanked faster now, your free leg flailing wildly.

Your screams were deafening, but they went unanswered.

You reached toward doorframes, toward corners, your fingertips grazing the wood but not catching. The further he pulled you, the darker the hallway seemed to grow, like you were being dragged into a void that existed only for you.

He turned a corner sharply, and your head hit the floor. Dizzy, disoriented, you barely registered the next motion until he stopped moving.

Then he reached down again.

With effortless force, he hoisted you into the air and slung you over his shoulder. Your stomach flipped as your body was lifted and twisted, the world tilting upside down.

You thrashed, fists pounding his back, feet kicking helplessly behind him. Your voice cracked from screaming, but you didn’t stop, not for a second.

“PUT ME DOWN! LET ME GO!”

You could barely breathe from the pressure of his shoulder against your ribs. His arm locked around the back of your legs, holding you in place like you were a bag of supplies, not a person. You felt the way his body barely shifted under your weight. You were nothing to him.

He walked forward, steady and sure, moving through the lodge like he knew it intimately.

He kicked open the front door with one brutal slam of his boot. A rush of frigid wind blasted against your face, snow catching in your hair, your lungs seizing from the sudden drop in temperature. The night outside was blindingly white, the blizzard fully alive now, howling through the trees like a pack of wild things.

You blinked through tears and snow, and there, across the yard, past the warped fence and buried stepping stones was the dilapidated shed.

The shed door groaned as he pushed it open, the blizzard’s howl immediately muffled as he stepped inside and shut it behind him. The space was small, walls lined with old tools and crates stacked with forgotten gear. It smelled of damp wood and rust. Overhead, a single hanging bulb flickered to life with a sharp click, casting the room in a pale, sickly glow.

He turned, one arm still braced around your legs, and with the other hand reached back and twisted the bolt lock on the door. Click. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the cramped space.

Then he moved toward the center of the room and dropped you unceremoniously onto a wooden stool. Your body jolted at the impact, your injured arm screaming in protest. The cold bit at your skin through your torn jacket, and the fear tightened around your throat like a rope.

“Please,” you gasped, “leave us alone.”

He didn’t respond.

He just stood there, towering, unmoving. The mask stared at you, eyes black, mouth stretched into that grotesque, permanent smile. You tried to steady your voice, but it cracked as you rambled, desperate.

“We won’t tell anyone, okay? I swear. Whatever you did, whatever you want, we won’t say a word. Just let us go.”

Still nothing.

He watched you with eerie stillness, and something about that silence made the fear even worse. You couldn’t read him. Couldn't predict him. Couldn't understand what he wanted.

Your voice broke again. “Please—”

Then he tilted his head.

“God, you’re so cute when you’re freaking out,” he said.

The voice was no longer filtered. It was familiar.

Your breath caught, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. That voice. That tone. You blinked up at him, heart pounding in your ears.

“What?” was all you managed to whisper.

Slowly, with deliberate ease, he reached up to the side of his mask. His gloved fingers found the edges, hooked under the jaw. And then he peeled it off.

The mask came away in one smooth motion, revealing a face you knew.

A face you trusted.

Josh.

Josh stared back at you, face flushed, hair damp with sweat, but his eyes weren’t the same. They were wide. Lit. Burning with something manic, something far too close to pleasure.

“Josh?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he began to laugh.

Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. A full, sudden, jarring burst of laughter that came tearing out of his throat like it had been trapped inside for too long. It echoed off the walls of the shed, too loud, too sharp, bouncing around the space like it didn’t belong.

His eyes were wide now. Wild. Glassy with some combination of adrenaline and obsession. He barely blinked as he stared at you, drinking in every flicker of your expression like it was his favorite thing in the world.

You sat frozen on the stool, confused, panting, injured, trembling, exactly how he wanted you.

“Oh my God,” he said between laughs, shaking his head with theatrical disbelief. “Wait, you thought this was real? You seriously thought this was like - some psycho in a mask coming to get you? You? Come on.”

His voice dropped low, mocking, almost sing-song.

“You of all people should know me better.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your brain was scrambling to connect dots that refused to fit together. The blood in your ears was too loud. Your pulse thudded painfully in your temple. Your injured arm throbbed with each breath.

Josh took a step closer, casual now, like this was all some kind of joke between friends. His body relaxed, but his grin didn’t fade. That grin, so wide it looked painful, so forced it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked rapidly, trying to process what you were seeing.

His clothes were wrong.

Underneath the bulky jacket and mask gear, he wore layered thermal shirts and torn snow pants, mud-stained, blood-streaked. But it was the harness strapped around his torso that caught your eye. Wires. Hooks. A device clipped at his hip. A remote?

A part of you recognized the setup immediately. It was meant for effects. Speakers. Smoke. Movement. All tools to orchestrate fear.

He’d planned this.

All of it.

“Josh,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice hoarse. “What… what the hell is going on?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Then he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing, voice low and gleeful.

“I’m just putting on a little show for our friends,” he said. “You wanted to relive the past, right? Well, welcome back to Blackwood.”

You stared at him, still trembling, your entire body screaming to move, to run, to understand. But nothing made sense.

“What are you planning, Josh?” you asked, your voice uneven. “What is this?”

That grin didn’t leave his face. But something behind it shifted. Hardened.

“I’m giving them what they deserve,” he said, stepping back just slightly, pacing in a lazy half-circle like he was warming up for a monologue. “After what they did last year. After what they did to Hannah and Beth, did you really think they were just going to get away with it?”

His voice turned bitter. Tight with anger. “They laughed. They joked. They filmed it. They watched them run out into the cold and none of them stopped them. None of them even cared.”

Your stomach twisted. You could barely breathe.

“I know,” you said quickly. “I know what happened, Josh. But you have to understand, they are sorry for what happened. They all regret it every day. You know I didn’t have anything to do with it. I wasn’t part of it.”

Josh stopped pacing. He looked at you, and, for a second his expression softened. Not sympathy, exactly. Just recognition.

“That’s true,” he said, nodding once. “You weren’t. You never would’ve gone along with that.”

Then his grin returned, sharper now.

“That’s why I was really hoping,” he continued, voice lowering, “that after our little activity earlier, you would’ve just passed out for the night. Slept through the whole thing. Left this to them.”

You stared, horror blooming slowly.

“But I guess that’s not like you,” he added, tilting his head with mock admiration. “Always poking around. Always trying to fix things. The brave one. The smart one. The one who makes it to the end.”

He leaned in again, eyes shining.

“The final girl in my prank.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your voice as you pushed through the pain curling in your chest. “Josh, this isn’t fair. None of this. This is torture. You’re putting us through, it’s not justice. You’re scaring them to death. You’re scaring me. This isn’t the way.”

His eyes flickered, something like pain or frustration, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same manic fire that had never really left. He took a step closer, the cold light casting sharp shadows across his face.

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice low, raw with something like desperation.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I have to do this. I have to make them feel it. All of it. The fear. The pain. The helplessness.”

He laughed bitterly, a sound that cut sharper than any blade. “They have to feel what my sisters felt that night. The night they were broken, left to freeze and scream until everything inside them shattered.”

You shook your head, tears mixing with snowflakes melting on your cheeks. “Josh, this isn’t them anymore. People change. They’re not the same. You’re punishing us. This isn’t justice, it’s revenge twisted into something worse.”

His grin faltered, but only for a moment. “No. You don’t get to decide what this is. I’m giving them what they deserve. ”

You felt the cold tightening around your heart, realizing that no words could reach him, not now. Not when his mind had spiraled so far down that the lines between justice and vengeance, love and hate, had blurred into something dark and terrible.

Your breath hitched. “Josh, please. Please stop.”

Josh’s eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the fire in them wavered. Just a flicker, but it was there. A fracture in the madness. Maybe it was your trembling, the way your injured arm cradled uselessly against your side, or maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes, too thick and heavy to hide anymore.

He faltered.

His posture shifted. The manic tension in his shoulders loosened, and his expression, still split by that horrible grin, sagged at the edges.

And then, just like that, the mask of vengeance cracked.

“Oh, baby…” he murmured, voice softening as he took another step forward. “Fuck, it hurts to see you like this.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Everything in you was screaming to run, to scream, to fight but your body had folded into itself, too stunned by pain and disbelief.

Josh crouched down in front of you, the shift sudden and intimate. His gloved hand reached out slowly, almost reverently, and he brushed the damp strands of hair from your face. His fingertips were cold, but his touch was gentle, terrifyingly so.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, voice dipped in something sickly sweet. “I didn’t want it to be like this for you. You weren’t supposed to be awake. I just needed to make it real for them.”

You shook your head, a sob crawling up your throat. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“I know, I know.” He nodded quickly, like agreeing made it better. “It’s not forever, okay? Just tonight. It’s just for tonight, and I promise, I promise, no one’s gonna get hurt. Just a scare. That’s all.”

You flinched when he tried to touch your cheek. He paused, hurt flashing through his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right? You’re not like the others. You’re the only one who ever saw me.”

The words should’ve comforted you, but they felt like chains tightening around your chest.

He leaned closer, voice barely audible now. “Just trust me. Please. After tonight, it’s over.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to plead with Josh one last time but the words died on your tongue as a voice cut through the cold night like a blade.

“He’s lying, ______.”

Your head snapped toward the sound. Josh’s did too, slower, tighter, like something in him already knew what was coming.

Mike stood at the edge of the clearing, barely upright. His face was a bruised and bloodied mess, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood dried in streaks across his temple and jaw. His clothes were torn, muddied, and soaked in crimson. In his trembling hands, he held a gun, aimed straight at Josh.

“Michael…” Josh breathed, the name dry on his tongue, like dust.

You stumbled to your feet in a daze, confusion knotting in your gut. “Mike, what…?”

Mike didn’t look at you. His eyes were locked on Josh, wild with fury and grief. “Get away from him, _____,” he said, his voice low but shaking. “He killed Jessica.”

The world dropped out from under you.

Silence rang louder than any scream could. Your breath hitched, chest rising too fast, too shallow.

“Wh… What?”

Your voice was barely audible, but it cracked like glass.

Josh didn’t move. His smile was gone now. In its place was something far more disturbing: stillness. A kind of dread that sunk deep into his bones.

“He’s lying,” Josh said, shaking his head slowly, like if he denied it gently enough, it wouldn’t be real. “No, _____, please, he’s twisting this. I didn’t touch Jessica. You know me.”

You took a step back. That one step felt like a mile.

Your eyes flicked down, finally really seeing him. His clothes, soaked through in dried maroon, his gloves, the sticky sheen around the seams. You hadn’t noticed before, or maybe you had and refused to let yourself see it.

“No…” you whispered, but it wasn’t denial anymore.

It was the beginning of understanding.

Josh's voice cracked now, desperate. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill her. He’s setting me up. You can’t believe him over me. Not after everything, not you.”

“Jessica’s gone,” Mike said, stepping forward, the gun trembling in his hand but his aim steady. “He snapped. It wasn’t just a scare, it never was. I watched her get pulled out of the cabin.”

You staggered, bile rising in your throat. “Josh… please tell me it’s not true.”

But he didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched. His shoulders pulled tight. And for the first time, he looked… cornered.

Not wounded. Not misunderstood.

Cornered.

You saw the truth then not in words, but in the silence. In his refusal to deny it again.

Your voice was a whisper. “You said no one would get hurt.”

Josh’s eyes filled with something like sorrow. Or maybe it was regret. It was too late to tell anymore.

You stepped, slow and unsteady, but deliberate, past the cracked earth and stopped behind Mike.

Josh’s eyes followed your every move, widening with disbelief. His face twisted, something sharp and fractured passing through it.

“No…” he said, barely audible. “No, no, no.”

You stood behind Mike, not because you wanted to, not because you fully understood what was happening but because you had to. Because whatever this was, Josh had become something you couldn’t reach. And now someone had to stop him.

Josh’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grind. The sorrow was gone in an instant, swallowed whole by something darker.

His lip curled. “So that’s it?” he spat. “You pick him? After everything we’ve been through, you take his side?”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your breath trembled in your throat, but you didn’t move away from Mike.

Josh stepped forward, just one pace, but it was enough to make Mike raise the gun higher.

“Oh, of course,” Josh sneered. “It’s Mike, the golden boy. The hero. Always showing up right when a lady needs saving.” His eyes locked on yours.

You flinched.

Josh’s voice pitched upward, fraying at the edges. “You think he cares about you? He didn’t even care about Jessica!”

“Shut up, Josh,” Mike snapped, the gun steady despite the tremor in his jaw. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” Josh roared, taking another step, wildness flashing across his face. “Everything is about you, Mike. You act like some noble protector, but you’re nothing. You’re just a coward hiding behind a gun and a pretty face.”

You swallowed, eyes darting between them. Josh was unraveling.

“You twisted her,” Josh hissed, voice low and venomous now, eyes never leaving yours. “You filled her head with lies. You turned her against me.”

“No one turned me,” you finally said, your voice shaking but firm. “You did that yourself.”

Josh stopped.

He looked like you had slapped him. For a breath, his rage cracked, like the wind knocked out of a storm. And then it all burned away.

His fists clenched, shaking. “You don’t mean that,” he said, voice cracking. “You love me.”

“I don’t know who you are now.” you whispered.

Mike shifted slightly, keeping the gun raised but edging closer to you. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the wind.

“Go. Get back to the lodge,” he said, eyes never leaving Josh. “The others are there. You’ll be safe with them.”

Your mouth opened in protest, but no sound came. You didn’t want to leave Mike here, not with him. Not after everything. But Mike didn’t give you a choice.

“I’ll keep him here,” he murmured. “I can hold him off until help comes.”

Josh didn’t speak. His breathing had gone ragged, chest rising and falling like he was on the edge of either collapsing or exploding. His eyes flicked between you and Mike, wild and lost.

You hesitated.

Your feet felt like stone, like moving them would take everything you had left. But you forced yourself to turn slowly, still feeling the weight of Josh’s gaze on your back like ice along your spine.

You stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked back one last time.

Josh was staring at you, broken and furious all at once. His mouth was trembling, the muscles in his jaw twitching like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

It was the look of someone watching their world fall apart.

You wanted to scream at him. To ask why. To tell him that none of this had to happen. But you didn’t. Because no words would change what had already been done.

So you gave him a look. A look filled with everything he had shattered: trust, hope, and something that might have once been love.

And then you turned, and ran.

Behind you, the cold wind swallowed the last of Josh’s voice as he finally shouted after you.

“Don’t leave me!”

The wind howled through the trees like a scream torn from something ancient and dying. You pushed forward along the snow-covered path, heart thundering in your chest as if it were trying to rip its way out. Every shadow flickered with menace. Every gust of air seemed to whisper your name.

You had to get back to the lodge.

You had to warn the others.

Josh had killed Jessica.

The words echoed in your skull, a sick chant that refused to fade.

Your boots crunched over frozen earth, the snow thick and unforgiving beneath your feet. Your breath came in ragged bursts, pale clouds vanishing into the icy night. But it wasn’t the cold that made your hands tremble.

It was something else.

Something watching.

Something hungry.

A noise pierced the night.

Not behind you.

Above.

It was faint, like bones clicking together. Deliberate. Wet. Wrong. You stopped cold. A primal instinct roared through you, warning you to be still, to not look up. But curiosity was a curse stronger than fear.

Your gaze rose slowly.

Perched in the skeletal branches above was a thing born of nightmare. Its gaunt limbs clung to the bark in a grotesque mimicry of a spider, joints twitching with broken rhythm. Its skin was pulled taut across a sunken frame, a death mask of muscle and sinew. Where eyes should’ve been, there were only hollow pits, black, soulless voids that somehow saw you all the same.

It tilted its head.

Its mouth unhinged, peeling open wider than anything human, revealing jagged teeth stacked in rows, each one serrated like shattered glass. Then, it screamed, a shriek that pierced the night and ripped into your skull like barbed wire.

You ran.

Branches tore at your arms as you sprinted through the trees, stumbling, gasping, slipping in the snow. Behind you, the creature leapt from the tree. Its movements were wrong, too fast, too fluid, like time bent around it.

You could feel it gaining.

You didn’t dare look back.

Your foot caught on a root buried beneath the snow. Time slowed.

You pitched forward with a strangled cry, arms flailing, then the ground gave out beneath you.

A hollow groan. A crack like thunder.

The earth opened like a mouth.

You fell.

The world tilted and you were tumbling, flailing through a shaft of crumbling soil and ancient stone. Snow and ice scraped along your arms. Rocks tore at your legs. Then impact.

You hit the bottom with a soundless cry, the air driven from your lungs. Pain exploded through your ribs, sharp and searing. For a long, breathless moment, you just lay there, blinking into the dark.

Then came the silence. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t still. You were somewhere beneath the world now.

The hole you fell through was far above, just a jagged mouth letting in the faintest hint of moonlight, dust falling like snow through the beam. Everything else around you was dark stone, old timber, and silence thick as oil.

You tried to stand, your limbs protested, joints trembling. You bit back a scream as you leaned against the icy wall. Your flashlight was gone.

You were in the mines.

The old ones. Abandoned decades ago after the collapse. Everyone said they were haunted.

The darkness swallowed everything. You stood there, ribs aching, heart pounding, unable to tell how deep you’d fallen, only that you were far from the surface and farther still from anything safe. Cold sweat clung to your neck, your breath rising in shaky clouds that quickly disappeared into the black.

You had to move.

Every instinct screamed it. You weren’t alone down here. Even if the Wendigo hadn’t followed you, something in the air felt… wrong. Like the earth remembered pain. Remembered blood. And it remembered you now.

You ran your hand along the wall, slick with condensation, and took one slow step, then another. The ground was uneven, gravel and wet stone crunching beneath your boots. Your hands scraped along crumbling wood supports, fingers brushing the splinters of a beam so old it sagged like tired bones.

You blinked into the dark, willing your eyes to adjust. Shapes teased the edge of your vision, broken mine carts, shattered rails snaking like ribs across the floor. Crates rotted and half-collapsed under the weight of years. The scent of old oil, rust, and wet ash clung to the air like something still burning beneath the skin of the earth.

A glint caught your eye. You stumbled forward, heart leaping with cautious hope.

There half-buried beneath a tarp and a collapsed helmet, was a handheld torch. One of the old mining ones. Your hands trembled as you pried it free, the plastic cracked, the switch stiff with age. You held your breath and flicked it on.

Click.

A flicker. Then a dim orange beam cut through the dark, casting long shadows against the stone. Relief punched through your chest. It barely reached ten feet in front of you, but it was something.

Light.

You turned in a slow circle, the beam catching more remnants of the past. Pickaxes leaning against walls, their handles warped. A dusty boot lying on its side, the other nowhere to be seen. A broken lunchbox, rust flaked off like dead skin.

You kept going.

The tunnel forked, left into a deeper corridor choked with fallen beams, right into a narrow shaft where the air seemed colder still. You chose the right, dragging your fingers along the wall to stay balanced.

Every sound made you freeze. A pebble falling. Water dripping into a hidden pool. Once, the torch flickered and your heart stopped with it.

Then something moved ahead. You froze.

No, it was just a curtain of hanging roots, trailing down from the cracked ceiling like veins. You pushed through, brushing them aside as the tunnel widened.

More signs of death littered the space. Scraps of clothing. Fingernail gouges in the wall. Symbols scratched in the stone. A helmet with a long-dead head still inside.

Panic tightened in your throat.

You had to get out.

This place wasn’t just abandoned. It had been left behind. Sealed away for a reason.

And now you were in it.

And something else might be, too.

You’d stopped keeping track of time. Down here, hours bled together into a slow, gnawing ache of cold and silence. Your legs burned. Your throat was raw from breathing dust and fear. The dim beam of the old torch flickered more often now, the battery fading like your hope.

You had climbed over collapsed rails, crawled through gaps barely big enough for your body, and descended into shafts where the walls whispered in the dark. There was no way to tell if you were deeper or closer to the surface. It all felt the same: cold, tight, endless.

At one point, you sat down, back against a support beam, the old timber groaning above and let the torch rest in your lap. You stared at the wall across from you, blank and close, like a tombstone pressed against your nose.

Maybe this was it. Maybe you’d wander forever, slowly fading away until you were just another lost story these mines refused to give up.

Your fingers trembled. Your stomach had long since stopped growling. You leaned your head back, eyes fluttering shut. Just for a second. Just to breathe.

Then you heard it.

At first you thought it was your mind cracking, like a hallucination surfacing from the dark. But then it came again.

Mumbling.

Soft. Erratic. Human.

You froze, heart snapping to attention. The sound drifted faintly through one of the side tunnels, like someone speaking just out of earshot, voice fractured and low, words tangled in themselves.

You didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

But you rose. You kept the torch low, your steps cautious, almost silent. The air grew thicker, fouler. A rank, sweet stench clung to the stone like something dead had been soaked into it. As you rounded the corner, the sound sharpened. Words now. Rambling. Repeating.

You crept forward and then -

There he was. Josh.

Standing alone in a wide chamber, barely lit by the flicker of a dying flame from an old miner’s lantern. He rocked on his feet, arms wrapped around himself, clothes torn, hair wild and matted. His skin was pale, streaked with dirt and dried blood. His lips moved constantly, whispering to someone who wasn’t there.

“They took her. But they laughed... it wasn’t funny, I told them. I told them not to laugh!” He scratched his arms, as if something crawled beneath the skin.

Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t just lost. He was gone.

“Josh,” you said, stepping into the light.

He didn’t react at first. He kept talking, muttering about the prank, about Hannah, about the Wendigos. Then he turned slowly, eyes glassy and wide.

“Do you see them?” he asked, voice childlike. “They’re still here. They’re everywhere. I can’t sleep, not with the chewing. They’re in my head.”

“Josh… it’s me. Look at me.” You stepped closer, voice gentle but urgent. “It’s over. You're not alone.”

He blinked, face twitching, as though some part of him recognized you but didn’t know how. His lip trembled. “They’re mad at me... They’re all mad at me.”

You reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Josh. Stop. You need to come back.”

His breathing hitched, the tension in his body wavering like a frayed wire ready to snap. He stared at you, confused. Scared. And then his eyes welled with tears.

“I just wanted it to be funny,” he whispered. “I just wanted them to feel what they felt.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to let your own fear show. “We’ll talk about it. We’ll get help. But not here. Not in this place.”

Josh’s breath hitched as the tears spilled over, tracking through the grime caked on his cheeks. For a moment, he stood trembling. Then something shifted behind his eyes. Clarity. Recognition.

His wild gaze locked onto yours, and it was like watching a storm pass through him, leaving only ruin and something fragile in its wake.

“________?” His voice cracked. “Is it really you?”

Before you could answer, he lunged forward and threw his arms around you, clutching you like a lifeline. He buried his face in your shoulder; his body wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it. I didn’t. ”

His voice broke. “I didn’t kill Jessica. It was the creatures. The creatures. But she is still alive! I swear, I tried to stop them, but, I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything—”

You tightened your grip around him, grounding him. “I believe you, Josh. I believe you.”

He choked out a breath, clinging to your jacket like a child. You let him cry. Let the years of guilt and horror pour out of him into the quiet.

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” he murmured into your chest. “It was supposed to be a joke. A dumb joke. I just wanted them to feel what my sisters felt. But it all went so wrong.”

You pulled back slightly, lifting his face. “You’re not alone anymore. But we have to get out of here, Josh. This place, it’s not going to let us go easy. You have to tell me. How did you get into the mines?”

He blinked, sniffled, then nodded, wiping at his face with a dirt-smeared sleeve. “There’s a passage. It’s not far. It leads out past the western cliff. I can show you.”

He turned and pointed to a narrow cave mouth behind one of the rusted mine carts you hadn’t thought to check before, half-buried by rubble, almost invisible in the dark.

You swallowed your nerves and wrapped your arm around his. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Slowly, the two of you began walking toward the hidden tunnel, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls, the weight of the mine pressing in behind you like a final warning.

The torch sputtered but held on.

One way or another, you were getting out of this place.

You moved through the narrow tunnel, Josh’s arm barely resting on your shoulder. The air was stale but less suffocating than the open mine chambers behind you. For a while, the only sound was your own breathing and the scraping of boots on stone.

Josh broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “I don’t even know how I got this far gone. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could fix everything. But it just... fell apart.”

You glanced at him. The exhaustion in his eyes was something you’d never seen before. “You didn’t lose yourself, Josh. You were caught in something you couldn’t control. You fought, even if it didn’t feel like it.”

He gave a humorless laugh that barely hid the pain. “Fought? Felt more like drowning. I was supposed to keep everyone safe. And I failed you. I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“No one could have stopped this,” you said, voice steady. “Not alone.”

He looked down, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

You squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re not done yet.”

You kept walking, the faint light from the tunnel’s exit growing stronger.

“What happens when we get out?” you asked quietly.

Josh hesitated. “I don’t know. I just want to stop feeling like this. To get some kind of normal back.”

You nodded. “We’ll get there. First, we get out.”

The faint glow at the end of the tunnel grew steadily brighter, each step forward carrying the promise of fresh air and escape. The stale, suffocating atmosphere of the mines seemed to thin with every meter, and for the first time in hours, you dared to imagine the end was near. Your lungs burned with the effort, but hope flared in your chest like a fragile flame.

Then, shattering the fragile silence, a scream ripped through the darkness ahead. It was a gut-wrenching, agonized howl that clawed its way into your bones and refused to let go. The sound was raw, unearthly, filled with pain and primal hunger, echoing off the jagged stone walls with an eerie resonance that made your skin crawl.

Your breath caught, heart hammering so loudly you feared it would give you away. You froze in place, every muscle taut with dread. Josh’s face was pale and drawn in the flickering light of the torch. His eyes widened, reflecting the same terror clawing at your throat.

Out of the blackness stepped a monstrous shape, tall and impossibly thin, its limbs twisted at grotesque angles, scraping the tunnel walls as it moved with an unnatural, jerking grace. The Wendigo.

Its skin hung tight over its bones, a patchwork of grey, stretched like old leather. Its empty eye sockets burned with cold, malevolent intelligence, and the faint glow of the torchlight caught on its razor-sharp claws as they scraped against the rock floor, producing a sound like nails dragged over a coffin lid. The thing blocked the only exit.

Your breath hitched. Terror gripped you like icy fingers squeezing your heart.

You pressed a finger to your lips, voice barely more than a trembling whisper, “Josh… be quiet. Maybe if we move slowly, we can slip past it without it noticing.”

Josh’s gaze was fixed on the creature, and something fierce flickered behind his eyes, a desperate resolve that didn’t belong to the broken man you’d found in the depths of the mines. He shook his head slowly, his voice low and strained, “No. There’s no way we can both get past it.”

His eyes locked on yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you in that heavy, silent moment. You could see what he meant, he wasn’t just admitting defeat, he was telling you he would do whatever it took to protect you, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

His shoulders tightened as if bracing for something unbearable. “I can’t do this. Not if it means you’ll get hurt.”

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, a mix of fear and fierce determination flooding through you. You shook your head vehemently, your voice raw but steady, “No, Josh. We both get past this.”

You grabbed his arm tightly, burning eyes searching his face. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

The Wendigo snarled, a chilling sound like dry bones scraping together. It took a step forward, closing the gap, its presence suffocating and filled with ancient, insatiable hunger. The cold, dead weight of its stare pressed down on you, a living nightmare poised to strike.

But you stood firm, your pulse raging in your ears, the flickering torchlight casting monstrous shadows on the walls around you.

Josh’s hand suddenly shot out and gripped your wrist, yanking the torch from your grasp. The flame wavered, casting wild shadows that danced violently along the rough walls. His eyes, so fierce moments before, softened, filled now with a tenderness that cut through the terror like a knife.

“Stop,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. “Don’t do this. Not like this.”

You stared back, breath shallow, heart pounding louder than ever. The weight of the Wendigo’s presence was still heavy behind you, but in this fragile moment, it all felt distant, like a fading nightmare you were both desperately clinging to.

Josh stepped closer, his hands trembling as he held the dying torch between you, the flame flickering dangerously low. His gaze locked onto yours, the softest, most vulnerable look you’d seen from him all night, like he was finally laying down the last pieces of himself.

“I had the pleasure of telling you how I felt about you all these years,” he said, voice breaking with a fragile honesty. “Just for that…, I’m the happiest man on earth.”

For a heartbeat, everything around you stopped, the darkness, the fear, the endless mines. There was only him, and you, suspended in a moment that felt impossibly real and impossibly fragile.

Then, slow and deliberate, Josh leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with a gentleness that startled you. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, like the first tentative step after a lifetime of silence.

It was delicate, fragile, but full of something fierce and true hope, maybe, or love caught in the ruins of everything else.

“Now go,” Josh whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet urgency. Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward into the dim tunnel, the dying torch held out in front of him like a fragile shield. This left you away in the dark, away from the deathly eyes of the wendigo.

You barely had time to react before Josh began sweeping the torch wildly through the air, the flickering light carving frantic shapes against the cold stone. The Wendigo’s head snapped toward the sudden movement, its empty eye sockets burning with cruel awareness. A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within its throat as it started to shift forward, drawn by the wavering flame and the presence of Josh.

You didn’t even notice your feet moving, pulled by some primal instinct, inching silently toward the exit. Every step was heavy with fear and disbelief, your hands trembling as you fought to hold back the sobs rising in your throat. The cold air brushing against your skin was a cruel reminder that the outside world was still real, that you might still survive this nightmare.

Your eyes never left Josh, who now stood alone between you and the monstrous creature. Gone was the wild, broken figure from earlier. In his place stood the boyish man you had fallen for, flawed, fragile, but fiercely brave.

As you reached the rusted gate marking the mine’s mouth, you forced yourself to pause, turning your head for one last look back. The torchlight illuminated Josh’s face, worn but resolute, a faint, sad smile curling his lips. His eyes locked onto yours, and though he didn’t speak, you saw him mouth the words:

“I love you.”

A quiet sob slipped free from your lips as the weight of everything crashed down. Then, steeling yourself, you turned back toward the exit, pushing open the gate and stepping into the cold night air.

Behind you, the darkness swallowed Josh and the Wendigo, leaving you alone. Alive, but forever marked by what you had left behind.

It had been a month since the night that shattered everything and somehow stitched it all back together again.

You sat on the edge of the park bench, a cup of lukewarm coffee cradled in your hands, the distant noise of traffic and laughter drifting in from the nearby streets. The world kept moving, as if it didn’t know what had happened on that mountain, what you had seen, what you had lost. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe it couldn’t. But you did. Every single second of it was etched into you like scars beneath the skin, invisible but permanent.

Your friends, Mike, Jessica, Sam, Ashley, Chris, Emily, Matt, they were all alive. Shaken, bruised, changed, but alive. That alone felt like a miracle. After everything, it could’ve gone so much worse. It should have.

In the weeks that followed, the group had become something closer than you’d ever expected. Weekly dinners, game nights, long texts sent at 3AM when sleep wouldn’t come. No one said it out loud, but you could all feel it: that need to hold on tight, to not drift apart again. That night had done more than just haunt you, it had tethered you all together with something stronger than fear. Something like survival. Something like love.

But even with the laughter, even in the light of day, Josh lingered in the back of your mind.

His name was never far from your lips in the aftermath. You’d told the police everything, about the mines, about what he’d done, and what he’d tried to undo. About the Wendigo. You left out no detail, hoping someone would understand, someone would look. And they did. At first. But when the terrain turned too dangerous, too unmapped, too strange, the search began to slow. Then stop. And in the end, the only answer they gave was a silent nod and a promise to "keep the file open."

You knew what that meant. You weren’t going to get him back.

Still, part of you couldn’t accept that. You dreamed about the way he looked at you in those final moments, like he’d finally found peace, even in the face of something monstrous. Sometimes you woke up certain he was still out there, alive somehow, hiding in the shadows. Other nights, the dreams were colder. The mine, the scream, the torch’s final flicker. You always woke up before the end.

You took a shaky breath and looked down into your coffee, watching the ripples settle. If there was one good thing to come out of that horror, it was this, these people. Your people. You had nearly lost them, and now you knew better than ever how fragile everything was.

You stood slowly, coffee in hand, the air sharp against your cheeks. The park was nearly empty now, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots felt grounding. Familiar. With each step away from the bench, it was like you could finally breathe again, like you were learning how.

Then, a roar of tires shattered the calm.

A black sedan tore around the corner, engine screaming, the frame rocking slightly as it jerked to a stop just a few feet ahead of you. Your breath caught, heart already leaping into your throat. Instinctively, you took a step back, the coffee sloshing over the rim of the paper cup.

The engine cut off, and the driver’s door burst open.

“Sam?” you called out, confused.

She rounded the front of the car, sprinting toward you. Her face was bloodless, eyes wide with something that looked almost like panic. Or disbelief. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in front of you, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but before you could speak, she reached out, clutching your arm.

“It’s Josh,” she said, voice hoarse and shaking. “They found him.”

#josh washington #josh washington x reader #joshua washington #until dawn #until dawn remake #until dawn josh #josh washington smut #until dawn 2 #josh washington x you #josh washington imagines #josh until dawn #until dawn fanart #rami malek #rami malek x reader

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yoonjae20 · 6 months ago

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5 Times people outside of the immediate Batfamily find out that B is married and the one time the world meets his husband [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

Surprise, surprise! Due to immense positive reaction to the last Spirit Halloween Oneshot, I wrote another Oneshot interconnecting with the previous one. As you can see per the title it's a 5+1 Oneshot! Inspired by PaperPuffin's "Batman's Husband" over on ao3.

Read on ao3. Masterpost.

Previous. Next.

Barbara stretches her arms above her head and winces at the pop her joints make. It’s well into the early hours of the next day and it has been a long night – there had been an Arkham outbreak which needed all hands on the deck. After 5 stressful hours every Rogue was captured and back behind bars – all that remained were the reports they needed to fill out.

“I’ll head off for the night, I want to get at least a little bit of sleep before I have to go open the library,” Barbara announces over the comm.

“Thank you for your help today, Oracle,” Bruce grunts and Barbara is about to put down her headset when she hears paper getting shuffled around before the distinct sound of ceramic being settled down echoes through the comm.

“Thank you dear,” Bruce’s voice is surprisingly soft and Barbara wonders who brought the man tea – Cass perhaps? There’s some incomprehensible murmurs before Bruce hums thoughtfully. “I’ll probably be done in about 20 minutes or so – just need to finish this report. You can go ahead to bed – I’ll follow you in a bit.” Some more unclear mumbles, but distinctly male before Bruce snorts. Then there is the distinct sound of lips meeting each other. “Good Night, I love you.”

Barbara feels like she intruded on a very intimate moment and she quickly logs out of the comm system before she bursts the bubble Bruce seems to have settled in.

She places her headset next to her keyboard before rolling backwards and only then she lets out the squeal she had been holding in. Since when has B been in a committed relationship? She’s so gonna milk Cass for the details – she needs to know everything.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steph asks as she meets the rest of the Batfamily in the manor for movie night.

Normally the man never skipped out on those unless on an out of world mission.

“On a date,” Tim says absentmindedly as he scrolls through their selection.

Steph’s face scrunches up.

“As in Brucie?”

Jason snorts.

“Actually no,” he says. “Do you remember Bruce’s ring?”

“Yes?” Steph answers, uncertain where Jason is going with this.

“Yeah, apparently he’s married.”

“Wait, what?” Steph doesn’t believe her ears. Bruce Wayne? As in - brooding, stoic Bruce Wayne, who goes out at night in a Furry Costume to fight crime? “For how long?”

Jason turns to Tim who startles with all the attention on him.

“26 years,” Tim states and Steph almost chokes on her spit.

“No way.” Steph shakes her head. “That would mean he’s been married since well before like either of us all knew him!”

“Believe me, we were also quite shocked,” Jason mutters, before adding something under his breath. “Should have known that even his taste in men is quite peculiar.”

Tim starts their movie, but Steph can’t focus for a single second. What the hell is ‘peculiar’ supposed to mean?

Lois opens the door to see Bruce standing before it – along with a gift bag where a bottle of champagne is peeking out of it.

“Bruce!” Lois greets him warmly. “I’m glad you were able to make it!”

The man grunts before handing her the gift bag and following her into the house.

“Clark is doing a little errand, but he’ll be here soon enough.”

Bruce just nods and Lois settles down the gift bag on her kitchen counter, pulling the champagne bottle out. Her and Clark are celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary and the latter had wanted to invite Bruce to a simple, quiet dinner in their house in Smallville.

“Where are the boys?” the man questions when he sees that their table is only set for three people.

“Jon said he had a hang-over with Damian and Kon is on a mission with the Teen Titans.”

Bruce hums and soon Clark arrives back from his errand and they sit down at the dinner table.

In the middle of the meal, Clark opens the Champagne bottle with a loud pop before filling three glasses. Clark raises his own glass as he clears his throat.

“To another 15 years!”

Lois echoes the sentiment while Bruce nods stoically.

Their glasses clink as they toast to each other and then they finish their meal. Bruce still sips on his first glass of champagne when Clark broaches the topic.

“This would have been even better if you also had someone at your side, Bruce,” the man says. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and Clark coughs at the man’s deadpan expression.

“Just imagine if we could have celebrated your 15th anniversary too!” the man tries to save the conversation and Lois snorts at her husband fumbling.

“What Clark wants to say is that we wish for your happiness and that we sometimes wonder if a partner would achieve that,” Lois helps out and Clark shoots her a relieved smile. “We've never really seen you date anyone – and those headlines about ‘Brucie Wayne’ don’t count, you know?”

“That might be because my 27th wedding anniversary is coming up,” Bruce says as if he is talking about the weather.

Clark sputters while Lois’ eyes widen.

Bruce raises his right hand and Lois’ eyes focus on the ring on his ring finger – it only now really registering for Lois. It had almost become invisible over the years. Bruce’s lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“Or do you guys think of this as decoration?”

Lois' eyes twinkle as she suddenly pulls out her notepad.

“Tell me everything.”

A knock on his window makes Jim pause in his reading. The world outside is dark and Jim groans when he sees the time displayed in the corner of his screen. 03:57 am. He had been supposed to be home more than a few hours ago to eat dinner with his daughter.

His joints creak when he stands up from his seat — walking over to the window. He’s not surprised to find a looming shadow lingering behind it — quickly letting Batman in.

The man enters, landing softly and without a sound before he hands him a file. Jim purses through it — quickly recognizing it to be one of his recent murder cases.

“Red Robin made a breakthrough,” Batman explains gruffly. “He wanted you to receive this as quickly as possible.”

Jim nods before settling the file on his desk, before sinking back into his chair.

“I hope you are not planning on going back on patrol.” Jim rubs his tired eyes as he shuts down his computer. “While you may be a Cryptid, even you need your sleep.”

Batman’s soft snort surprises James.

“Actually I wasn’t,” the man claims. “My partner was very adamant about the fact that I would deliver this file and then go straight back to the Cave no matter what happens.”

Jim pauses. ‘My partner.’ The way the Batman had said it so casually surprises Jim.

He barks out a laugh.

“Good that there’s someone other than Agent A looking out for you then,” he teases as he watches the computer turn black. “You need it.”

Batman huffs out a breath and that’s as good as a laugh for the man than anything.

“Update me on the case,” the man says in lieu of a goodbye before disappearing out of the room with a swish of his cape.

Jim leans back in his seat, snorting. He never expected anyone to tame the Dark Knight — but apparently even the impossible is possible.

5: Wayne Enterprises staff

The Board Meeting dragged on. It was one of those rare times that Bruce actually attended them - normally he left those to Tim, but the boy hadn’t had time this time.

Once again Lucius applauds Bruce’s ability to stay patient even when Tiffany from HR drones on about unnecessary gossip — only smiling politely and nodding once here and then.

They had gone over the new developments and their future goals already and were well into their allotted one hour time slot. Most of them knew by now that these meetings often overrun and could go well up to two hours if no one (most of the time either Tim or his assistant) cut it short.

Normally Bruce is well versed in being the picture perfect CEO - kind and never once complaining. However this time Lucius notices the man glancing at both the clock opposite to him and his watch that he is wearing multiple times as they near the one hour mark. Lucius can even hear the man audibly grit his teeth and his left eye twitching once Tiffany goes on another tirade.

It’s 10 minutes past their allotted time slot that Bruce seems to have enough — he cuts off Tiffany's rant about one of their engineers with a firm, “Well if that’s everything — I have to get going. My partner and I are celebrating our anniversary.”

Then he promptly leaves the room after dropping that bombshell. Not a millisecond later when the door closes the room erupts in hushed whispers. Lucius doesn’t doubt that by the end the entire building will know about the man’s “mysterious” partner. Lucius quietly schedules a press conference for the next day.

The media gets wind of it by the next day — because of course they do. Each headline is more extreme than the next and Danny has fun teasing Bruce by reading each one out.

The interview Lois had forced Bruce and Danny into would probably go up either tomorrow or today now that the cat was out of the bag so to speak, but he probably would still need to address the general public in the press conference. Bruce silently thanks Lucius for his foresightedness in scheduling a press conference for today – Bruce had been tired yesterday, the exhaustion loosening his lips. While he didn’t want to hide away Danny now that he was back, he had wished for more time to announce it on his own terms.

Bruce stands in front of the mirror as he adjusts his tie and Danny stands behind him, chin on his shoulder and arms around his waist.

“You’ll do fine,” Danny cheers up Bruce. “Just deflect to the fact that an exclusive interview is going up soon and keep it short and simple.”

“You are not one who has to address them,” Bruce grumbles.

“Do you want me to?” Danny’s voice is uncharacteristically serious.

Bruce turns to see the man instead of looking at him through the mirror. Danny runs a hand through Bruce’s styled hair before settling it on the man’s cheek. A finger brushes Bruce's lips before Danny pulls him in for a soft kiss.

“You know I would do everything for you, darling.”

Bruce huffs out a fond breath and settles his forehead against Danny’s.

“I know,” he confirms, before linking their hands. “Together?”

“Together,” Danny affirms with a grin.

Danny changes into a nice dark blue suit – complementary to Bruce’s blue tie and together they step on the stage to address the news. Both of them smile as they wave at the flashes of the cameras.

“Hello Gotham,” Bruce greets. “This is my husband – Danny.”

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

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Thinking about being the second option’s second option.

Pairing: Male Character x Top Male reader

cw: 18+, power dynamics, age gaps, blowjobs, riding, dom!male reader, sub!male character, unrequited love, love triangles, jealousy, possessiveness

You wouldn’t otherwise be on his radar, maybe you were much younger than him, maybe he was your superior and you his subordinates and anything beyond a professional relationship would be highly inappropriate or maybe you just weren’t his type.

But God you had tried to approach him and many times at a - a subtle comment here and there that could mean more if he just followed up on it, a longing gaze or a light touch that he promptly ignored or played off, you’d even mustered up the courage to fess up your feelings one time only to get rejected immediately.

He was interested in someone else, or at least that’s what he had said when you confessed and that had been enough for you to completely back off.

A week later or so and you saw him with that very same someone in tow. However you’d quickly realized he’d been tasked with patching up wounds he himself didn’t cause because it was so blatantly obvious that the person in question was in love with someone that wasn’t him. He’d been blind to see or didn’t want to see and even though you had in mind to tell him you’d stuck to the promise you made yourself, and stayed away from him.

However it hadn’t been long before you’d been assigned the very same task- patching up wounds you didn’t cause for the man that had rejected you once.

He showed up with tears in his eyes and a couple of drinks in his system begging you to make him forget. You rejected him at the spot told him to come back when his lips didn’t taste like gin and tonic.

You didn’t think he would come back but he did and soon you had your all too good superior down on his knees, warm wet mouth eagerly sucking you in like he’s been waiting for this opportunity

But you weren’t easily fooled you knew the eagerness wasn’t for you.

Although his eyes were locked with yours you could see the distant look on his face, clearly imagining someone else in your place but none of that mattered not when his lips were stretched taut around your cock, not when he’s got his nose buried in your sweat damp fringe of curls and your cockhead is hitting the back of his throat, and not when you could taste yourself on his mouth when you finally slotted your lips together

But it didn’t end there because he’d continue to show up whenever the wounds reopened which was rather often. Not that you minded , not when you had the older man bent in ways that had all the joints in his body aching in protest, one hand fisting his salt and pepper hair the other clawing the sheets while fucking himself harder, deeper onto your dick

Harder faster more please he sobs into the sheets, a name that isn’t your own neatly tucked in between the begs and pleas, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s imagining someone else in front of him

But you couldn’t care less not when you’re the one who gets to feel his walls clenching down onto your dick, not when you’re the one who gets to lick the tears away from his cheek not when you’re the reason he’s cumming in such way he hasn’t done in years.

And while you lay there wrapped up in white sheets basking in the afterglow of your release, you watch the way he hastily puts the clothes back on his body, ever so determined not to spend the night.

You were no fool, you knew what type of relationship you had, you were just here to patch up his wounds and nothing more than that.

Besides you were nowhere near his type at least if you were to compare yourself to the men he approached at bars yet you were the one to have the bigger man pinned beneath your frame, strong body bent in half and practically skewed onto your cock, deep baritone voice reduced to wails and whines as he begs and pleads for you to let him cum.

#top male reader #dom male reader #x male reader #male reader #John price x reader #John price x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #tommy kinard #Tommy kinard x male reader #Tommy kinard x reader #top reader #dom reader #sub male character #bottom male character

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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srjsteel · 4 months ago

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How Bar Dowels Improve Pavement Performance

Dowel bars in roads constitute one of the most extensive but frequently not noted improvements in motorway engineering. These unassuming metallic rods play an important role in extending pavement life, lowering renovation expenses, and making sure smoother rides for millions of drivers day by day. Highway engineers and transportation departments increasingly recognize that the right load switch structures determine whether or not an avenue will close in five years or twenty-five.

The Hidden Crisis in Concrete Pavement Joints

Concrete pavements obviously broaden transverse joints—either by way of design or through inevitable cracking. These joints allow for thermal growth and contraction but create inherent structural weaknesses. Without right reinforcement, adjoining concrete slabs circulate independently whilst cars bypass over, creating choppy surfaces, untimely deterioration, and the infamous "thump-thump" driving revel in that alerts failing infrastructure.

This phenomenon, called joint faulting, ranks the various most common failure mechanisms in rigid pavements. As one slab aspect dips below another, it creates not simply driving force soreness but accelerates pavement destruction through impact loading and water infiltration.

"I've seen countless roads fail upfront because engineers attempted saving cash by means of skipping dowel bars," explains Michael Rodriguez, a transportation infrastructure specialist with 30 years of revel in. "The repair expenses commonly exceed the initial savings by an issue of ten."

The Mechanical Magic of Load Transfer

Bar dowel structures are characteristic via a fantastically easy mechanical principle: they connect adjacent concrete slabs even as nonetheless taking into consideration horizontal motion. This crucial aggregate allows the pavement to:

Transfer vertical masses throughout joints (preventing differential agreement)

Maintain horizontal movement functionality (accommodating thermal growth)

Preserve joint capability (preventing uncontrolled cracking someplace else)

When properly mounted, dowel bars in rigid pavements create a unified gadget where every slab supports its associates without restraining vital motion. This load-sharing capability prevents the focused strain that usually destroys pavement edges.

Material Selection and Specification Considerations

· Corrosion Resistance: Traditional plain metallic dowel bars regularly corrode in environments with heavy deicing salt use or excessive groundwater tables. This corrosion can lock joints and create internal pressures that crack surrounding concrete. For these tough environments, stainless-steel, epoxy-lined, or galvanized dowel bars in roads offer advanced overall performance despite better preliminary expenses.

· Proper Sizing and Spacing: Dowel bars in rigid pavements have to be sized consistent with slab thickness, expected traffic hundreds, and subgrade conditions. A normal specification might call for 1.5-inch-diameter bars in 12-inch-thick highway pavement, spaced at 12-inch facilities. Undersized or improperly spaced dowels cause premature failure, while oversized bars waste materials without offering proportional benefits.

· Surface Treatment: The effectiveness of a bar dowel system depends seriously on its potential to slide horizontally in the concrete. This calls for the right lubrication or debonding through specialized coatings. Without this remedy, thermal expansion forces can crack the encompassing concrete in preference to allowing the intended movement.

The Economic Equation

While including dowel bars will increase preliminary construction charges by about 10-15%, the life-cycle price evaluation overwhelmingly favors their use. Roads built with properly particular bar dowel systems commonly show:

30-50% longer service lifestyles before main rehabilitation

40-60% discount in annual maintenance prices

Significantly stepped forward ride fine all through the pavement lifecycle

The mathematics come to be even more compelling when thinking about consumer prices, which include vehicle running costs, postpone time all through upkeep, and protection issues from deteriorated pavements.

The Future of Pavement Connection

As car loads increase and transportation budgets tighten, the strategic use of dowel bars in roads will become increasingly essential for sustainable infrastructure. Emerging technology, along with composite substances and self-lubricating surfaces, promises to increase overall performance even in addition.

For transportation companies and contractors alike, understanding and implementing proper dowel bar structures represents not just excellent engineering practice but accountable stewardship of public resources. The humble dowel bar, in spite of its simplicity, stays one of the maximum price-effective investments in present day transportation infrastructure.

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kapilasteel · 1 month ago

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Dowel Bars or Expansion Joints? What Engineers Recommend

Dowel bars, bar dowels, and TMT bar manufacturers—those terms may sound like technical jargon; however, they play an important position in production choices. Especially with regard to pavement and slab work, the choice between dowel bars and expansion joints is not just technical—it is in your price range, structural, and long-term. While bar dowel systems often promise alignment and load transfer, TMT bar manufacturers increasingly provide variants to suit structural demands with precision.

Awareness Stage: Understanding the Basics

What Are Dowel Bars?

These are solid steel bars used to transfer load across concrete joints without restricting horizontal joint movement. They basically "bridge" the 2 slabs, allowing load to pass while accommodating thermal expansion.

Expansion Joints—What Do They Do?

Expansion joints are deliberate gaps among slabs to take in the pressure from temperature modifications, floor shifts, or load. Unlike dowel bars, they’re meant to create space, not transfer load.

Consideration Stage: The Performance Battle

Durability and Longevity

When it comes to extending the life of concrete slabs, dowel bars steal the spotlight. They significantly reduce joint damage by ensuring smooth load transfer. Bar dowel setups especially help avoid cracking and settlement at joints—common problems seen when using only expansion joints.

Installation and Cost Efficiency

At first glance, expansion joints appear cheaper. But dig a little deeper—reduced maintenance, minimal surface cracking, and fewer repair cycles with dowel bars actually save money in the long run.

Structural Stability

Engineers constantly highlight one truth: structural integrity matters. Using bar dowel systems improves alignment of slabs, especially in industrial floors and highways. While expansion joints allow movement, they often compromise long-term stability if not perfectly placed.

Decision-Making Stage: Why Dowel Bars Often Win

Engineering Preference

Most engineers recommend dowel bars over expansion joints for heavy-duty structures. The ability of bar dowel setups to handle repetitive loads without displacing makes them ideal for pavements, bridges, and warehouse floors.

Product Availability and Manufacturer Support

Thanks to innovations by way of leading TMT bar manufacturers, dowel bars at the moment are available in custom sizes, coatings, and finishes. This customization allows project-specific performance, which expansion joints often lack.

Sustainability Factor

Less cracking means fewer repairs. Fewer repairs mean less material waste. That makes dowel bars a smart pick for those looking at eco-friendly construction without sacrificing strength.

Conclusion

Choosing between dowel bars and expansion joints isn’t about picking a side—it’s about understanding the needs of the structure. For load-bearing reliability, longer life, and minimal maintenance, dowel bars backed by top TMT bar manufacturers and bar dowel configurations come out on top. Engineers aren't just recommending them—they're depending on them.

FAQs

1. Are dowel bars reusable in other structures? No, once embedded in concrete, dowel bars aren’t reusable due to their fixed placement and bond.

2. Do dowel bars rust over time? Yes, if not coated properly. Most manufacturers offer epoxy-coated dowel bars to prevent corrosion.

3. Can expansion joints and dowel bars be used together? Yes, some high-movement structures combine both to balance load transfer and expansion needs.

4. How do dowel bars affect road performance? They prevent joint faulting and maintain smoothness, critical for highways and industrial pavements.

5. What sizes are available for dowel bars? Sizes vary, but TMT bar manufacturers typically offer 12mm to 38mm diameters, tailored per project.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Can I have yandere Aka Manto x Reader? I see you write Japanese myths, cuz why not?

Yandere! Urban Legend x Reader [Aka Manto]

You never know when you're going to meet your soulmate. It could be on a beach at sunset, on the last bus home, in the elevator of an office building...Or in a public bathroom after you just finished your business. Nevertheless, this urban legend monster has its eyes on you now.

Content: gender neutral reader, urban legend, part horror part comedy, gore!, monster romance

"Are you deaf? It's occupied!" you shout one final time, giving the door a swift kick to emphasize your presence. That's what you get for using a public restroom. Your coworkers had convinced you to try out another bar after the company dinner, and you might've had one too many cocktails. Thankfully most of the drinks were watered down, although it is exactly because of this detail that you're now hovering above a toilet seat with a full bladder. On a Friday night, in the partying neighborhood of the city, so it could explain the persistent stranger - possibly even drunker than you - who keeps rattling the lock of your stall.

To your horror, the handle begins to turn, and you hear a click. You scramble to get up and secure the door, but it's too late. With your pants halfway down, you gawk at the bizarre individual squeezing his way in: a tall figure wearing a red cloak and a mask. "What the Hell?" is all you can mumble to yourself, awkwardly gathering your garments in order to preserve your remaining ounce of dignity. Out of all the things to happen tonight...Alright, calm down. It's most likely a crackhead. You cast your eyes down and focus on the floor tiles, with patterns strategically chosen to hide as much grime as possible.

Pretty. Almost too pretty to kill. He might just take his time with you and savor the moment. Of course, you'll have to answer his question first. With bureaucratic efficiency, he pulls out two rolls of toilet paper and extends them to you. "The red one, or the blue one?" he asks with theatric gravity. What in the Avon samples Hell is this, you think, fidgeting nervously and avoiding any eye contact still. If you ignore him, he should lose interest.

A minute passes in heavy silence. His ghastly arms begin to tire, so he lowers them with a disappointed creak of the joints. "Y-you have to pick one", he insists. Damn it! Perhaps you've been told what to do if approached by mischievous spirits like him? Ignorance means you keep your head, though he was hoping for a gory night of entertainment. You can almost feel the intense stare coming from behind the eerie mask. The tension becomes unbearable, so you finally decide to push your luck. You will not spend the night stuck with a deranged pervert looming over you in a public bathroom.

Without further delay, you shove him aside and open the door. He lets out a surprised hum, observing your daring gesture and almost expecting you to run for your life. To his even greater shock, however, you stop to wash your hands with a relaxed whistle, completely unbothered by his presence. What happened to the fear, the terror, the dread? You peek at his reflection in the mirror, and your lips curl in a mocking grin. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your nervous system, but all you see right now is a pathetic charlatan who tried to intimidate you with literal toilet paper. A good-for-nothing scoundrel interrupting the innocent from their much-needed bathroom break.

In fact, the more you consider your situation, the more your chest puffs with outrage and bravery. You pay your taxes, you help the needy, and this is how your civic deeds are rewarded? By having your stream cut midway? Unbelievable. Unacceptable. No other soul shall suffer your fate tonight. "Wretch!" you cry out, turning towards the aggressor and continuing your demands: "Evacuate the premises at once!"

You might not understand it yet, but your act of defiance has sealed your fate. The hooded monster smiles, relishing the words that have closed the gap between your fragile body and his blasphemous claws. You have spoken to him; thus, he can do with you as he desires. And yet, his murderous fingers hesitate. Your entrails should be splattered across the rarely polished porcelain by now. What's holding him back? He tilts his head in contemplation, but any intention to ponder his feelings is quickly discarded once a loud shriek pierces his ears.

As it turns out, someone else had been using the neighboring stall and was alerted by your little argument. Their finger is pointed at the cloaked creature, features twisted in disgust and fear. "Can't you tell we're busy?" The mysterious man inquires sarcastically. On second thought, this should be enough to satisfy his cravings.

With a snap of the fingers, the frightened bystander is torn apart by invisible hands right before your very eyes. Their limbs detach with surreal ease, and blood splatters everywhere in hot, sticky bursts. In your petrified daze, you are reminded of nature documentaries: blurry snippets of sharks trashing their victim around, fleshy chunks coming undone from the violent handling. Within seconds, the bathroom is quiet again. The walls and ceiling are drenched in fresh blood, and occasionally, fat droplets collapse into a puddle with resounding echo.

It all falls into place. The hooded creature claps its hands, startling you back into awareness. "That's what it was!", he says with enthusiasm. He approaches you with quiet steps, cushioned by the meaty remains coating the floor. He places one hand over the mask, removes it, and gives it a shake as if to clean off the crimson fluid. You involuntarily gaze at his face, taken aback by the handsome traits. Is this the appearance of a ruthless ghoul who butchers mortals for amusement? You wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the hot trickle of foreign blood trailing your skin.

"I think I've fallen in love with you", he confesses with a wide, saw-toothed smile. You feel a clawed finger tracing your cheek affectionately. "Well? What're you so silent for? You were quite cheeky a moment ago!" he continues tauntingly, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up. "Or have you seen what happens when you misbehave? No, no, darling, I'd never! There are other ways in which I can ruin you."

You're suddenly very cold. With dry lips, you eventually open your mouth to speak: "I'm not leaving here, am I?"

"You could, but that would make me very upset."

#forgive me anon I tried to be serious but the temptation of the piss stalker was too great #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere monster #aka manto #aka manto x reader #japanese urban legend #yandere headcanons #monster x reader #yandere monster x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #horror #horror x reader #monster x human

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mono-blogs-art · 9 months ago

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one of my favourite things in revue starlight is how winning a battle just does not matter.

in the beginning, it's pretty easy - you snooze you loose, your star is knocked down, and it's curtain call. whoever wins also has the emotional and narrative victory.

they start to break this down almost from the start. in episode two, karen comforts junna after beating her, and it brings them closer as friends. in episode 6, "winning" for kaoruko is ultimately secondary to gaining futaba's attention, and the two are chummier than ever after their battle.

hell, hikari's entire existence in the story is after she lost all her brilliance - by all accounts, she shouldn't even be in a condition to participate at all. but she got a second chance to fly to tokyo and to set things right, despite being severely disadvantaged. only when she's able to overcome her doubts and starts believing in her and karen's joint future, her weapon is transformed and upgraded. and of course, karen looses everything as well, but she literally claws her way back into the theater to get her rematch. for a series that tells you from the very beginning that you will loose everything if you don't win, and that there can only ever be one top star, in the end, winning the battle is secondary.

gekijouban really takes this to its extreme; every battle has a very clear winner and loser - but the loser always gains something more. futaba wins, but kaoruko not only gets her bike, but also a promise for the rest of their lifetime. hikari gets her ass beat in like, minute 2 of the performance, but is granted a literal medal and a second chance by mahiru to go do things right, for real this time. nana loses against junna, but what she gains is the brilliance she's been looking for all this time since episode 1. claudine properly defeats maya by simply besting her and knowing her weaknesses, and what does maya lose? exactly nothing - instead, they promise to play another round, and infinite rounds as partners. another promise for a lifetime.

karen dies. the protagonist literally drops dead, no heartbeat, and loses her life on stage and it does not matter in the end. she is stabbed, beaten, costume ripped apart, her body and soul emptied out completely and yet she gains her life and passion back. because it's not about winning or losing. it's about giving it your all, barring your soul to the art and to your partner. that's why the losers don't lose. that's why karen was able to "trick" the giraffe's system in the series, and also why the revues in the movie don't even abide by this system anymore.

i just really like it, and the more i realized that, you can really see the progression of the battles throughout the series.

#just thoughts.#mono-loguing #revue starlight

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ericscroptop · 9 days ago

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Everybody Knows That I’m A Good Girl, Officer.

✧ pairing: policeman! eric x fem! reader

✦ genre: smut

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut, protected sex (stay safe, folks!), riding, cowgirl, kissing, making out, pet names, dirty talk, oral fixation, tipsy/drunk reader, mention of blood, lowkey-highkey drunk sex, car sex

✦ word count: 6.3k words

✧ synopsis: if sleeping with an officer is wrong, you don’t want to be right.

✦ disclaimer: remember, all my work is purely fiction!

✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ *

A night out swaying seductively from bar to bar is what you needed after a long week.

After one, two, and three drinks you stopped counting, possessed by the lightweight bliss of not giving a fuck about anything once alcohol found its way into your system.

Inhibitions were lost. You moved freely through the night with your gal pals, destined to complete the mission of having a night so good that it would be reminisced and recounted so often that it’s sickening.

The night consisted of laughs so obnoxious that drinks were being accidentally spat from the uncontrollable laughter, rounds of drinks that came free from sleazy dudes thanks to you guys’ skimpy outfits and flirtatious mannerisms, and befriending random strangers in the girls’ bathroom that you’d probably never ever see again.

Oh, how you loved girlhood.

The fun eventually had to come to an end— for you, at least. You knew your limits, and once the clock struck past midnight, you knew despite how hyped and high-spirited the environment was, the bed was calling for you to check in.

Your friends weren’t ready to let the party rest, though. Some were too caught up in playing their cards right in hopes to get some action, and others didn’t plan on leaving the bar until they physically couldn’t remain due to closing, even clinking and downing shots together with the friendly bartenders.

It’s a pity to leave, but maybe it’s best to not stick around to avoid having to be the one to hold someone’s hair back while they retched and puked once their bodies maxed out, and miss getting hit on by the same weirdo who has been trying to get in your pants for ages now.

Since not a single other person within your circle was ready to leave just yet, you ditched them yourself. Of course you told at least one of your good friends that you’d be heading out, reassuring them that you were more than capable of getting to your home that was thankfully within walking distance.

Sure it was probably reckless to walk the streets in the dark while under the influence, looking the way that you do, street lights being your only companion. But you were a big girl, strong minded despite the amount of drinks you’ve consumed and smart enough to have your location on.

Once you left the dim, sweltering and bustling bar, you breathed in deeply the breeze of fresh air. It felt so nice to finally leave that stuffy joint.

Your phone in hand, purse hanging on your shoulder, and a cherry sucker that ended up in your hands somehow, is all that’s following with you on your journey home.

You felt like an empowered female lead in a movie, navigating the sidewalks with a strong aura given your dolled-up appearance, looking so sexy and confident, only focused on getting your buzzed-self home.

Even with somewhat hazy vision and the occasional uneven, unsteady movement of your limbs, you definitely were still very present and aware of your surroundings. You popped the cherry-flavored lollipop in your mouth, sucking on the candy in hopes to reduce your inebriation as you walked.

But unfortunately, your body still was showing signs of delay and loss of coordination from the drinking no matter how conscious and poised you believed you were.

Before you even realize, your legs give out unexpectedly and have your knees landing on the concrete, your joints eating shit with the sidewalk.

“Fuck,” you cursed, tittering at the embarrassing moment you’ve landed yourself in.

Luckily you didn’t feel any pain from the fall/impact because of your level of drunkenness, and you believe nobody saw you plummet.

And that belief was short lived.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

A male voice rings in your ears. Appearing magically, a uniformed officer steps close to you until he’s extending an arm out, gesturing to help you rise from your fall.

Initially indifferent and weary once you noted that he was a cop, your mind was changed once he helped you up and you were at level with his face.

He was incredibly handsome. The poor street lights and shops with at least one dim letter in the name from a busted light were the only source of light illuminating you two. But his visual was still as clear and bright as day, features so angular, chiseled, and sharp, immediately capturing your attention.

“Yeah! I’m good, just uh, too clumsy.” you chuckled through a smile, removing the candy from your mouth to speak properly.

He flashes a smile back to you, taking note of the outfit you wore. The heels, short dress, and cleavage on proud display tells him that you’re coming from clubbing or bar hopping. What surprised him is what is a gorgeous girl like yourself doing out here by your lonesome self?

“You know it’s dangerous for a lady like yourself to be out late alone. Where you coming from?” he nods, arms crossed.

You pick up on the slight playfulness of his tone, still smiling as he spoke. He seemed a little young to be a cop, around your age.

“I had some drinks with my friends. I was just heading home.” you tell him, hoping that he doesn’t write you up for something, still on your toes when talking to this authoritative figure despite how you’re thinking that he must be the man of your dreams.

“And your friends let you walk alone? At this hour?” It doesn’t make sense to him how they’d let you go home by yourself, knowing that you should always remain in a pack— or you’d at least have a partner take you home.

“It’s okay! I live pretty close by so it’s no trouble.” You’ve walked alone plenty of times, whether high, drunk, or sober, and made it to your destination just fine. So, you really think there isn’t any cause for concern.

That still didn’t sit right with him. The cases he’s seen and heard that happened to women alone, when they least expected it, is terrible and disturbing. There was no way in hell he’d allow for you to walk home.

“Well… I hate to pry but as an officer, you’ve clearly had a decent amount to drink. And I don’t think in any situation it’s safe for you to walk by yourself right now.” he frowns, tone serious.

You just stare at him dumbly, like you’re a child being scolded. Ending your group’s night because you were ready to go home even if they weren’t didn’t feel right. And you were too much of a cheapskate to get an uber, not to mention you’d have to ride solo in the vehicle.

There was no other option, you thought.

“I could give you a ride home.”

The offer is thrown in front of you, leaving you speechless for a bit as he didn’t hesitate. This handsome cop was offering you a lift?

“Are you sure? Aren’t you like, on the clock?” you replied, not wanting to be a burden. Also, you really don’t know if you’ll be able to handle sitting in vehicle next to Mr. Hunk over here.

He titters, arms still crossed, eyes sparkling with amusement from your words.

“Hon, this is my job.”

The sudden pet name catches you off guard, heat creeping up and spreading from your neck up into your ears and across your cheeks.

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or just being polite, but it has you smiling regardless, geeking over this interaction.

“Okay… Officer Sohn.” your pupils dart to the name tag worn on his chest, giving it a read.

Coming from your sweet voice, it makes him more cocky and excited than he’d like to admit. Yeah, it was technically how he’s addressed on the regular, but the title coming from your pretty lips, looking the way you do is… enticing.

“You can call me Eric. No need to be formal.” he tries his best to remain composed, trying to remain polite and hopefully isn’t coming across as too eager given his duty.

“And yours?” he adds.

“Hm? Oh, my name— Y/n.”

The corners of his lips turn upwards at that, testing out the name with his inner voice. Sounds lovely to his ears.

“Well Y/n, let’s get you home safe.”

Following the introductions, he extends out one of his arms, gesturing for you to grab onto it.

That leads your expression to appear puzzled, hesitant to reach out.

“Better hold onto me so you don’t fall, yeah?” he smirks, insisting and not looking like he’ll take ‘no’ for an answer.

Although unsure, you can’t possibly deny the request of a cop— especially a hot one. You end up linking arms, clutching onto his bicep, blushing like a bitch when you can feel how ripped he is through his uniform.

You awkwardly hold onto his large muscle during the short walk to his car, popping back the lolly into your mouth to keep you occupied and grounded from the close proximity with him.

It’s crazy, really. Perhaps pretty privilege led you to be escorted and taken care of, or maybe men are just too easy, even if they’re respected officials. Or… maybe he was just a decent human being doing his job.

Either freaking-way, you couldn’t wait to tell your friends the shit you got into tonight.

Once you two arrived at his vehicle, he led you to the passenger side, opening the door for you like a gentleman and helping you slide on in. The kind gesture has your heart beating like crazy, skipping from the princess treatment and from being in a police car for the first time— thankfully, not for the wrong reasons.

With the giddiness and anxious-thrill inside you, you find yourself fiddling around and fidgeting. While Eric went around to get to his side and all situated, your hands got busy mindlessly with smoothing over your dress and fingers twirling with the ends of your hair.

You even begin to feel a little self conscious and too aware of the low-cut, revealing dress that accentuates your body, eyes scanning yourself to ensure your boobs hadn’t fallen out or your dress wasn’t hiked up too much.

Your eyes pause and inspect closely when they land on one of your knees, noticing a mild abrasion, smudged red with a dot of blood that threatened to trail down. Luckily it wasn’t large or bleeding like crazy, but your knee was still scraped nonetheless.

“Oh, shit, I’m bleeding.” you uttered aloud, not panicking as it was minor, but still confused as to how you just now realized.

Ignoring starting the car, Eric whips his head towards you, vision falling down to where your eyes peered.

Despite your small giggles, not caring about the small injury, Eric grimaces. It should’ve been no surprise considering you came in contact with the ground pretty hard.

“I have a first-aid kit; I gotchu.” he says, face serious as he reaches over to your side, mumbling an ‘excuse me’ as he pulls the glove compartment open, taking out said-kit.

You’re observant in his movements as he pulls out some sort of antibiotic ointment and other essentials, kindly telling you to angle your knee towards him.

You comply, but since it’s your right knee, out of reach to treat properly, he still can’t get to it in the correct manner under these circumstances.

“Uh, do you mind extending your leg out? It’s kinda hard like this.” he gives you a sheepish smile, pressing his lips together after asking the question.

Given your level of tipsiness and how keen he is on helping you out, you shift in your seat and face your entire body towards him to lift your leg upwards with no reluctance, crossing it over.

Although awkward given the setting and having known him for maybe less than twenty minutes, there’s no issue. If anything, you’re flattered by the treatment you’ve received thus far. He must really take his job seriously.

The weight of your leg rested on his lap, settled nicely. Now accessible, he uses a q-tip that was dotted with a generous amount of ointment and spreads the cream on your scrape with a light hand, cleaning the skin so there isn’t risk for infection.

His touch was so gentle, feeling so faint and not even stinging— thanks to the alcohol in your system numbing you from feeling any pain. Though, you’d probably be feeling the impact you faced with the ground once that hangover kicks in.

Absentmindedly, he gives your bare leg some light strokes with the pad of his thumb of his free hand. It’s beyond sweet and soothing; You don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. But you’re so aware of everything that’s happening, eyes trained on the way he cleans you up, and even taking a few sneaky glances up to his focused features.

The interior car light shines just enough for the purpose of aiding you well, but you use it for your own purpose of ogling at him some more.

With the lollipop still stirring in your mouth, your mind and eyes lust over the officer tending to you. Those orbs of yours watch how delicate his hands are when swabbing and dabbing your knee, heart beating in fondness for your prince charming of the night that came one in a million.

Despite the coldness and ruggedness his uniform exuded, his protective and nurturing behavior outshined that. You thought it was hot, seeing how he hasn’t hesitated so far with wanting to help you, being so soft with you knowing that these very hands knew how to use a gun and handcuffed criminals.

Saliva collected in your mouth while viewing him patch you up. Sure it was definitely from the sugary candy that you’ve been consistently sucking on, but the sugar wasn’t the only thing giving you a rush.

Somehow someway, you needed to have a taste of this man in front of you.

“There.” he says after sticking and patting a bandaid over the scratched skin, cueing you to take the weight off him and situate yourself back to normal.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that.” you smiled, charmed as your fingertips trace the plaster.

He chuckles, offering you a million dollar toothy-smile, emerging butterflies in your stomach to flutter in glee, swearing something else is fluttering where it’s not supposed to in between your legs.

“It’s no problem, sweetheart. All better now, see?” he signals with his chin to your knee, making you practically melt in your seat at the usage of yet another pet name.

As he started the car and asked for directions to your place, in the back of your mind resided sinful ideas and thoughts of how you were dying to let him take care of you in other ways.

Oh how easier it would be if people could read each other’s minds. Because if were possible, you’d come to discover that he was also battling in taming his own impure thoughts regarding you.

Small talk was being attempted at during the short drive, but truthfully, Eric was finding difficulty in listening to a single thing you said.

In between talking, you’d look off out the window, into the night and street lights. He wondered what thoughts brewed in your mind. Maybe you were just soaking up the experience of riding in a vehicle that made most people duck and shoot up middle fingers upon sight.

And yeah, you were soaking up the thrill of cruising in a car that you’d never thought you’d be parked in, but your mind was mainly stuck on delusions of getting banged hard by the fine-as-fuck officer who you believed was just showing you courtesy in regards to how you ended up here.

That officer was currently finding it difficult to maintain his composure, as it seemed like every little thing you were doing just made you even more tempting.

It was charming every time you’d toss some hair that swooped over and threatened to hide your face, tucking strands behind your ear probably more than necessary.

It was charming when you’d turn over to him when he spoke, nodding your head and humming along as he made conversation. Your eyes gleamed, wide-eyed with interest and no signs of weariness considering the late night fun you’ve had. Even in the darkness your face glowed, passing dull-lit street lights and the ocasional stop lights that gave you extra shine and clarity, making his heart almost burst into the dashboard.

It was charming the way your eyes were incapable of just staying on him as you spoke, roaming from side to side as if you’re trying to search for the proper words to finish your sentences, chuckling in between as you’d stutter or go blank while thinking.

Now, it wasn’t charming when your mouth was still busy with the lollipop you’ve had since he first saw you. No. It was agonizing seeing and listening to you suck on that shit greedily.

That damn candy swirled around your tongue, red plump lips wrapped around the sucker to soak out the fruity, sugared taste until you were left with nothing but the stick.

What killed him especially is when a smacking sound would leave your lips as you popped the lolly from your mouth.

Boy, was that enough for his mind to go to the gutter.

The attention and suction your mouth had on the candy was a test to his control and patience. While his hands remained firmly on the wheel and he responded to you like a normal person, the subtle but audible sounds of your lolly getting stroked by your mouth and occasionally click against your teeth, and his peripheral view of your being merely existing was already enough for it to get to his head— oh, and the other one between his legs.

After all, he was a man. A man with perverted thoughts, trying his best to focus on what you were saying and the roads he drives on, shifting uncomfortably as he feels his cock has gotten awfully strained.

He mentally thanks God when he arrives at your destination, for he didn’t think he could go another minute without pulling over and and have you lick on something else. That’d be absolutely ridiculous though. He couldn’t possibly do that.

It’s a shame once he parks the car though, that he realizes this might be the last he’ll be seeing of you ever. Jumping some sort of flirtatious move on you or even asking for your number seemed too out of line. There’s a particular front he has to uphold that doesn’t allow room for fucking and flirting around on-duty.

Oh, well. Guess he’d just have to settle for jerking off later to his imagination and some mediocre porn.

“Thank you so much for taking me home. I appreciate it so much.” you smile at him kindly, a hand clutched on the strap of your purse and the lollipop now just left as a saliva-soaked stick.

“Like I said, it’s no problem. Happy to be of service.” a closed-lip smile is sent in your direction, making your own only grow bigger.

This is the part where you should bid him goodbye and part ways now that he’s done what he’s supposed to do, but something inside is gnawing at you to prolong the conversation and time together.

“I probably shouldn’t say this…” you began, laughing at what you were wanting to say, pausing in hesitation, “Usually I don’t fuck with cops, but you’re really sweet. Seriously, thank you for going out of your way to make sure I got home safe.”

He titters and shakes his head at himself, believing for a second that you were heading towards a different route with your words. Shame on him.

I ‘preciate it. No girl should be out alone.”

“Some other cop probably would’ve arrested me for being drunk on the street or something.” you scoffed at the thought, and so did he in turn.

“A lot of them are shitty, i’m not gonna lie. I get it, y’know?”

Of course he was well aware of the barbaric behavior some cops had, abusing their position of power and committing inhumane actions. He watches the news and works in the environment filled with people who shouldn’t have even gotten the job. It shouldn’t be rocket science to act like a decent person, free of biases and not use excessive force when unethical.

“Yeah, but you’re alright, Officer Sohn.” you tell him, head tipped slightly over, your eyes and tone coated in flirtation.

Your approval has him smirking, especially when you referred to him as ‘officer’ again. That and the way your orbs remained fixed on him, kittenish look that appears to be seductive, especially with your body leaning towards his seat has him straining to contain himself.

“Good to know, sweetheart.” it’s only instinct for him to hit you hard and soft, rolling that pet name once more off his tongue.

You do your best to suppress a laugh, tickled by his evident effort of matching your energy.

You can’t tell if he speaks like this to all the girls, or if he’s just being friendly. But judging by the way he looks like he’s holding himself back like a starved animal, wetting his lips with his tongue and eyes gleaming with perversity, it’s giving you confidence and courage to act on your horny thoughts.

Tension hangs heavy, filing the car and practically suffocating the both of you. There’s no desire in you to leave his vehicle, and he doesn’t want you to go just yet based off the yearning look in his eyes.

“Can I do any favor for you? Or repay you somehow? I know it’s your job, but I feel like I owe you one.” there’s a certain pitch and tone in your voice. It wasn’t exaggerated per se, but it came out sultry with a dash of something whiny.

You needed him to know what you were about. And what you needed simply put, is to get fucked by him.

In Eric’s mind, you were starting to come across more inviting with your body language and with the way you spoke. It was up to him on whether or not he responds to your teasing. He really shouldn’t, but with the way your breasts were tightly squeezed by your dress and emphasized by your arms pushing then together subconsciously, head still leaned back and tilted his way while you look at him like he was a daring game you wanted to play so bad… he’d fumble awfully hard if he didn’t accept your advances.

“Please?” you insisted, begging through every blink of your dark lashes. In turn he scoffs with his tongue poking at his cheek, amused at how much bolder you’re getting.

Honestly, it’s really attractive as fuck. He’s no amateur in being able to read sexual undertones. With your suggestive words and passes, he thinks he ought to ‘fuck around and find out.’

“Maybe we could both get something out of it.”boldly, a hand of yours ends up on his thigh, which is red hot and startles his entire body— but in a good way.

You’re also burning inside from the risky move, but confidence prevails when you see him swallow thickly, giving you a look that tells you you’re starting something that’ll be hard for him to hold out against.

As you look at each other through strong, gravitating gazes, it’s mutual recognition that there’s no way you’d be leaving without seeing the good cop switch to play bad with you.

_________________________________________________

Minutes later, you’ve found your way into his lap.

Clothes had been yanked and unbuttoned off, flung up front without second thought. In no time, you both became handsy in exploring each other’s bodies, throbbing with eager to feel one another.

When he ripped open the condom packet with his teeth, pulled it snug over his hard, leaking cock, and you finally felt his girth break into you, you practically cried at how he fit like a glove.

Groans and low moans filled the car, your body lurching forward to dive into his lips with him accepting you just as greedily.

Teeth clashed together and breaths became heavier as you each went at it with relentlessly chasing for one another’s plump appendage. Your hips rolled into his body, his cock beating with fervor inside your warm hole.

Eric had a gentle but firm grip on your neck with his right hand, his mouth feening to pull and suck at your lips, movements sloppy and frantic from impatience to meet with your lavishly luscious lips, displaying the pent-up tension he had since meeting you.

You tasted so sweet from the cherry lolly, making him salivate like a dog from how juicy and delicious you tasted. He couldn’t help himself seeking for your red-stained tongue, swirling and twirling his own against it, sounds needy with every passing and brushing.

The rate you were moving at was filthy. He sucks gently on your lower lip before parting, his own lips dragging out a string of saliva after breaking contact, only making you pant for more.

“This what you wanted? Huh, baby?” his voice is a mixture of sultry, low, and breathy as he searches your eyes with a dangerous look, licking at his lips that are tainted a blotted red color from practically eating your lipstick off.

His hand is still on your neck, stroking your pulse point with his thumb, smirking when he can feel it racing.

He takes in your glossy, lusted eyes, expression breathless, smudged lips slightly parted beautifully. Your fingers threaded and clung to his hair, fighting to hide your face in his neck or look away at the question.

“You just let anyone have this precious pussy?” he teases some more, hands finding themselves feeling every inch of your flesh, from your collarbones, back, hips, and ass— he savors all of it, giving your body sweet squeezes in between the gawking.

You bite back a whine, overwhelmed by the heat in your sex and cheeks. A subtle shake of your head is what you give him along with a sheepish grin, tugging at your own bottom lip while you redirect your hands to his shoulders and muscles, pussy pulsing over his dick when you flatten your fingers over his bulky arms, the visible minimalistic tattoos scattered throughout only dizzying your senses even more.

“Only hot ones like you.” you tell him despite the burning flush that eats at your skin from the flirty, bold words.

His ego inflates, chest puffed out and flexing with a sly smile as you touch him, your sweet eyes so keen yet cautious when exploring all his fine details.

“Yeah? Guess i’m special.”

Your hands explored his upper body in fascination, nails raking down his chest like you struck gold with this man. You felt like such a perverted slut by throwing yourself at him and now squeezing his dick with your walls. But clearly there was no denying that this was more than okay with him.

Especially with how incredibly sexy you looked testing him out. There was a careful swivel of your hips as you soaked in the sensation of every inch and width of his cock, hissing when you lift yourself up just a bit and then back down, his length hitting everything inside of you.

Eric moans watching and feeling you begin to move, strangling his dick with your gummy, silky walls. It has him holding your hips steady, pinching and rubbing circles on the skin.

“You’re so tight, baby.” he hisses, mentally thanking God for gracing him with an invitation inside your pussy.

The furthest thing on his mind was the fact that he was crossing lines, going everything against the code of ethics. How unclassy and dishonorable was it for him to allow a girl he just met to ride him in the back of a vehicle that belonged to the law.

However, to simply put, he did not give a fuck.

Right now, he was getting his brain blown by your naked body grinding and driving his cock, taking him for a spin. What consumed him was the pornographic sounds of breathy mewls and skin slapping together, as well as how your silky walls coated his cock and aided him like a weighted blanket, bringing him succulent strokes and scrumptious stimulation, even through the rubber.

“Just like that.” he praised, still holding onto you and encouraging you to keep up the pace.

His praises and touches were addicting. He whispered things that gave you more motivation to please him and that complimented you, calling you a ‘gorgeous girl’ and reminding you in between groans that you were indeed getting him off.

Your pebbled, fleshy tits jiggled with every lift and clap against his body, sweat sticking and dripping down your spine from your efforts.

Splitting yourself open repeatedly over his thick cock was like a damn workout, but it granted you immaculate pleasure in your deepest spots that only had you obsessed in jumping for more.

You worked and worked beautifully for him, your heavy breaths mirroring his own as your walls sucked him in and out, his nerves getting tickled and scratched by every grip and glide of your walls.

It had him spouting out low whines, his cock head so bloated, feeling the heaviness and pressure in his lower region.

To divert the attention from busting before you yourself were even ready to, he suddenly grips and lifts your chin to get you steady, looking at you with an intense gaze, catching his breath for only a mere few seconds before bringing your face to collide with his own.

He swallows your whimpers and gasps, kissing you slow but sloppily, open mouthed yet soft as your lips mingled together. You moaned at how much of a good kisser he was, grinding on his wood while your hands roamed anxiously down his ripped back.

He parts to give your jawline and the underside of your earlobe some attention, dotting raw and gentle kisses over those spots, both of his hands getting busy simultaneously by roaming down your body.

His thumbs lazily roll your hard nipples, playing with them teasingly before sliding his right hand past and down your breasts, your muscles tightening as he brushes over your stomach.

When his hand meets your pelvis and fingers sweep over your clit, that triggers a shiver falling over your body, breath hitching at the contact.

You can feel him smiling over your skin as he continues to kiss your body, eventually breaking to focus more on your swollen nub.

His movements grow gradually, going from faint touches and some more teasing around the area, to directly starting a rhythm of rubbing your bundle of nerves.

You respond with clawing into his shoulder blades, throwing your head back and arching into his hand. The direct stimulation is making you whimper with eyes shut, aching and growing weaker by the minute just for him.

“How does this feel, hon?” Let me know. Don’t hide it.” his husky tone only makes you mewl more, him tonguing his cheek while he proceeds to play with your clit, you still bucking up into his touch.

“Fuck me, hard.” Feels so good.” you begged, wanting to be pounded by the sexy man whose touch was clearly one like Midas’. Those delicate hands that patched your scrape earlier were now touching your nude body, flicking and rubbing parts of you with naughty intent that made your body respond so well and scream for more through every throb, pant, and wave of heat.

A couple more presses on your sacred button and then he’s adjusting the both of you, digging his hands into the flesh of your hips and rear, his body leaning back slightly into the seat before he lifts your form with ease.

A disgustingly dirty, deep moan vibrates Eric’s throat once he starts to slide your pussy up and down his dick. Your slick, hungry walls hug his cock with so much greed and want, taking his hard girth like you were meant for this.

“Holy shit, that’s it. You’re such a good girl for me, baby.” he praises and talks you through it some more, consumed in being swallowed whole by that pretty little pussy of yours.

You’re holding onto him so tight as you bounce over him nonstop, his hips raising instinctively to meet your own with every plop down, still guiding you at a moderate pace.

Here you are, all his for the night, riding him to your heart’s content until you’re seeing stars and his cock breaks you enough to expel out enough cum for it to drip out onto the seats.

Eric looks at you through a heavy gaze, head leaned back with an open mouth, taking most of the control in bouncing you, watching you move up and down so gleefully as if he were your favorite carnival ride.

You’re killing him beautifully, just like he is for you. Pretty soon you’d both snap, falling to pieces once this rollar coaster reaches peak and drops down.

You held onto him for dear life, matching his uneven breaths and parted lips paired with desperate eyes.

Being stretched and pierced on repeat by this officer was such a way to end the night. You don’t think anything in the world could beat this. It was riveting and thrilling through every touch, feeling, and sound.

And then finally, it’s like he knew. He knew you were about to explode and finish. Your noises grew more closer together, falling onto him harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and your eyes fighting to stay open.

“Don’t hold back. Cum for me. Go ‘head, hon.” he’s assertive yet gentle, jerking up and manhandling you a couple last times with grumbly grunts, indicating that his leaky cock head was about to erupt.

Those last drives of his hardness paired with his throaty moans as he finally spurts gooey jets of white into his condom, triggers your body to unleash and respond back. Cries and cum of your own pops out, face falling into the crook of his neck, your hands and pussy gripping onto him as your release takes over.

“Atta’ girl. So fucking good, baby.” his voice is raspy and leaning close to a whisper as he’s blown out a load, catching his breath while a hand attempts to bring you to a state of tranquility and hush your elevated heart rate through strokes down your spine.

Body so heavy and out of it with hooded eyes, you remained clinging to his body, sunken into him with your uneven breaths landing on his neck. He moves slightly to readjust you both comfortably, giving you all the time in the world to recover, hand still lingering all over your backside.

Regardless of the sweat soaking your bodies and your cum that began to seep out your hole and drip down his ballsack even while his cock remains inside that’s trapped by a dirty, full condom, there’s no urgency to move.

It feels nice for a moment. To be held by a stranger who proved to be worth while and got your rocks off. The eerie sounds of crickets and birds already singing songs although the sun still has hours before it rises was able to be heard once you two had settled heartbeats, but it still remained serene despite being in the cramped backseat, naked and flushed in the middle of the night.

Even while crashed out in this stifling car, windows fogged up and coating the interior with scents that’d stretch a disgusted look on outsider’s faces, you believe this is the best night of your life.

And then when you both realize Eric was basically still on duty, and that you can’t remain in this car all night, he has the courtesy to help you get dressed, sharing giggles and knowing-shy smiles like you both were naive teenagers.

Once dressed, he offers to walk you all the way up to your door. Clinging onto every second more possible, he takes advantage of being around you until he really has to go.

You don’t mind it one bit.

Before you know it, you’re standing right in front of your door. You turn to him, who was already clinging and holding onto your hand, charmed smile adorning his features that has your ears blazing hot, barely able to keep eye contact when you’re already replaying the intimate scenes that went down tonight.

It’s almost enough to invite him inside for perhaps another round or even to stay for the night, but you knew now wasn’t the time after you unapologetically took up a decent chunk of his time already.

It’s like he can read your mind, so he leans low into you, stealing one last kiss.

It contrasts the crazed and impatient makeouts from earlier. He falls onto you slow and steady, almost as if he’s conveying with his lips how much he valued your time for the night, and trying to make the moment last a tiny bit longer.

Hand on the small of your back, he rubs your body while one of yours holds onto the nape of his neck, his rugged, hard uniform pressed into your now-creased dress.

Breaking from your swollen lips, he brings his mouth to your ear, giving your core a whirl when his words are a mixture of sweet and salacious.

He promises that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him, already fantasizing over the next time he’d get to see your pretty face and pussy— hopefully hanging out somewhere other than his cop car.

And when he leaves your sight with a satisfied smirk after providing you with his personal phone number, not only does the sore space between your legs swell in excitement and glee, but your heart does, too.

Perhaps the next time you two meet up, you’d let him cuff you and take possession over you…

Literally and figuratively.

✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * ✶ ࣪˖࿐ *

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